Perhaps it beats for
The lust engraved among it;
As ventricles sing,
And as blue flows from the veins,
My love beats proudly for you.
A blooming life grows
Among the healthy green vines
Of the strands inside,
Each with buds from flowered flesh
That blushes brightly through skin.
Skin of the petals,
A rosy kiss that glows on
Much past the garden;
Past the bark of ashy trees
And past the shielded ocean.
My patches, dancing.
Swaying in the soft, crisp wind
To keep on chiming.
Had it not been a lush breeze,
My heat would then carry on.
For whom I seek touch,
My heart yearns for crimson thoughts.
For whom I sway long,
Past the forest of my mind
In the roots of my true wants.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
“Son,
Bite your nails and make them rough like the burliness set beside you.
Don’t let tears fall like streaked sweat along the fabric of your skin
And speaking of your skin,
Let it dry;
Dry it with the blood of your heart so that men will nod and boys will bow to your feet,
The same way a curtain sways at the touch of strong wind
Let your strong limbs, your embedded masculinity rise within
And roar.
Take down all the boys and rise
Like a man.
Let your hands clash
Like a man.
Let your emotions die and your body live
Like a man.
Stop laying your hands on your hips while you speak.
Stop allowing your razor to cut strands off your legs.
A real man has hair,
Hair that flows like strings across the frame of your limbs
And your sides,
The space between your thighs
And speaking of which,
Let your emotions flow inside a woman for her to love you.
Love a woman like the woman she is,
And be a man like the man you are.
But certainly,
Most importantly,
Act. Like a man.
Show her what’s between your legs
And love what’s between hers.
She won’t refuse
And she won’t cut back.
She loves men.
She only loves men.
She is a girl,
And she’ll only love you if you act like a man.
You must act like a man.
You must dress like a man.
Strip off the layers of feminine odor
Take off that necklace,
Take out that mindset
Undress from that dress of indecisiveness
And appreciate what I gave you.
Clean up those cosmetics.
Clean up your act.
Quit quietly cooking that head of yours
Into the land of ridiculousness.
Change what those demons have created
And act. Like a man.”
But father,
What is a man.
Is a man someone who differs from those with different heads.
Is a man someone who keeps his hair short but his ego long.
Is a man someone who dwells in their own glory but refuses to acknowledge the worth of others.
Is a man tall?
Is a man short?
Is a man big?
Is a man small?
Is that a man who walks the streets in pursuit,
A cigarette dangling from his dead fingers.
Is that a man who feels the soft skin of a flower
Yet too ignorant and too lazy to care for it
So they pluck her while she’s still pretty
Then when bored, leave her to dry in the midst of a desert.
Is that a man who dares call a woman ***** upon refusal
Yet easy when she accepts.
Is that a man who lingers on his own masculinity,
Entrapped in his ****** scent of hormones
Yet too ignorant to recognize the life he could have
If, just if,
He gave a look into the reflection of the water
Just to see himself for once.
Is that a man who makes false claims
Yet lives in complete hypocrisy.
Is that a man who has the nerve to defend lost causes when a woman speaks the truth?
Then I am not a man.
I am not a man.
I never was.
I never was confined in the stereotype you set aside for me,
Nor was a piece in the patriarchy
That was once built with honor
Now wrecked with the tomb of lies that all who were the norm,
Remain the norm,
And stay the norm,
Holding power over all for their own benefit.
I never was a man,
Never like a man,
And never will be a man.
If a man is all you told me to be,
If a man is what all you claim,
If a man is what you took from your father
And gave to your own,
Then I am not that man.
They weren’t demons.
They were me.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:21 PM UTC
Screaming goes the midday sun
As voices move and footsteps chatter
Words of promise and love and romance rise
Onto the forest green of the world
Never did her skin match the surface of her crimson heart
Never did her eyes shine nor blind the people of her choosing
Never did her face seem to catch the sulken view of suitors
Nor did her voice capture the attention of the world
The world denied her and she denied the world
Yet her feet painted colours of their very own
Making a masterpiece
A collision
A line-by-line pattern of golden streaks of colours
That kept at their place
Kept where she stood
Aligned perfectly with the rise of the sun and the fall of the moon
According to the ones who saw
According to the ones who knew
And according to the ones who left
Misinterpretation never dignifies the righteousness of a canvas
Nor does it eliminate the mere reason for it’s purpose
A single streak can own much value,
While a collection could just be patterns;
A child’s word can be easily heard
But intertwining it around your mind is much harder.
She glazed her ground with the rainbows of her tips
Her voice not heard but her creations seen
And while an audience of words is not received
The birds of heaven don’t forget.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:18 PM UTC
Red was the glow in his eyes,
The way his tinted lips took my attention
on an early glowing evening.
His sight sparked many shades of red,
And that of orange.
Orange was a layer of a tropical sky,
The sun casting down gently on such a gazeful gent.
As glistening was the pigment of a fine ring,
A mold had shaped his warm summer tan;
His skin a golden yellow.
Yellow was his natural shine,
A daisy in the midst of a patch of posies.
His character shined brighter than the exterior of his sky burnt skin,
And of that of any man I’ve come to know,
His flowery nature lasting among his sun-kissed petals,
Down to his burly stems of green
Green was the field of grass where we grew,
Our souls intertwining in such a lovely concoction.
I’ve never stopped to wonder which way the wind blew,
Or which direction sent the earthy string of nature ablaze,
Each strand flowing in an individual direction.
He held my hand through it all,
Our bodies lain across the patch.
Our hands encased and wrapped together.
Our eyes kept focused at atmosphere’s midnight blue.
Blue was our love.
The color of blood that ran through his veins
in which I knew gave him life,
And gave me mine.
Blue was the color of his jeans which excited me through their texture,
Their scent,
The sole object on him that I’ve come to realize was there the entire time,
From the lavender of a morning sky,
Casted down to the purple of an evening indigo,
Indigo was the night he loved me under the moon,
When the stars shined bright over our faces,
And the touch of his skin shined brighter than the stars themselves,
Among these constellations lying the pavement of a wind sulk violet.
Violet was the essence of his pores,
The essence that lasted longer than the span of life.
His natural aura glowed between us,
The same way a rainbow would shed its own;
A multitude of… colors.
Colors were his eyes.
His skin.
His smile.
His soul.
Colors were our blood.
Our scents.
Our sights.
Our sounds.
Colors were our everything,
From the moment he’d wake in bed,
To the last lovely thought he’d have when drifting into a slumbering sleep.
Colors were his height.
His hair.
His heart.
His hope.
Colors were my mind.
My thoughts.
My wants.
My desires.
Colors were mine.
But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the moon rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A rainbow only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A rainbow only lasts for as long as he would allow.
For as long as he’d keep close attention to the surface,
He would only stay colored until his own face would dim into dust.
Suddenly the colors I once knew faded into shades of their own.
Red was the anger in his eyes.
Orange was the smoke,
The trail of his dead skin.
Yellow was the ***** of liquid poison,
The temptations of fermented gold that forever laid upon his tainted breath.
Green was the sickness of a disease,
His once foresty lungs and fiery stems gradually fading into their collapse.
Blue was his dried out veins.
Indigo were the bruises.
Indigo was the color of a midnight sky filled with constant arguing,
Our once amorous souls now unbinding into a useless string.
Violet was the last scent I breathed when he left me.
And soon after,
The departure of that one man,
Was the arrival of terror.
At the slam of the door,
And the silence of the night,
The colors soon faded as fast as he disappeared.
Suddenly, the cast of darker shades,
Darker sights,
Darker thoughts came along,
My feet drowning in the black that was once a puddle,
Now an ocean of thick dark water that spurt its heavy flavor into the throat of my own mouth.
The storm took me over faster than what I could remember;
What was once left a color now drowned in the black of evil emotions.
Memories broke down in the lightening of my mind,
The hope diminishing faster than I could see.
The black took control of who I used to be,
The darkness growing from what he took.
What was once love died into loss,
My heart no longer pumping the same red from before.
No longer glowing from the sky’s orange from before.
No longer warm like the yellow sky from before.
No longer growing in the green from before.
No longer controlled by the blue from before.
No longer resting on indigo night’s from before.
No longer essence of violets from before.
Before, my colors ranged from lights and darks,
But now,
Everything is black.
But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the mood rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A storm only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A storm only lasts for as long as I would allow.
Gazing into the pitch black of the sea,
I know of what comes next.
As soon as the last blue tidal wave crashes,
As the glimpse of reds and oranges flow back from the abyss of indigoes and violets,
As the green glistens godly at the sight of the golden, yellow sun,
I come to realize:
The longer a storm crashes down on what you once felt,
The colors of a rainbow arrive faster.
I wait for what brightens again.
He may have drained what was left of the Earth,
But he can’t stop it from replenishing.
Neither… can I.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
Its thick leather wraps like the layer of skin
Broken into by God
Our souls resting beneath its core
Its veins run course from the streaks of light it sheds
A delicate orb of moisture providing the very same life you once had
Now snapped at the vine of Earth
Banished forth to the afterlife of our bodies
And now torn by the thick paws of the beast
Claws rushing down your spherical canvas from the moment HE swallowed your breath
To the day He ripped all else from the tree
What gives you the urge to trickle the bright red from your blanket
Once patterned with gold but now soiled in the aftermath of a war
I used to breathe love but my lungs breathed hate
The same way a fire gives warmth but will shed to **** life
The corpse of your tongue stays moist and warmer than all
The sole pallette living with the flavor of fruit
Craving life like the way you crave it's sweetness
But once the taste dies down
So does your will to continue on
Thus the consumption of the fruit is the desecration of a breathe
Your last memory of your last sense
The touch of a golden sun
And the grime of a sweetened moon
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 12:22 PM UTC