There’s lace blooming in my mouth.
But I hold it down,
Hammering nails into my tongue,
So that you’ll never see,
What dips beneath the spit.

There’s lace blooming in my mouth,
And it grows from under the muscle,
Billowing and curling,
Until I have to clench my yellowing teeth so you won’t know.

There’s lace blooming in my mouth,
And it teases my lips,
As I try to bite them shut,
Until a trickle of blood dyes the concealed lace.

There’s lace blooming from my mouth.
It’s scarlet tresses cascade over my barriers,
And falls to the floor.
It takes over the carpet,
Creeping up desks and chairs,

Trying to bury in my fists what I could never suppress.
And I grip the fabric in anticipation.

The world will never forget May 5th,
when my birthmother’s piercing call disturbed the atmosphere,
Forcing the Monday clouds into hiding.
It will never forget how the rivers dried up,
After the months of mourning my coming,
And Jordan’s death,
How within that nurturing cradle I ended his existence,
Before he even had a chance to live,
The twin I’d never come to know,
A name I’ll never forget.
The new moon shriveled at my arrival,
Bringing forth a moonless night.
My birth being the beginning of their war,
As my grandma and birthmother fired their weapons,
Mere inches from gashing each other.
I became the ruin of their lives,
The downfall of my birthmother.
And yet this catastrophe lit up the sun,
So that even at night,
A halo circled the Earth,
“Wished for child”
My future parent’s hope,
A candle in their devastation,
To the stranger’s willing to save my life.

On this path she walked down,
She found a wilting rose,
Alone in it's sorrows.
Once there stood names,
each containing a face she would never recognize,
A story her lips could never speak,
Unless she first asked.
These names were chairs,
waiting for someone to sit,
But their owners will never again visit them.
She found a wilting rose,
But once there were many,
Blooming Roses,
As red as the vibrant liquid that once filled these names,
Now empty words sitting on tongues unable to be whispered.
Bright White carnations,
Hoping for doorsteps to be walked on,
and the sweet sweet tune of, "I'm home"
To ring through the entrance,
Families would smoother their loved one,
Just for walking in the door.
But the wind pushes the flowers from their chairs,
To be trampled on the path.
She places them back in their seats,
As if she too believes the carnations lies.
The next day a name was removed,
An empty chair stood,
as if no one belonged there.
For who would dare remember a single name,
When a whole aisle stands before you?
Again she left the chairs to mourn their emptiness,
To forget their existence until the next time through.
But there were only flowers lining the grass where chairs once were,
As if the disappearance of a name reminded the others that they too would vanish,
And just like that,
The field was barren besides a single rose.
The snow turning to grass,
Winter to spring.
For the world moves on,
And names will go unspoken in time.
This rose will wither.

Everything you say is but a lie,
It melts over your lips as if stormy winds were ascending,
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly,

The murky waters pouring from your eyes will not dry,
as if your words were worth defending,
Everything you say is but a lie.

And I am done faking my reply,
As if what you say could ever be less than offending.
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly.

I am sick of forever trying to satisfy,
an ear so condescending,
Everything you say is but a lie.

But no matter how hard I try,
To you, my heart will never be worth lending.
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly,

To someone I could not defy,
To your every action I am done assenting.
Everything you say is but a lie,
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly.

Everything you say is but a lie,
It melts over your lips as if stormy winds were ascending,
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly,

The murky waters pouring from your eyes are unending -
streams, as if your words were worth defending,
Everything you say is but a lie.

And I am done pretending,
That what you say could ever be less than offending.
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly.

I am sick of forever venting,
to an ear so condescending,
Everything you say is but a lie.

But no matter how hard I try,
To you my heart will never be worth lending.
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly,

To someone incapable of spending-
time with me, to your every action I am done assenting.
Everything you say is but a lie,
This caged monstrosity within my chest was but a butterfly.

'What ifs' are the sheets I choke on at night.
They Knott around my tongue,
And pull tight,
Till sand pours from the small muscle.
These waves of questions, forever lapping at the shores of my bedside.
I lay on it's beaches,
Unable to be lured to sleep.
Self-reprimandation is the caffeine I drink at 3:30 am
and by 5
I'm surfing the waves of mistakes I've made over the last few days,
and every hour stacks years into the currents.
But I'm pulled under by the tidal waves of
'what's wrong with me'
until I drown in the slumber of my tears.

They say there is a man in the moon,
How he got stuck in that orb they’ll never know – But I do.
I say that there is a man in our sky.
The stars are the freckles dotting his face,
Gifted to him by his golden eye,
Each dot fading behind a pale blush by morning,
As his glimmering eye guards the day,
So his moonlit eye can rest.
A quiet observer,
He watches over this world,
A dinner table of his entertainment,
Watching the living from day to day.
But by nightfall,
Our man in the moon,
Is but a reflection of himself,
Painted in the glimmering iris.

I wish to leave my body,
Keeping my soul tacked beneath my skin,
So that as Gemini I could exist,
Both within and without, myself.
I wish to kiss my insecurity,
And tell myself of my worth.
Judgment lays before me and God,
None other  know each and every causation.
Yet instead,
This other me is poised,
Knife in hand.
Her palms are stained red,
Cutting my soul is no new hobby of hers.
I long for her,
To recognize me as good enough,
Cute,
Smart,
But she refuses,
And stabs the knife again.

I want her to stay,
How I long for winter snow to never melt.
I beg her tires to fall from the axels,
To keep her near.
To cage such a bird,
Who has never sang before me,
Yet I can’t help but question,
What if she were to stay?
I long for a mother’s embrace,
And tremble at it’s absence.
Her words fall bittersweet,
Kissing her tongue in sour tones.
Telling me of our alikeness,
Makes the flowers in my ribcage bloom,
As she simultaneously picks these,
Greed glowing from her ghastly eyes.
But I want her to stay,
Beg for her love despite the pain.
She’s landed herself on one of my pedestal’s,
And fear coaxes me to let her stay there.
Distance offer’s salvation from her,
But my heart crumbles as if it’s foundations weren’t quite complete.
I want her to stay,
But it’s best if she goes.
A mother who cannot love,
Isn’t really a mother at all.

Isn’t a home warm and welcoming?
Safe and soothing?
A home is good food,
And heartfelt laughter.

But each river has two banks,
One could be the perfect beach,
But on the other,
Mud and dirt await.

Sleeping in that room gives me nightmares,
Conversations are always arguments.
Home is a spider web I’m trapped in,
But never quite sure If I should escape.

One day they’re all teasing and tickle fights,
Smiles bubbling to the surface in my mom’s homemade chicken soup.
The next their faces contort,
Disapproval filling their countence.

Home is warm blankets while we watch movies,
All huddled together,
Hot chocolate at the ready.
But home is also a room I lock myself in,
Running from their yelling.

Home is secrets kept between sisters,
Whispered to eager ears.
Or surviving a bus ride together,
While sharing our music.

But home is also a bus ride away,
An eternity of mockery,
And name calling.
Of music to block out their voices.

Cold one day,
Warm the next,
My family is my home.

My little sister was stuffed into a teapot,


Its waters are constantly boiling,
And she blames visions invisible to me,
I cradle her burning *** and begin to pour,
As if she’ll come back to me,
But her hair flows into my teacup,
As she refuses to come out,
But no one can see her stuck in her teapot,
And she can’t see the light outside,
Nor hear the cicadas chirp her name,
As the stars fall from wanting to meet her,
Yet the shadows stuff her back inside,
As the world sings to greet her,


She writes notebook after notebook of poems,
Eloquently portraying her teapot,
And the beasts who’d quickly harm her,
But each one winds up thrown away,
As she’s chosen to turn from her gifted talent,
I wish to capture each wrinkled page,
Mounting them on wall after wall,
And give the cicadas a museum of her words to marvel at,


Each one more strange and surprising than the last,
Cat’s meow symphonies of comfort,
As black horses raid the night,
Yet her sacred bible of words,
Shed sooner destroy,
Feeding the fire with her glorious imagination,
As it’s fueled by beauty,
What beauty could possible be created by a girl trapped in a teapot,
What beauty could be found in such a crevice,
And yet she’s found such powerful inspiration from such a space,
But refuses to call upon her power and adore it,
I might as well have a teapot setting in my brain,
Pouring tears for every flame,
Every spark ignited,
Every work abandoned,
She holds a knife to the page,
And slits it’s throat,
As if this creation inside of her,
Is capable of death,
And with each cut,
Destroys pieces of her own heart,
She slides the strands through the spout,
And pretends they’ll disappear,


My sister is stuck inside of a teapot,
And refuses to come out.

Cascading light,
Feather's falling from smiles like giggles,
Tall and confident,
Sure but uncertain.
How I love a lie,
Yet lies are wistful beasts,
I cage myself from.
She glows,
He glistens,
Who am I?
They are unsure.
Glass shatters,
As theses shadows in my heart resembles shards,
Or perhaps it always rested there,
Wishing,
Dreaming to become a lantern.
But will they hold it?
All that they see,
and bring the petals to their lips,
Kissing the taintedness,
Making it beautiful once more?

Warmth,
Aware of yourself,
Your existence,
Taking in your every breath,
Realizing your now paying attention.
You feel your fingers scroll this text,
Self Conscious of your thoughts,
And perhaps if I the author feels the same as you when you read this.
Your every exhale,
and inhale.
Don't you see?
This is existence.
Make it count!
I'm with you.

Slow this heart,
It's pulse due in time,
Unhook the veins that pump this life,
not as to end it,
but to pause the clock from ticking.
The world begins to pace,
The animation goes page by page,
until they are revealed,
no longer a flowing river of occurrence.
Perhaps then I'll have captured you,
Oh elusive one,
Lord of time.
I need more,
as to better understand this heart of mine.
Why it coils in knotts,
Or fails to fall,
Why it gets attached when it should not.
For my heart has it's own mind.
Let me understand it as if it were my own,
give me the time to do so,
and slow my breathing,
the world's extension,
so that I may finally grasp that,
which no one may.

A being was born,
Cast in emotion,
The iron that molded her.
Embedded with jewels,
Feelings of every fragment.
But this grandeur didn't suffice.
She pleaded with the muses,
Begging for a way to share her talent.
And so they armed her,
An arsenal of words at her command,
Formed to relay thoughts and feelings.
She spoke until her mouth ran dry,
And her inspiration low.
Once more she came before her muses,
Hoping for a medium other than her voice.
For words do not last and can be easily forgotten.
Again they complied.
This time she was gifted paper and pens as to record her portrayals.
And so she went to work,
Writing and creating as the inspiration struck.
And the muses rejoiced,
For more began to take up pens and spread her gift beside her.

A field of crystals,
Obstructed by light,
Pouring from the wheat.
Shining bright blue,
Particles floating,
Dancing through the air.
Summer mist,
Swaying in sweeping winds.
Here I sit,
And wait.

You are sparkling darkness,
shining in hopelessness,
shivering flames,
a flicker of longing.

My Sky,
You fell to the ground,
The clouds rained to Earth,
Sunlight poured out
Until
            Only
                        Darkness
     ­                                         Remained.

My Sky,
You fell to the ground,
And though the puddles belong there,
I find myself scooping them up,
And desperately throwing handfuls,
As if to pick you back up.
But My attempts only result in failure.

My Sky,
You fell to the ground,
But you are still charming,
Still lovable.
Yet I find a knife in my side,
Telling my heart to die.

My Sky,
You fell to the ground,
But that does not mean I need to follow.
Maybe I could become the sky for another one day?

Her house reeks,
It smells of smoke and disappointment,
The potent fragrance of instability,
And broken families.
She breathes in the fumes,
And exhales the wispy threads of anguish,
As if she gets her high from my misery.
Her stench of lies unending,
Broken promises,
And Abusive love.
My nose screams to leave,
But my shaking body knows I must stay.
I become encased in this smoke,
Reeking of her false pride,
Entailing my worst fear;
The smells of smoke transfers to me,
As I fear her future will.
Finally home,
Cleansed in the shower,
Safe and sound.

A river flows,
From faucets abundant,
It's rising tides ongoing.
The grasses lashes blink,
As the water trickles and flows,
Created from love,
From life,
And it's absence.
A river flows from within me,
and tears well up.

I do not wish,
To put feelings to paper,
To write of this heartbreak,
And it's agony.
Of the mosaic they created,
Before you bashed it.
I do not wish to tell of all the tears,
Nights spent crying,
The pain and questions,
nor the desire for death.
Feeling the rumble,
as my world fell,
The sky lowering in pieces,
as I cower,
worrying that they may hit me.
Because if I told you this,
It'd be all too real,
and I can't stand a reality without you.

What is the relevance of time?
Why does forever have to be so short?
When do promises become lies,
And happiness sorrow?
Forever is just a word,
Used by those who hope.
Fools who dream,
And idiots like me.

They say love is a flame,
But how can I agree?
For a flame consumes,
Until only ash remains.
But love gives unendingly,
Wouldn't it be better to say,
Love is water,
Life giving,
Guiding you home,
Rocking you to sleep.
Water comforts
Heals,
Cleanses,
But a flame,
It eventually dies out.
So let this love consume me,
Not as a flame would,
Selfishly taking for myself,
But comforting and lively as the waves.

The fall days are over now,
I stare at the cold blue water,
Waiting for summer to come home,
Watching the blue sky hanging overhead,
Yet it continues to sit there,
Now a relic of the previous fall,
It's body within clear blue waves,
Gracefully diving beneath blue water,
Now but a representive piece,
Tainted from its original beauty.
This round vessel makes mockery,
Sitting on my porch, how dare you Swan Guord?!?!

This round, ripe fruit,
That I now hold,
Once fell from that tree,
Sitting in a grove.
it's tangy taste lasts on my tongue,
This free once bloomed with fervor,
It's branches sprawling out,
Greeting the morning sun.

He who sings outside my window,
One of many my dad has fed,
Your melody brings peace to this soul

That canal where we fished,
The passing of ships,
Bringing with them waves and wind.

The snow piles high,
I lay within the December storm,
As the sound of the wind envelopes me,
Filling me with peace.