i wear your sweaters when you're asleep & i wear them when your not home to remind me of who i am;
your girlfriend, your fantasy, the love of your life;
but suddenly my mind wonders who am i without you?
i've lost myself inside of you, i've buried myself deep beneath your ribcages & made home inside your chest;
but then i remember i never existed to begin with because i've always been a shapeshifter.
twisting & morphing into what everyone else wants me to be, forgetting that i have a body, a mind & a soul all of my own;
feeling guilty for taking a second to breathe through the bars on this jail cell window.
i've been laying on the floor like a carpet,
letting everyone walk on me & pretending that it's completely acceptable;
& i've always hosted the parties to give myself a sense of control when in reality all i'm doing is serving people.
but please, my love, don't misunderstand me;
my love for you is always here inside of me even if it's gone into hiding;
this illness clouding my brain has been growing from a pinprick into a wrecking ball;
turning everything into black & white as if i'm living on a zebras skin.
you always loved the yin & yang symbol, well that's how my mind self-destructs;
for anyone who doesn't know, the yin & yang symbolizes the good & the bad, with a little good in the bad & a little bad in the good;
a small light in the dark & a hint of shadow in the light;
except the way my mind works, there is no flicker of a flame in the darkness & darkness does not exist in the light;
at least that's how my mind perceives things...
when i'm treated with love & adoration, my heart suddenly beats & you are an angelic being i am undeserving of;
but then again i never deserved any form of happiness, according to my thoughts;
when i am treated with abuse & neglect (or what my brain tells me is abuse & neglect), i shut down my emotions & once again become a ghost to my own body;
but then again this hollow numbness is the home i grew up in...
i don't remember much of my childhood & sometimes i wonder if that's a good thing;
was it to protect myself from the horrors that i'm not sure even existed,
or was it really a wonderful childhood that i purposefully forgot so i could give all the blame to my family?
i don't remember much of my childhood but i know i forgot it to relieve myself of some of this pressure;
some of this pressure that pushes down on me every minute of every day;
how do you expect me to feel when every feeling i ever expressed was shoved back down my throat because it was too inconvenient for someone else;
how do you expect me to speak when i was trained to bite my tongue because i was always too intelligent for anyone else's comfort;
how do you expect me to live when all i've lived for was to satisfy the needs of those around me so i could feel worthy of the air in my lungs;
& when i say "you", i don't mean you, just you as one sole being, i mean everyone;
everyone i've ever met has expected something of me;
whether it be my body, my mind, my skills or my words,
my heart, my thoughts, my possessions or me;
& you my love, you are everything to me despite my contradictive actions,
because you're the only one who has ever taken a moment to look at me dead in the eyes & ask me with pure love & selflessness
well what do*  you  want...?
*...i wear your sweaters when you're asleep & i wear them when you're not home to remind me that you love me as much as i love you.
& you may be the only person that could truly know who i am.

Ego is top priority
if it isn't for me
then its for the fakes
the one who blast their stereos
and fluff their noses
whiffin' on a whim
better learn how to swim

learn to catch their falls
in a continuous call
back home is where they run
because no life starts with fun
Mama screamin in agony
just to push you out
so you can deliver her joy
but is it for her, or is it for me?
I know it seems shallow
but your too blind to not see

The plastic thoughts
that make up my forehead
gathered and strung out
like a stream of city lights
sitting below as I look down on
all the ones who float around
seemingly lost in the world we took over

Its the human species who is the virus
the ones who hone in and take with out asking
Is this mine? money is the answer
if you got no dinero
then you got **** for answers

Everyone has ****, too bad its not tender
yours is so bad it could knock out the lenders
but again, **** is not the answer
so you better save up
and buy all the world up
and drink it all from a shiny cup
and then throw it all up
and do it again and again
for we all are alcoholics
winning a race
against ourselves

in a sin of thought
its you who bought
that necklace
that pretty dress
that watch
that new phone
that mansion in the hills
that ugly ******* poodle

But what does it boil down to?
the classy environment
we are all accustomed to?
Try and wonder what is truly rich
for its heavier than gold cinder blocks
and large jewelry rocks

Its what you have deep in your mind
I have one, now you try to find
if you adjust the lifestyles
the lavish everydays
than maybe you can be rich
without working a single day

I really don't work
and I'm pretty happy
but give me diamonds
and then we'll see whose truly happy

I forgot to send your card

                                                                         Aqueous

The impetus for writing this piece beside the natural reason as the title describes and that entails a
Deeper look at the flowers that I wrote about and then this natural connection occurred a photographer
Placed a rose in a pose lying in water and at the front the water added the magic at the tip the rose
Became liquid it seemed to be dissolving it was fluid and melting she wrote this caption for the picture
Liquid rose pouring out my heart that was my feeling about those I wrote about in sorry your flowers are
Late and then the dreaded phone call my wife’s brother was given two weeks more to live after his
Leukemia was holding a steady pattern so now I write this with the specter of death standing over me
Possibly it will make what I say more rich and true maybe more aware than even before in this life it is
Always the surface that gets the first and most attention objects and things that we move through daily
But I want to go deeper into that which is in flux and that which is fluid emotion and feeling the first one
Stood by me in the alley I thought we were observing great heavy snow flakes fall but I was in a place of
Kindred knowing truth I knew little and she was my teacher I stood by a mere girl some will say but truly
I was standing in the presence and promised kisses of future women I learned gentleness and respect for
The opposite gender how to possess your mind it’s not always a free for all keep something in reserve
It creates interest that will pay rich dividends I learned kindness and the sweet ripples it sends into a
World of discord I found out how to be amazing with just small gestures I could go on and on but she
Taught me about that to and I shouldn’t give away women’s greatest secret I will say just this and no
More to love a women gives wealth and wisdom of the ages the second flower leave it to God’s knowing
Of what you need our fathers were not related but they were twins in many ways you can look at their
Failings and lambast them but you can’t look on them and not love them I don’t care what they failed to
Do it was the inviting of their presence it was just to the bone honesty my friend had that common bond
Of having openly imperfect fathers we still defended and loved them this made our friendship stronger
We played off of one another for this essential need to look and find the good that was weighted by
Alcoholic debris I’m proud of my friend’s accomplishments in life and his rich and strong family I still
Need to feed on those helps to center my own life he says his name is a dog’s name don’t think so you
Old dog the next you learn about love personally and then from myriad sources but I got to learn it at its
Tiniest fount small bicycles and the very young are messengers oh God why are you so good to me
Without inhibitions they see truth mind you they don’t get the swagger what’s that all about anyway
She through clear eyed innocence sees a hero in one who projects a commanded aura if you really look  
Believe me the looking is at and end it’s the heart of knowing that has kicked in they brag of their ability
To weigh matter of different kinds can you do it with a heart that loves nothing is missed all tells its
Secrets on this scale the heaviest weight is to love and then not be taken serious because you are to
Young one day when heavens books are opened it will have something to say quiet rich and wonderful
About young love though now she is older of course but the tenderness produced way back then is so
Obvious today what glory hides in the loveliness of friends now the birthday girl herself I hope this will
Square me for the late card to write of her is to speak of stillness that radiates peace a trusting that
Spreads like the quiet of a winter’s morn with new falling snow to speak loudly in her presence what
Harsh disregard you would show you would bear the mark of one who is brutish when in a garden of
Flowers does one raise his voice no you speak in hushed tones that revere elegance and beauty you
Show the quality that has affected you and your admiration the mountain meadow contributes to
Nature's wonder as she spills into the enthralling waiting world she attests to its goodness she cultivates
Possibilities she holds court on lands not recognized as walked on by kings and queens I have found this
To be contradictive if you walked in my shoes and see with my eyes you might tempted to bow in the
Presence of such charm and grace isn’t that what royalty is any way they do a lot of talking about
Streaming she is a precious dream and dreamer that is still there when you awaken God bless you
Precious one do I pine in shadows no I cry in the sun light for these blessings that are mine

The female temple.
Hollow shell in the minds of men.
An autoclave
for a belly, a copy-and-paste mind
of blasphemies. A page
in man's contradictive bible. Just blondes and brunettes.
Just virgins and non-virgins.
Nothing more than breathing incubators.
I am a person, I have a brain, I say.
They smile at me with a condescending
wink. A nod. Good girl, well done.
They tousle my hair. Well fine, boys.
Watch me climb the ladder with one hand,
backwards, in heels. When I reach the top
I'll ram these six inch Louboutins
straight through your hearts.

Alabaster Archipelagos
Benevolent Beauty Beaming
Constructive Contradictive Creative Contemplations
Dante's Darling Dances Deliberating Denominatives
Effervescent Escapisms Endearingly Emerge Elusive Edens  
Fantastic Flamboyant ******* Flamed Fabulous Fiery Flickerings
Gorgeous Garden Gim'memores Gaudied Garnishing Gasps
Heavenly Hues Humming Heart's Harmonies
Immortaly Impregnated Inspired Ideals
Jessamin Jargon Jacuzzi Jams
Know-how Knacking Knurls
Light-spirited Lovers
Merge Magnificent
Naked Nocturno Nights
Omnipresent Ousia Over Odeons
Palpitations Perfect Peaks Pi Paws
Quintessential Quality Quarrels Question Quarks Quietness
Rododendron's Richameters Rescued Raw Reeling Ruby Realms
Sentient Syllabic Sapfo's Splendidly Spirited Semantics
Turning Turner's Timeless Timeless Twinklings
Unified Undulatory Unsolved Unicorns
Velvety Venice Voyages
Wanton Wantings
Xsylophone Xsantiphas
Yearnin' Yuki's Yen
Zed's Zealous Zen-it-hall Zeppelins

Feelings deep, never complete
Crooked hearts, fallen thoughts
Lonesome girl, wrongful scars
Vindicated lips, ripped to the sewn
Fearing all that's let on it's own
Contradictive misconceptions
Shadows crept within perception
Lost between fingertips
Weakness then comes to grips
Hope leaks from the tell
Past that fell, begins to dwell
Freckled smiles, such a misstatement
Disappointment reaches eyes
Dreary sorrow, spite along the beloved
Nothing pushed; all is shoved
Diverted content, oppression left
Soulless veins are all that's kept

There is a machine
it's hands driven by no singular man
nor collective of men but by the subconscious desires of whole societies,
possibly by all mankind.
It's will; perhaps passed on in our blood
but I suspect a more devious actor at play.
The augmented reality of language ****** upon us in our youth
with such tyrannical force it makes the rule of King Leopold
hardly a murmur in the heart of darkness.
It's reason as noble as it is useful. It aims to connect;
to help share the eloquent, heavenly images
that reside behind our eyes in our most sincere and naked moments.
Noble indeed are the intentions of language but they deceive,
make it hard for our pupils to see what needs to be seen
thus we live as Thoreau has said 'lives of quiet desperation'
blind to what our hearts cry for in the black of our deepest silence.
We deny them in the name of acceptance and comfort
for the fear of failure wear upon us like a heavy robe.
These words they echo such violent doubt
and in days past I had triumphed this lingering hesitation
with holy regard as if it embodied me with some super power.
What lunacy, what madness I endured;
twisted about by the contradictive nature of logos.
No more shall I wear this weight upon me,
cast off the coercive syntax and again like a child;
I think in images.
I may still write, even speak in fictitious representations
but I shall live my friends,
live to see these fiery reflections of light manifested into reality.
Live so that I am not remembered in words
but in the hearts of other men...

A Blue bird flies
in a flock of red fellows,
and he is the only one
to notice the Difference.

He sees,
but all is in black and white.
He understands,
but does not Know
Why.
He hears,
but there is no sound.
He feels,
but there's no touch.
...Not love...

This is not love he feels.
This 'thing', this, new
'feeling' that is indescribable...
An Ampullae of Lorenzi of some sort
What is it??

It is not love; No,
Not love.

This is just black and white to the rest;
in a two-tone world

This/His Difference
is much easier to comprehend
once comprehended(perceived/grasped) beyond just/ the/ 'weakness'
of being
"different" (seeing that you're different isn't the problem. why are you different? if you are "so" different, there must be a reason.  a blue bird sees the diff in a b&w; world not bc of the color, but because of capacity. capability. power. 'force'. Emily saw she was different. and identified. when she speaks of telling truth on a slant and gradually, it's due to the incomprehnsible ability to take in of "the people". she locked herself up bc others didn't get and will chastise her. she was a blue bird who noticed she was blue in a black and white world filled with red fellows.  it was easy for her to see bc all were so blatantly different. dramatically different. blue versus red in a black and white world.  below is going to explain that now, in times of the same dramatic differences, people wear different clothes. they think they are of all different hues and colors of the rainbow in a black and white world. it is much more difficult to understand what this 'feeling' is when it can't be diffcultly yet blatantly seen in a black and white world of blue and red birds. especially when 'power' pushes all to find individuality yet manipulates homogenization).  

When a blue bird flies, in a flock of red fellows,
all who wear clothes of hue, and texture.
brightness and scale
cashmere and rubber  (these lines above are supposed to have 2 things that have nothing to do with the other...shows how 'much' there is to add to....materialism for identity I guess)
in a multi-tone world
Spoon fed a (false) (all-known) (media-passed) vision
and encouraged a sense of "self difference" of indifferent similarity (to the next(fellow)) (supposed to be a contradictive. feel, "we are all so different, in the same way")

The blue bird's view is much more convoluted now (raw it down)

hard to see and understand and comprehend a difference when we are all made the same
hard to see and understand and comprehend a difference when we are all told to be different, but made the same.

I’ve been wondering
when and where life began;
into the deep pits of depair,
or the consciousness of a ‘given life affair’
I live an epic tale of a broken mind
hungry, lonely,
a feeling of somebody owning me
I’m living but I ain’t breathing
for my consciousness is contradictive
I’m conscious of the faith I inherited
but not of the present of my heritage
I’m conscious of the peace The Lord died for
but I’m captured in a world of escapades
I’m conscious of the freedom I believe to have
but it’s obvious the darkness of anxiety is what I have
I’m conscious of the love and light
where the silent moon brings out a glorious night
where in purity I can smell sunlight
in paradise where I feel the highline.

It has been two weeks and three days since I last saw you. Four hundred and eight hours since you looked at me for the last time and told me you loved me. Emphasis on the past tense. It has been much longer than those twenty four thousand, four hundred and eighty minutes that I have known you are no longer in love with me. The one million, four hundred sixty eight thousand, eight hundred seconds separating us still are not a good enough representation of this distance. I lost you, I understand that. I lost you ten days ago. But when did you lose yourself? When did I lose myself? And where exactly did we go? (However, there is no “we” anymore).
In these timeless yet ever so slowly passing days, I have searched. Searched for the answer as to how you were able to scream at me through the telephone, but not man enough to show your face. The answer as to why you pushed the truest, deepest love straight from your arms, out into the abyss of utter solitude. The answer as to when that four letter word started to become nothing more than wasted breathes. And wasted time. And as I search, I heal. Contradictive, but inevitable. No longer are your hands around my neck inflicting involuntary pain and no longer am I able to kiss the very poison that nearly destroyed me. I am free. Sure, I may be in a state of oblivion but no longer am I the dirt you walk home on after betraying me with her. I was strong enough to stop drinking my own blood from your palms. Those filthy, sinful hands of yours that forgot, just for a second, the way they fit into mind. But one second can feel like a ******* eternity if you want it to, and you did. You let those hands feel her in a way you used to only do to me once your parents’ bedroom door was shut, and the light turned off. And you were never man enough to live up to it. Those sins, that ******* disgrace. “Hurting you is the last thing I wanted to happen.” I’m ******* sorry for believing you never would. You’re so good with words, did you know that? But are you so good that you’ll start to believe your own lies? ENOUGH WITH THE DISHONESTY. I stopped kidding myself a long time ago. You’re not mine anymore and I’m not yours!!! Yet I’m still so infatuated on you. This delusional, not-at-all you. I want to save you, but I saved myself instead. I’m seventeen days sober but eternally hungover. And as you can see, it’s a never-ending cycle. I’m running in circles contemplating all that you have done to me. The hour hand and the minute hand never meeting up. I am dizzy and I am broken and I am alone but I can finally breathe again.

it's a dizzying impression to see one's own depression
no class or task or master can us for that prepare
that contradictive dissonance, that roguish thought of insolence
rejecting solemn peace of mind and peeling psyche bare
nerves, synapses, signals sent? what **, depression, whence!?
it's to me no mystery, a consequence of sense
a side effect of our accursed proclivity to care
better, then, to not, and give to death concession
the tragedy, the folly, the angst, our depression