art can be audial and visual, y'know
(is audial a word?)

art can be the triangular flap! of a butterfly’s wings
or the circular, roving buzZzz of a mosquito

art can be simple, art can be sleek
art can be loud when life is bleak

art can rhyme sometimes
but it doesn’t have to

art can be time and time can be space and space and time can be anything

anything you want

art can be anything you want

why do i run?
why because

i trip
          i fall
  i stumble
                   i break

i mistake and repeat
get back on my feet

and soon no one has seen me
        soon no one has a clue

i do not just run
i run away

the me-est me is the me that knows
you’ll never see me again

My mother doesn’t know me
She thinks she knows me
But she is wrong

She knows a girl
Strong and wise
Never faltering
Never stuttering
Never stopping
The girl she knows is a bee
Not a flower

She knows a girl
Who never backs down
Who looks at mountains and says,
“bet”
Who sometimes
And only sometimes
Lets out a little cry
When others are hurt
But never cries
For herself

She does not know the girl
Who hides her sadness
In a cloak of shame
and duty

She does not know the girl
Who sometimes
And more than sometimes
Cries
For herself
Or for no reason at all

She does not know the girl
Who feels like the bar is getting higher and higher
But is chained to the ground
And wishes she could fly

She does not know a girl
Small and scared
Never sure
Never confident
Never stopping
But running in circles

My mother doesn’t know me
Because she doesn't know herself

She moves just like water
She is water

She fits seamlessly in everything
She knows her boundaries

                but if you test Her
                        when you test Her
                                She will freeze - expand - break free

She is water
And She is danger

She is way too much for you

As time goes on
I think
More and more about feathers
How light they are
If I could stand on a feather
and float in the wind

Where
Would
I
Be

…..on the ground somewhere
                                                                                   At least I’d be far away

raw and red
red and raw

It’s obvious the cycle will continue

Until all the muscle is exposed
And You are covered in her skin
Extra armor for yourself
Leaving her… defenseless

She is strong
She will stay
Until You’ve withered her away

Isn’t it ironic?
The less You do, the more she hurts

And yet You refuse to stay      away from the skinless woman
Refuse to let her heal

At some point You will break her
Will it make You feel better about your broken self?

There are no alternatives
Only the same option manifesting itself in different ways

ever thought about how
    Time never ceases to Tick
steadily

further


from



a

















beginning


and

Tock
steadily
closertoanend?

how do you feel?        has it hit you yet?
the discomfort?
the nausea? that comes with the knowledge that every choice must be made and must be made soon and must be made right or there will be no. more choices to make?


I hate periods.
The finality.
Like a sentence
Has died.
.