When I'm no longer twenty in two days I will be twenty-one and that's really all I have to say about the matter.

moving that morning felt easy
my lifeline was long and thick
my head was normal size and not any thicker than normal
the cats were in good spirits the art on the wall was patient but not expecting anything
I'm not expecting anything
I woke up and I was not expecting anything

this blue light has grey shadows
you're blue with grey

climbing down and settling with the pebbles and shards of bone

I take the paper from the walls and make stars

I'm 12 and I've been reading for 352 days straight and I have no interest in the people around me and why should I?
I'm 14 in this one and my sheets have polka dots on them and my pillow is Avril Lavigne's face and I'm thinking about the girl at school with pink hair and slow penmanship.
When I'm 16 you are 15 and holding my hand and I'm asking about french homework and trying not to focus on the movement of your thumb around mine which is not friendship.
This time I'm 21 and your thick bones outline my thin and I like this small feeling.

If the grass could talk it'd probably ask me to get off of it and if the trees could talk they'd probably cry for their brothers and sisters chopped down and if the dirt could talk it'd probably ask for a light, it's dark underneath us
if the sky could talk it'd probably lose its voice anyways from cussing out the truck drivers and factory workers
if the buildings could talk I wonder if they'd get along
if my walls could talk it probably wouldn't change anything and
if I could talk I'd probably have something to say to you.
What an incredible power to be able to **** the sound out of everything around you and turn it into noise.

deep purple
mauve maybe
in the month of may
diving
swimming
blue navy blue
turquoise grey teal and green
earth green like mushroom
dirt brown
black as ash
grey as it too
gray grey
gray grey
soft not a whisper never yells either
don't tell me what to do though
or how to see
i have eyes and my ears
are alive and my cats stretch and my coffee is burnt and my roommate
is gone and i
am singing
and i see the strings and hear the room and they are not yelling no one is yelling or whispering or hushing up or talked over because i am alone.
why did you assume i am sad, then?
i am not.

orange bodies in the
yellow light in the afternoon
green thumbs in the garden
blue lips at night standing at the crosswalk