I have always thought that if
you can touch someone's hand
without them
cringing
and
if they can drink
out of the same bottle as you,
then,
you are close.

Age is an illusion (to me),
and time is made up.
I love to indulge in philosophical conversations
and decadent flavors of people.

When I was six I spilled
a gallon of milk
down the stairs
and I cried and cried for days.

I still don't know my lefts from my rights
but
I sure as hell know my wrongs.

I have always tried my best to
sweep myself under the rug
out of fear
of running into
that Fiery Unearthly Woman
and the green-eyed man.
Who doesn’t know art
without a fist.

I am often told I have an old soul,
but my conjoined twin
lingers
in the aroma of incense and
tequila sunrises.

I grew up in slummy pubs
with scruffy men
chomping on tomato guts
who reflect on their
******* visits and complain
about their payroll.
To this day,
people watching
will always be my favorite sport.

Bludgeons to the head are not
self-inflicted,
Everything's a choice.
Only,
I have been influenced by
crooked bodies who don't
know the meaning of
a little something I call
Peace
and
Love
are all you need in a world
where the people
are too busy tying their shoes.

Reincarnation is one of my many beliefs,
however,
I Refuse
to tie myself down,
I like to say I'm a
“free spirit”,
whatever that is.

And
if I were a cat
with nine lives,
I'd be pushing number seven
by now.

But I still stick by the fact that
I was born to the wrong place
at the wrong time.

I know that if I were a speck of cosmic dust
I would be content,
but until then
I fill the void with
unrequited love and chocolate milkshakes.

I have an obsession with dying my hair,
but I'm too chicken to do anything drastic.

I am a
non-meat-eating-
soul-searching-
animal-rights-digging-
bit-of-­a-hippie-
pacifist -
with a coexist bumper sticker tattooed on my forehead.
Yes, I am that girl
who writes letters to Congress
regarding the cruel treatment of chimpanzees in circuses
and the brutality of foie gras.

If I could
I would save all the polar bears
and clean up all the
littered gum wrappers,
but I am fatigued by the
immorality
of it all.

I hate horror,
thriller,
and gore,
but,
that doesn't stop me from
watching documentaries on Anne Frank
and mental asylums in the 1950s.

According to white lab coats and
shattered spectacles-
My capacity for durability is dwindling
and it's only a matter of time before
I collapse like an abandoned building.
I suppose it's much too difficult
for a “disturbed” “young” “lady”
“like” “myself”.

When I was 7 I drew a picture of a family
and a white picket fence
for my mother,
who never truly understood
how hard it was for me
to color in the lines,
and,
who didn't think twice
as she shredded it
into fourths
in front of my face.

I still remember that day
when she locked the door and
tried to close her eyes,
and I still remember the day
I tried to do the same.
There's this prepreprenatal desire
for little beings
I can sing “Danny's Song” to
in a rocking chair.  

Despite all my goals in this life,
they will always come first.

I chew on my nails when I'm nervous
and I pace when I'm scared.
Fear will always be my strong.point.

I'm an artist
in that
I'm an actor
in that
I'm a person.
Even though,
I'm not
exactly sure
what any of those are
yet.

I have a horrible habit of biting my lip
and re-washing every piece of silverware
before I use it.

I'm all about the classics.
There is beauty
in the
skipped
heartbeats of vinyl
and I don't mind the
crackling sound
one bit.

When I was 8 I would give
the night sky
“moon cookies”.
I thought that She must get hungry,
having to fold in and out
by dusk.  

I love the smell of garages and old books,
but I wouldn't want to make a habit
of living in either.
Being stuck in the residue of past instances
is not my cup of tea,
I prefer chamomile,
and I prefer to keep moving.

I drink my coffee black with extra ice
while my therapist drinks it
light and sweet.
I think that says a lot about our personalities.

In the rare times when
my neutered temper gets the best of me,
my eyes turn a disgusting
shade of green.

The movie “Grease” gives me
melancholia. And I often feel
like I'm wasting my
“youth”
on perpetual thinking patterns
and preparing for christmas in mid-July.

I really wish I could be a
“beauty school drop-out”,
but it's much too unstable.....
which is why I'm going to be an actor.

Selective memory causes me strife;
I don't recall
the distributive property of division,
but I sure as hell can tell you every
word you've ever said to me.

Bittersweet nostalgia
makes me gag now-a-days
because I can't relive
those tender moments
quite as often
as I need to.

I am terribly
afraid
that I cling
too much
to the saviors
I deem dear
to my existence.

I get attached
way
too easily,
and I fear
I stifle wings.

It has taken me an insane amount of time
to value the breath
that flows in and out of my
stale lungs.

Luckily,  
angelic spirits
got my back.

Tape doesn't hold everything together,
but band-aids do help.
And
It bothers me that in ten years
I probably won't speak
to any of the people
who have ever meant
something

and
eventually
everything will
drift away
into unattainable
oblivion.

If I could I would live on a bus
and drive around the country
like a silly gypsy child,
but I don't have the energy
or desire
to
leave it all behind.

In the end,
I am completely aware
that I'll always be
a decomposing mess,
but,


I don't mind existence.

Photo shoot
These pictures will be different
Than the ones I've taken of myself
These ones aren't for men who disappear
These ones won't make me feel cheap

These ones won't require me to strip away my pride
These ones I can be proud of

Smooth A Scarlet
Messy hair
Pale skin
Red lips
Tights
Heels

Like slipping into a new skin
I'll be remade
Be given a new name
A different story

Who am I?
Anything you want me to be
Today I am Scarlet
Today I am new

"it'll be quick, just count to three."
i sit drenched in nostalgia,
(also known as "Polo Blue")
afloat in thoughts.
and you told me not to panic
because if you panic,
you drown.

"one."
most days i'd sit on the roof wanting to scream,
and sometimes i'd want to jump off.
but i did neither because i knew you wouldn't come rushing
to kiss all that was hurt.
(like that one time i scabbed my knee at aunt norma's, do you remember?)
so instead i sat there wishing to see you hang
the christmas lights like you did
every year, the day after thanksgiving.

"two."
i'd be tempted by your ties still
hanging in your closet that still smell like you.
but i knew you'd tell me to quit playing with them,
(like when i was five, do you remember that?)
because you'd need them for work the next day.
so i left them alone hoping to be able to
watch you tie your tie once more and
actually learn to tie one myself.

"three."
i'd throw myself into the pool,
hoping the rules of buoyancy wouldn't apply.
but i keep floating above, just like you said i would.
(remember me being so scared to do that?)
i don't even panic anymore.
you taught me well,
but not well enough.
because it isn't panic that is drowning me.
it's the sea of thoughts that are
sinking me slowly, but surely.
i've counted to three and it's not quick enough.

so i continue to recount because
what you always said was true.
and i hope what you say is true,
because i keep hoping to hear you say,
"it'll be quick, just count to three."

Society, the embodiment of human securities
Is in reality the stark confirmation  
Of a conglomerate of screaming insecurities
Begging….its leaders….fervent introspection

Bending logic is an art perfected by all
Regardless of creed class or stature
No wonder the walk is seemingly a hard laboured crawl
Culminating into deep exposed…psychological sutures

**Beings are bedevilled by a roving myopia
Craving a farfetched grandiose utopia
That’s why a bespectacled cynicism
Is ironically of essence…to neutralise a deep rooted parochialism

Gone are the days of yore
When intellectualism was a preserve
Of the privileged and distinguished in society
A family ‘heirloom’ passed on to succeeding generations

Over the years the human mind
Has morphed into a think tank of awe and bamboozlement
An object for advancement…and destruction almost in equal measure
A portal to self-destruction

Political pundits passionately discourse in the corridors
Of power over an issue as mundane as   food taxes
Am ****** if this aint a move to subjugate the populace
Whilst reveling in the guise of representing the best interests of the electorate

It’s a slap in the face of reason and logic
A soiling and tainting of mother earth’s unconditional benevolence
Extended to her humble earthlings as bountiful harvest
But a means of self-aggrandizement it is for the politicians and their loyalists
Apparently this is *political correctness