Your lips taste like cigarettes and your thighs feel like porcelain and I just can't decide which I love more

"I want to be a poet. That's the only thing I really want.
I want to find my own way of writing, my own style.
I know I haven't yet, but I am striving to do so.
How should I put it? It's very hard to explain.

I want to write in a way that they writing is me- is myself.  I want to write so that what I write and the way I write is me, because of the choice of words and the arrangement of the words, the way I combine them, group them together, orchestrate them. For me words are music as well as- as much as- they are meanings.
Writing is different from talk."

-Cordelia
This is All
Aidan Chambers

-
- Moments. Tiny moments. Big moments. Unexpected moments. I've-been-waiting-my-whole-life-for-this moments.
- Seeing the world through the cracks in its mask; directly in its eyes (or where the holes should be at least).
- Accepting the all-round unimportance of humanity to the world but giving the world to humanity. There is no definition of who or what a good person is. So hold positive qualities (like love, honesty, rebelliousness, compassion, affection) in your palms and give your true self to the world. Tell yourself you are good. In turn, you then will be.
- Treat the Earth nicely. You have a short stay and after all, you're just part of an energy system. Be nice to Pluto too. God forbid, it could use it.

Windy torrents of water and thunders echo
against a silent brown house,
It's large grey doors open, shrill voices sing,
chandeliers burn...
more sounds are heard outside, like a hailing.
chandeliers burning the ceiling...
statue wax ivory figures melt, burning in their
passion, melting turned violet red they have become
hopeful, promises of painless joys, power over
wars, famine, disease and all things of darkness
are whispered in hushed sincerity and prayers
but still vague and opaque.
Even now a banging of hail, leaves upon a pane
all the doors blow open now
and with a shriek all of wind in the drops are
scattered drenching, so even the mid morning rain
can still drip earth upon the clear white figures
revealing their true origin
rendered **** by what once made them.

I am the lamp, I am this lighting, using up electricity
I am the wall, I am this part of your expensive home
I am the car, I ride too and from, to work and fun
I am the computer, I addict you and take up your time
I am the heater, I warm you and keep you from sickness
I am the stove, I cook your food and boil your water
I am the fridge, I protect your food and liquids from spoiling
INSTANTLY

And you are my slave, you will do what I say in return,
Anything and everything, now that you have these things,
You can never be alone, never have a day off, never be free,
Never have enough time to rest or stay at home with family,
*EVER AGAIN.