I often find myself deep in the world of unknowns
of wind,
of fire,
of water

She exhales
sending static electricity waltzing through the air
as if the particles find some deeper attraction in her presence
Her fragrance
zests the cracks of empty space
Within a single whispered word,
my breath escapes me
in hopes that it may embrace
just the sound of her voice

Her heat fills up my spine
like a thermometer
and illuminates the heart
Fiery eyes burn hieroglyphics onto my lungs
Her touch gives me the fireflies
and in a frenzy they collide
igniting on impact
Their spilled embers
cast sillouetes on my eyelids
of our candle-lit dinners

Silk hair
pools against the bed sheets
Her lips would be the moon
to my tidal kiss
Frost nips at her imperfections
But she never freezes
for she changes feverishly
like bubbling water
If only transparent

Her forms cannot define her
But,
She is mystic like the air
Spontaneous like a spinning flame
A kinesthetic ocean
and I’m good at drowning

growing up to choruses of revelation and redemption,
i always heard them say that this world is approaching
hell or heaven.

now that years have passed and i have found my own voice,
i say -with scars of experience- there's not much difference between
an abundance of wildflowers or an abundance of wildfires.
life continues to blossom fearlessly forward;
lovers continue to burn just as brightly.

so, dear friend, i beg of you,

spread me like your wildflowers.
hiding beneath the weight of loam
bodies curled tight in the shell of youth
clinging tight to the gentle flame
that burns within us all.

spread me like your wildfires.
ever expanding heat and humidity
swelling and growing faster, faster
collecting sparks like goosebumps
and awaiting the ignition of touch.

spread me like wildflowers.
roots like fingers tunneling
their way through the damp
fertility of adolescent life stumbling
through hallways headfirst into the light.

spread me like wildfires.
bellowing smoke like clouds dances
from lips never kissed
now singed to a gentle crisp
from the intimacy of a catalyst.

spread me like wildflowers.
stems burst forth from the dark
with the kinesthetic rage
of a child no longer content
to crawl upon hands and knees.

spread me like wildfires.
gasping, wheezing, aching,
spreading further, higher to find
new sources to burn like blood in veins
in the heartbeats following a first touch.

spread me like wildflowers.
bodies now rising strong against the tide of winds
lifting the burden of petals upon shoulders capable
like butterflies crouching upon fingertips raised,
poised to fly.

spread me like wildfires.
flames stretching like arms across
the skin of a now familiar lover
embracing in the hot throes of passion
and the brilliant burn of innocence's remorse.

spread me like wildflowers.
buds burdened with dew
heavy with expectation to begin anew
straining against the drowsiness of flesh
until finally bursting forth with brilliant zeal.

spread me like wildfires.
the overwhelming euphoria
of feet finding steady ground
and of thoughts no longer filled
with concerns of mere survival.

spread me like wildflowers.
growing past fearful worries of tomorrow
content to stretch limbs and petals wide
seeding the earth with children
and blessing a new generation with beauty.

spread me like wildfires.
drowning the overwhelming clamor
of a forest in the midst of song
replaced only with the lonely blaze,
the roaring glow in that crackling ******.

spread me like wildflowers.
the seasons of youth long passed
leaving trunks and bodies to thicken and knot
scarring deeper with every lingering reminder
and memory of the light left dimming.

spread me like wildfires.
always hungry, wisps of flame
lick at the heels of the forest
stealing the air of life and lungs
and leaving the body breathless.

spread me like wildflowers.
the brisk, impersonal wind of winter
chills the rooted beauty of Nature's eye
gently wilting the aging passion
under a soft crown of frost.

spread me like wildfires.
never content to rest in one place
or shy away from raging against
the gall of day to ever end at all
and lower the shades on former lovers.

spread me like wildflowers.
gently resting like bodies
no longer warm to the touch
sleeping deeper than corpses
in the morgue of your memory.

spread me like wildfires.
ash swirls in the flurry of
flame's last breath, whirling
in the charred remains of intimacy
no longer returned, no longer found.

so lover, i beg now of you,

bury me like your wildflowers.
drown me like your wildfires.

After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****,
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.

Now, I think I light up
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing.
It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
like a ballet,
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.

And I think I light up
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
for a few minutes or so,
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide-

Well, so it goes.

After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
(feel Hell)
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****,
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.

Now, I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing. It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
(like a ballet),
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.
Or something.

And I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
(for a few minutes or so),
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide.

Well, so it goes.

It seems nice to hold an ideal reputation,
Nowadays we engineer them.
With a perfect filter, an edited word.
No worry in your tongue slipping.
When you finally take your eyes off, and notice the way the sun creates a sky of bright pink and orange, just as its about to say goodnight, are you happy taking it in? Just breathing in and out?
It seems nice to feel connected to others.
But what about your significant other?
Is he even significant? Or just another face,
that you can use,
to prove to others,
that your life,
is as pretty as the sun you always seem to miss, just as its about to say goodnight,
because you'd rather strain your eyes on a screen,
stressing about your impression on others,
then experience bliss, in the form of kinesthetic reality,
so perfectly imperfect.

Breathe In

Ready?
Visual, auditory, kinesthetic
Light, sound, touch

Buildings are of the same shape, stiff outlining
People talk the same way, smell like the same scents
The air's texture caresses me at the same places, softly

Breathe out
Have I left home at all?

It was tangible and invisible
Only seeing with my hands
And I’m not a kinesthetic person
Trapped inside the cage that was your love
I couldn’t see it until it was too late
And I had to break myself out

Looking for an intimate teacher.
A professor of the body.
One who can show me how to engage in sexuality the way They want me too.
Lead me into intimacy by educating me about my own body.
Answer every question i have about this energy exchange.
How does this work?
How do I work it?
How am I supposed to touch you?
What am I supposed to say?
I say it like that?
Why is it wrong to have more than one teacher over time?
What does it mean to be sensual?
What does being sensual mean to you?
I need an educator with patience,
one willing to work through the kinks so to speak.
Universe! Send me a guide who understands what it means to be an auditory and kinesthetic learner.
One who will whisper some directions to me while they guide my hands to where they need to be.
I am looking for a fearless lover,
one unafraid of saying those awkward directions like,
           Move Like  This.
                        Lift Up More.
                                 Listen to me and just...
                                                   *Relax.

The two kids, rambling their murmurs away.
At the bus stop; animated, kinesthetic.
With voices that represented the curious cat.
Shall we not wonder, when the cat shall be killed.

It was not long ago, when I was in the same shoes.
Yet the alteration of taste, the mutation of size,
the change of environment, the dynamism of time…
It caused great discrepancy for a my own momentarily lack of understanding.
I could no longer put myself in their shoes.

And maybe, maybe not maybe, but definitely,
The sense of sympathy has died down and diminished,
just as society has taught me very well,
I no longer want to put myself in their shoes — ever (again).
I just anticipate in my personal phantasmagoria:
when the cat shall be killed.

All that beautiful notions and scenic illusions,
the illuminated views of the world (then), from my (then) tainted glasses.
I wonder when the kids will remove theirs soon.
I wonder when the kids will eventually lose their secluded eye sight,
as their vision become clearer with age.

In my thoughts, at that moment:
Would everything that seemed too beautiful just remain as what it is now:
The past that seemed so perfect, the present that seemed so still.
Memories remain as photographs, similar, or maybe transformed into:
motionless, emotionless twirl of mundane innocence.
A freeze frame, with no emotional attachment, no true connection.

Will all these just remain as cognitive recognition,
or will I still be able to look back and find my self recognition.

pink, satin slippers
strong, poised, graceful pirouette
kinesthetic art

Bravery was the theme of the night
And we drove the streets like we owned the very air
We divided as we went too fast, much too fast
Go in for the ****, don't shy away, and other mantras
Repeatedly featured in lights in my head
Reveling in the dregs of the days after
It was time to prove something to myself,
To you, and to them
No costume nor mask accompanied my disguise
Only a door and some seventeen-year-old fear
Prevented any wild occurrences
It's the thirty-first, devil's luscious holiday
But for me, it's the rehearsal for kinesthetic romance
(Humour me on this all hallow's eve)

-cj

The other side of a place is a calling
for indifference
That is the other place

I’ve had years of ambiguity
Dark gray rings on laser stripped moonbeams
Tasting the edge of lemon peels
Savouring the after effects on my lips
Like green mint listerine
On my tongue

Unwrapping
the lengths
of my fingers
Feeling like I’ve been tossed away
Still Finding ways of testing
Out
Where the ends connect

Kinesthetic thoughts firing like billiards
Neurons couldn’t keep up
I felt untouched
Without self-worth

Because the specifics have yet to be realized
This was story of my mind
I voided myself

Dissonance felt calm
As wavelengths perused
The earthy sands
Printed their scattered
Particles
Dust flames
Bubbling experiences
Explored moments
Have been the seas
Waiting to erupt into volcanic domes

Lava drenches all that make us: afraid is when the air is nothing but pressure
A temporary frontal sinusitis
Hoping for Freedom from arrested development
Not enough reflection
Felt like Creating everything else
but a still life



I am looking for my other
In another place

I’ve heard for so long:

“You’ve seen so much
Which enables you
To understand so much”


The lack inside
Composed
My cravings
To raise a standard in me
I never knew existed

Acting on all of my learning
Accumulated awareness
as a young adult woman

This is the beauty of  
Transformation

To know when it’s your time
and to do it with care