If you don't heal what hurt you,

You'll bleed on people who didn't cut you.

i want to write about a
specific person
but putting him into
words
would be like trying to
explain
life
itself

You have a hold on me.
Spinning my mind off,
Heart beating faster,
Fogging of my eyes,
I lose out control,
You own me.

when you said
“she’s the love of my life”
i didn’t hear it
i felt it

and it felt an awful lot
like a shattering heart

She is a star child
The way her smile shines so bright
Her pure innocence lights up the room
We all were star children
At some time in our lives
But all stars die out eventually

She was a star child
✭

it’s only in your head
until it kills you
~j.l.

If someone  is making you feel
lonely
unheard
unnoticed
misunderstood
- youre better off alone

and one day
your name didn‘t make
me smile anymore

This would fall apart
if not for your adhesive
keeping it intact.

BLT

Spilling out secrets
Like a dripping faucet
We play through the night
You hold me as the sun comes up
But nothing is new
This comfort is not unique
Sewing my chest back together
With a wine stained thread
Pull my hair
And the seams grow closer together

I heard a bird
it chirped
with glee
my phone it burped
with urgency
I looked outside
and then to screen
another message
from you to me.

I had coffee and a cigarette for breakfast
So yeah I'm doing fine
I've become good at taking weight off of other peoples shoulders
and
Searching for happiness in everything

Bird's whispering tree,
sensational transition,
connecting vision

with senses out of
body's mission to transform
into formless joy.

Some roses, scentless
they might appear relentless,
the slower you smell

the bigger they swell
openly inviting cells
feeling what they have

to tell of fusion
could be just illusion now,
within themselves it could

be

falling out of skins
when hearts turn plenty into
overflowing day.

wri
ting is
threading
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
secrets
you'll
get
po
ke
d
a
l
i
t
t
l
e
.

somewhere between the fourth and fifth

load of laundry,

sometime after breakfast~lunch,
now served in the USA at home,
as an all day meal, per the edict of Mcdonalds,
start fixing dinner, take a break, walk to the mailbox,
retrieve the post and quick retreat back inside,
ah that Texas sun, bilingual chili hot,
toss the unopened on the prior weeks pile,
cause everyone loves company

the home-cold-brewed ice coffee needs a filling
for the fridge has decided not to help
by automatically refilling the pitcher

even if it could
I, busy folding,
needing two hands
and all my teeth
for folding my master’s rocket ship

sheets

my master observes with one of his alternating demeanors,
this one, super silent watching, announcing that  I need a nap:

“don't you always say, baby,
take a nap when you can, baby,
for when you need one, baby,
you probably won’t be able, my baby”

with selected-hand-led fingers,
he lays me down to sleep,
bids me to slow slide to dreamland, dinner will keep,
curling inside my frame, hands a-cupping my *******,  
telling me a drowsy tale, inherited from his mother’s womb
and his granddaddy’s tongue, mindful of his family’s history

there, is where, they find us,
dinner fixings burnt,
me and my five year old baby boy,
still sleeping fast, around 5pm, bodies enwrapped,
tied by blood and entwined in old nursery rhymes,
Texas tall tales of Pecos Bill,
me and my very own

nap-ster master

<•>

p.s.  and they call me by my other name to wake me, momma

Many guilty unsure whispers
Through capable, crooked, smiles
Perfectly gleaming unspoken problems