Your mosaic soul shows cracks, shattered glass,
jagged on the edges
and red where your pricked your fingers trying to pick them up.
I see pieces putting together something greater.
your water color freckles,
splattered over pale skin.
I'd compare them to the constellations, but those are just shapes
and the path im tracing with my fingers tells me much more.
there's no dawn in your golden brown eyes,
the sun I see shinning through stained glass is too bright to be just barely rising.
you are reckless laughter caught in a shutter
a frame by frame moment of the last trickles of childhood
blackness blurring the edges around you
from being left too long in the developer.
your lips feel like oil pants,
sliding over mine like a blank canvas,
I can still see the masterpiece you made me into.
I can still feel the whips of graphite tears pouring down your cheeks as you let all of the art you hold inside.

It's having to say
I'm a lesbian- I'm pregnant- I have a boyfriend
No, I'm not a lesbian because I haven't been with a real man- yes, really, I'm pregnant it's just not showing yet- Yes he does love me he's just not here because he's working
Because I don't like you, please leave me alone, and no do not work in clubs, on the street, anywhere I go...
It's holding onto a **** whistle, mace, and concealed knife when I go anywhere alone, holding my keys between my fingers when walking down dark, unfamiliar streets.
It's being told not to wear a skirt when I go dancing, because someone will slip their hand under it.
It's wearing shorts and having them shove grimy fingers inside anyway
It's using a fake name, sharing fake contact info, claiming a fake residence so that they don't track you
It's being appalled when some guy from the restaurant tracks you down on social media using the name on your credit card
It's being careful not to let him know you like him because he might take that as consent for more
It's work sending us out in groups to take the trash out at night because it's not safe to walk the alleyway behind the building alone
Unless you're one of my male coworkers
It's being groped and slapped in class and having no one, not even the teacher, challenge my attacker because he's a man and it's all in good humor, right?
It's walking across the street to avoid a guy in pace behind you, even in broad daylight. It's your friend stiffening when they pass on the right.
It's looking rude and foolish when you deny them a handshake, a hug, or a reason. Because they're nice, right? They haven't done anything yet, right? Don't they deserve your respect and interest?
No, maybe not all men are bad. But enough of them are that we have the right to fear and use the hashtag #allmen
Because every woman has been harassed, told that his bullying just means he likes you, taught to just take it. Every woman has been in some sort of situation where a man has made her uncomfortable, and society has done nothing about it.
So yes, #Yesallwomen

A moonlit dance beneathe constellations
      not Taurus or Gemini, Delphinus or Orion
                 but stars we named together
                   linking lines from star to star
       hands pointing in air so cold
a tear falls and
                           another
  leaving a roadmap on my cheeks
            that you
                            chase
                           ­            chase
                                                  chase
   ­         lifting the palm of your hand
                 so cold to the touch I shiver
            feeling the beauty of my tears
         that glisten like Venus in the midnight sky
             of this cold Parisian night
  you smile in jest and
     I misplace the space
  between you and I and that sky
  whispering "do you love me?"
    how could I resist the beauty of
                 our second to last kiss.

© Sia Jane

Butane lungs,
forty different faces, too many of them too numb.
Too many cups, too many cups, too many times I've called your bluff.
Stop your eyes from fallacies and incoherent lies, stop your mouth from the ******* that's falling out.
Inconceivable pacifism and flower petals made out of eyelashes and dead skin.
I don't want to go through this again.

Complicate the scales, complicate your lengthy tales, complicate the way she says your name, complicate the way I have too many finger prints on my veins.

Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Stop slitting wrists, go for the bruised knuckles and ****** fists.
Smile like there is no such thing as goodbye, smile while your teeth fall out, smile while you die.
Keep your eyes peeled, keep your eyes open with blood shot lies.
Covering yourself in lucid dreams, covering yourself in water it seems, covering yourself in pieces of me.
I'm too ****** up, I swear to God the Devil knows this isn't how I wanna be.
Overtime, over the night, over time, over night, under your flashlight, shadowed with with regret, I was never a satisfying bet.
There have been too many times that I've heard the phrase, "Darling, you're possibly the darkest person I've ever met."
I just talk to the ceiling and tell it about how I hope you never forget.
But I know this is it, I know I know I know, I know because you already forgot.

I loved the walls I told my story to every night, they were so very, very white. They ended up with holes and cracks in them but they taught me how to love, they taught me French was a language of passion, and they showed me your reflection in five years, they showed me your foreboding fears and drug laced tears.

It didn't look too good for you.

I wrote my poems along the cracks, I tried to fill the cracks in with pieces of my heart but it wasn't big enough to fill them and we all knew it from the start.
Now my chest is empty and I'm growing a new one and watering it with things that don't try to **** me.

I'd rather shoot myself in the head and end up dead than end up with a hollow soul again.

The paper I sleep on has leaks from where my chest and my mind try to meet up in between and I just end up throwing up black ink at 3 a.m.

I would rather drink bleach than end up back in this town after I've been released.
There are footprints all over this little cage from everyone we used to hate and all the people you wanted to date and now I just lie awake and awake and awake and it's all fake.

The rhythm from the rhyme is satisfying when you remember why we tried to rhyme, how we taught ourselves to survive off of empty pens and shredded paper, and I remember how many times I told my mom I wanted to die that night.

The walls know my secrets, I tore them down, my heart leaked out like the tears from my sieve-eyes on all of those tragedy filled nights, my best kept secrets are long gone now and I'm sure I'll get asked once or twice about those secrets that float through the shadows of past, but I look at them as more than sand in an hour glass, something like the sand on the shore that the sea eats when it gets sore.

The welcome sign has our names on the back of it but you can cross mine out or cover it up with someone new because my heart isn't here and my heart isn't through and I'm feeding it a hopeful story about a girl that once knew you.

I forgive, I forgive, and you'll probably never forgive me for how easy I can forget.

if i could write anything beautiful
that didn't have a thing to do with you
     i'd have written my way to the moon and back
on a path built of college-ruled yellow lines

I am a wanderluster. My cells are incapable of remaining intact. Every single atom in me is constantly roaming the uni-verse and conflating with all its beauty, constantly becoming it, and constantly providing it with the chance to become through myself.

I am not carefree. I am not balanced. I feel intensely, and I like it.
I am. And my beingness is a gravitational field, pulling the everythingness of everything into me.

Water has no color
Water has to scent
Water has no texture
Water has no taste

No color paste can be made without water
No aroma, perfume or sweat, can smell without water
Rough lands are soften into soil through water
All meals are cooked and all drinks are made through water

It's the most simple words
that create complex worlds

In plainness lies poetry.

I sit on her bed
My stomach a pile of nerves
That make my hands tremor
And a little damp

She stands between me
I see it in her eyes
Her beautiful blue eyes
She holds my face
My body is shaking

I'm shaking
I'm shaking
She kisses me
Once
Twice

I melt into a puddle
I melt into her arms
I have to pull away
Because I can't wipe this ridiculous smile
Off my face