People
So confuse
Me

So people
Please
Confuse me

Continue to infuse me
With 
Confusion and derision 

Devise your little plans
Delire me to derisive laughs 
And divide me this way that

People you all seem sad
Teeming with the bean bag
Are you really that bad? 

Maybe people are sad
Now what?

The lead jackets they put
on you
when you get an x-ray

The lead jackets
I love them

They cradle you
Hold you
Wrap around you
Hold you together
Keep all the pieces in

As though if
you exploded
the lead jacket would just
hold
you back together

My mind is confusing
Opposite of wallflower 
It skirts though loudly obviously
It observes with eyes too blinking
It takes you in and mulls you like cinnamon and ***
It screams I will look at you I will not see you
It listens does not hear but what you have to state
Until near too gone
When it puzzles a million things simultaneously
That means at the same time
It lunges and parries and strikes at the words
Until it cannot contain to hold them
And it must combust
And it writes them down
Speaks them up
And I 
Understand.

For I to cherish soaked in sunbathe dream of freckles on cream and strawberries
For you to see and sigh and fill with warm fizzy pink water too sweet to contemplate 
For you to see and sigh and long for long sleeved sheathed in jealousy spilling out in bright red syrup

For I to paint faces with my utterances fanciful making ugly alluring curious mysterious attractive

I can take my nose to be strength clever seducting wicked men and women to listen to my describes or look upon papyrus sheets

I can make my jaw a naive child stricken with blue veins translucent skin clinging papery like wings to brittle bones under eaves ready to snap

I can write my eyes wide innocent in first time headlights first time frosted firsts filled with empty antecedents of unclasped things and fifty fifty longings

I can make the ugly striking like a stinging snake cruel contemplating lashing smarts or make it sad sorrowful quiet longing new to life love mature but still a child

I can add grace poise to my stretched out neck make it stand tall of pride training because it's ladylike to do so and so I must and say my prayers every night too as I powder over my faintly drawn freckles

Boyish humour uncaring to my generous brows a baseball mitt bubblegum cards and a fetish for goths forever unrecognised as spit flies and at home haircuts compose a flyaway life

Embellish the hollows collarbones and detract the too-broad shoulders make the frailty proud and small shrink it down to fit in a girl big brothers to gentle and lovers to rough pinned wrists that near snap

With my words I reap the benefits of my own mindly kindling I wander through half made times in history and finished times two seconds right now 

I can create myself and so I do my thirst to be is insatiably insatisfied like my attraction to bad grammar and lilts when you talk so I do I become each and every one 

I create myself and it's addicting

I can't get the words out of my head.

I never liked words very much
This you must understand. 
I never thought in words
And I still do not. 

They just come
Already refined granulated upper class adjectified.

They are not thought; no,
They just come. 

When I don't bid
Or when I do. 
I can't control them. 

They are a viscous force of their own meticulous will
Each letter carved painstakingly unto another
Layer upon layer like sheets of pastry
They grow ever faster larger all consuming
Hearts racing minds twirling hands shaking

This is the high the words get from me.

Disquietude
Rustle my mind

Iron out the creases 
Left me with nothing
But perfect pleats
I can't bear to understand
And flat surfaces 
Lacking the wrinkles

Of chocolate
Of stories
Of moments

Maybe of passion
Maybe of clumse
Maybe of sadness

Then again
Doesn't no wrinkles
Tell the story of
A perfectly ironed shirt

A moment
A story

Maybe of passionate ironing
Maybe of clumsy ironing
Maybe of sad ironing

Who am I to judge this shirt-mind
Perhaps 
The ironing
Is chocolate
In and of itself.

to be frail
is a beautiful thing
I think.

with those thin wrists
writ from sheets of unlined paper
and wrought with simple weak.

with those delicate bones
daring to disintegrate
with the lightest brush touch. 

with those supple eyes
wide but suffused of colour
used of black and grey. 

with those delicate movements
from those who do not divide
and the dance with pinned wrists from those who add.

with those lacy eyed lashes
that listen and lapse the lone deserved 
lost in a world of felt and move.