i stopped wearing my heart on my sleeve,
when you peeled it off and made it your home;
now i keep it hidden away
somewhere within the depths of your own.

“I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8. See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms? Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree? And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek? Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad, even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel. See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving. And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I wanna know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds.

Darkness spilt in here today,
bled more like it.
Seeped between cracks in the linoleum
and slowly climbed the wall.

Soon it covered the fluorescents,
started to drip,
formed a puddle on my arm
didn't burn like I expected.

Rather,it soothed
and gently reassured;
told me how light is conditional
but darkness is lasting.

Darkness told me why fireflies prefer the light:
It absorbs them.
Leaves them suspended,
they're not fireflies anymore.
Just light.
Empty space, hanging there.

At dusk they return,
burdened by selfhood,
remembering what NOTHING felt like:
anatomy betrays them too soon.

Darkness has to go now,
back through the linoleum.
It tells me that people like me,
lingerers,
are never far from the darkness,
you just have to see through
All these **** lights.

What would you rather
me do for death?
Jump oceans and climb sandstorms
or take one last sweet breath?

What would you rather
me do to survive?
Rip off my eyeballs
or watch you take strides?

What would you rather
me to be, happy or sad?
Because right about now
I feel simply mad.

And you are the cause
of my destructive self.
Whether you like it or not,
your picture's off my shelf.

I know it makes you sob, but please try to understand.
We’re pulling dead bodies out of ditches again, we, being I,
you’re just watching again, you’re always just watching, again.
This road isn’t familiar, maybe it’s just the glare of the headlights
The street is a dance of white hot diamonds on my bare feet,
does the heat mean its summer again?
You’re waiting for me again, but you’re never waiting for me again
You’re pulse is keeping rhythm with my footsteps,
There are so many more bodies that are calling for me
But there you are again, speaking my name.

Forty Years of Kristi, A Gift to the World

Forty years of living, giving of yourself,
Creating a life so pregnant with delight,
That e’en the stars, like playtoys of a heavenly elf,
Roll and bounce to celebrate your Light.

Your life, young Kristi, is a packaged gift,
Brimming with millions of self-discovered skills,
With some you sing; with others, give a lift,
With yet more, you till the soil and hills.

How ironic, you Child of the Stars,
That in forty years of gifting Of yourself,
Your gift, To you, is never very far;
Just hold their little hands, and view yourself.

Forty years, for you, may seem quite old.
But for a star, ‘tis Infancy in Gold.



-Matthew Morris McCormick

Something that's left
You will only see right
Come down  from your throne
You'll be seeing stars tonight
Abuse,
Sorrow,
Addiction,
Regret,
If I could tell you four small words
I'm everything but sorry.

Roses are dead
Violets are few
Sugar is bland
Forgiveness is, too.

Bloodstains are red
Bruises are blue
Poison is sweet
Revenge is, too. <3