everywhere I venture,
I don't stay long.
living out of suitcases
and singing indie songs.

It's an addiction
The feeling of ink to paper flowing from the mind to a needle delivering relief
It's an affliction
A disease that manifests itself as dialogue and description
It's an abomination
A beast that bares its teeth and sinks into the page
It's creation
That bleeds and breathes and loves and hates and learns
It's desolation
That manipulates and destroys enveloping the world in its darkness
It's imagination
That addicts, creates, and destroys nothing *but the mind

A woman in heaven caused the fall of man,
Even though the apple was plucked by her man.
A woman in Troy caused a ****** old war,
Brave men fought for the honour of possessing her.
A woman in Judea gave birth to a baby boy,
Whose tongue caused upheavals that's felt to this day.

A woman in a bikini is a poster for her own liberation,
While in a burka she is a symbol of her own oppression.
She must be the cause of her own sexploitations,
For her assets fulfil the ogling market's expectations.

When she's *****, it must be her fault in some way,
For as she passes by, her brethren look the other way.
A young woman is responsible for her own lynching,
If she dishonours her brethren for her lover's calling.
As a child she is the cause of her own infanticide,
For she is the bearer of ill-omens and misfortune.

Has anyone ever asked her if she wants to be a poster,
Or a commodity, or a bearer of their burden and slander?
Beware how you treat her, for she is above all a mother,
Whose hands may cradle the next saint, thief or ******.

our flaws don't define us
they make us who we are
stretch marks, dimples
and all of your scars
each mark is a star
in your body's constellation
and though they tear us apart
we can't let them
no matter what
if we accept them or change
they will be used against us,
people will find a way
so we have to call them beautiful
look at them and smile
because they make us, us
they make us worthwhile

In my mind you began as a sketch
A rough idea
Vague outlines
Over time you've gained dimension
Careful shading
Color slowly creeping across the page
I look at this portrait of you
And it's almost real
Almost
But not quite
Maybe with some more time
You'll let me close enough
So I can compare my work
Perfect it
Capture your essence
In acrylics smeared across a canvas
In my mind you began as a sketch
But I won't be satisfied until
You're complete

I can see the footsteps
on my soul
From where you walked
all over me

And I won't brush
away the dirt left
From the bottom
of your shoes
Because I miss you
and it serves as
A good reminder
of what was

when I was younger, I wish that somebody told me
that happiness is free. it's watching the lightning storm
on the balcony by the beach with your family.
it’s dancing barefoot to Steely Dan
in the kitchen with your little sister,
even though neither of you know the words.
it’s laughing harder than you ever have before
in the back of the red pickup truck.
it’s you best friend telling you that she wouldn’t have
survived the summer without you.
these small moments add up
to a greater sum than you won in the lottery.

sometimes, I think about the day I lost you.
it didn't come in waves, like I was accustomed to.
a single tsunami washed over me,
knocked me out, and I forgot how to breathe.
I was petrified because it was like you took me with you
and my body wasn't my home anymore.
a large part of me died with you that day.
they told me that that part would get smaller over time,
but I'm not so sure that's true. I had no say in the matter.
all I could do was lay on my cousin's couch
until the water drained from my lungs.

you haven't changed your
profile picture since I left.
I don't know it that's because
you stayed the same,
or if you've changed so much
that you can't recognize yourself anymore.