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8.6k · Jun 2019
Gifted Linens
Caro Jun 2019
I’m never ***** anymore 
I used to drip onto the floor
Libido was higher, more, my core.

But I suppose, no, it was not.
Because it waned 
I remained.
I miss being effortlessly wet.

I know, I know
It’s in my head. 

But maybe mostly it’s the bed?

Say, what’s different about my bedding?
Is it that I had a wedding?
And now,
Linens my sister gifted my ring and I
Sprawled beneath some other guy
Another lover

Oh! dear, I’ve blown my cover.
Oh poor dear, my mother.
I'm a disgrace,
A divorce, at my age?

So, is that what stole my soak?

You you know, shouldn't marry a man,
You don't really know.

Is that what dried my dripping *****,

A quick ****,
From a new husband,
Who wouldn't hear no.


It couldn’t be.

Far too simple for my psyche
4.9k · Apr 2019
About my Aboutness
Caro Apr 2019
I have w e i r d anxiety
And I don’t quite k n o w where to put it
I feel off
Like watching a black and white movie when you’re a kid with a theme that’s b e y o n d you and knowing that you don’t quite know what it’s about
A lack of an aboutness with yourself
Much about what I do and where I go and who I see
And triumphantly living this l i f e
As I w a n t
But feeling a l i t t l e far from m y s e l f

I’m writing a bookmaybe I should get back to it
Caro Sep 2018
It smells vaguely of pizza
And there’s a little white fuzz floating around in the air,
I’m rewriting memories and helping a friend through a break up.
I’m sitting on my back staircase alone at night with no substance to keep me company,
Remembering a time sitting here with my ex having wine while he smoked a cigarette feeling relative peace and romanticism.
Now I’m contemplating the roughness of the stucco walls and the wrot iron and staircase and window cages,
The exceptionally uncomfortable and bumpy stair steps, all of the tangible visual interest around me,
Maybe falling in love with it,
It doesn’t notice me or maybe

Maybe it does, maybe it feels my weight,
Knows my smell,
Oh my god maybe these walls remember that moment that I’m thinking of!
Maybe they know all of it and they support me,
Maybe the me that was then and the he that was then is sitting here too just below me,
Letting the me that is now observe the sweet, pervasive sickness that we were lying in.

The pizza smell has wafted away and so has the little fuzz,
The wrot iron staircase feels okay against my head,
The angles that I’m looking down on feel unique to me, my frame of vision, is just for me.
He lived here, he bothered me, he smoked on this staircase nearly every night.
But maybe these steps and this material around me knew it was not his,
Maybe he never saw the stairs at this angle, maybe they never showed him their magic or their comfort or their mood or their simple, simple majesty.

Falling in love with a staircase and with the shadows that it kept secret for me.
Divine, it’s all divine.
4.7k · Jun 2016
Denim Jacket Leaning Down
Caro Jun 2016
On the tip of my tongue you burned like hot coffee,
With a hit of my blunt you’ve undone my lofty,
made me a softy,
I wont forget.

Denim jacket leaning down, you’ve got room in your throat,
You’ve got words in your coat,
Pockets full of notes.

Ink on your arms that wrap, wrap around me,
Words pushing on your teeth like braces,
Up your shoes that walk all around me,
I won't forget.

Maybe whisper it now or tell me tomorrow.

Denim jacket leaning down, tippy toes to kiss your nose.
You’ve made me a softy,
I won’t forget.

Sweet and simply say it from behind those curtains,
Smoke in your nose from my fire lungs,
Stain my breath with your words,
Blessed syllables,
I won’t forget.
Caro Jun 2016
You lied about my sweet weight,
And you lied about my arches,
You lied about your love for the depressions in my skin,
You faked that sincerity
Of course you lied, because how else
Could you make love to my demise?

You lied about your moon and my tides,

But you tread upon on my land,
Cheer as my salt beats my rocks into sand, I never flinched at your hand,
I never quaked at your voice,
But I should’ve,
I would’ve if I had known that you would run my rivers dry,
That you would lick your lips and sigh

You’re sick in that the only thing I hold dear,
You craved to hunt.

You rip into the throat of my wild and reckless stag,
Watch it bleed as it cranes to see by whose hand it falls,  
As it breathes its last breath it catches sight of your thumb,
It knows, but consciously it forgets, because
It is with this abandon that I die for you daily,
And you **** me anyway.

I should’ve quaked at your voice,
Hearkened to the screaming that ripped away my choice,
You never loved my mountains, fountains of lies I threw back and back,
You lied about my ocean that you don’t care to explore,

It was critical and fatal,
You lied about my sweet weight and that I cannot forgive.
2.9k · Aug 2018
I am not a Cat
Caro Aug 2018
Curiousity killed the cat,
What of it?
I am not a cat and neither am I curious,
I think.

I want to know and see, but few things hold my interest.

Lately I crave being craved,
Lately I hate that I love the concave of my stomach when fasting for a smaller waist to contemplate in my mirror before going to work,
Lately I’m waking up moody,
Lately I’m grateful.
Lately I need more sleep,
Lately I’m not quite in the place I used to be,
Lately I think I must be growing or changing because this new sense of knowing is gnawing so softly on my skin it feels like luxury.

I think I must be on the edge of an expansive biosphere of me, complete and untouched, because the vision of her is fading as my ten little prints and their oblong archless counterparts bring me closer to the edge.

Staring boldly, daring no one proving nothing peering down into my canyons.

Just on the edge of this cliff, feeling my wind my edges my rivers holding me up,
And up,
And up,
And down so far below.
Though it’s not down that I will go.
It it through.

And richly on the other side I will emerge.
But for now that is not my concern.

Standing on the edge, arms spread wide, I’m alive.

Quite Grand Indeed.
2.7k · Aug 2018
The Caribbean at Night
Caro Aug 2018
Moody blue waves go black with mischief in her moves,
Always flowing,
Spraying secrets untouched into the salt-heavy air above,
A slow smile spreads that far and wide away towards the sun,
Also turning on her tides.
Moonlight illuminating her curves and gestures.

Deceptive and lovely, a woman.
Never to be owned or won. Never to consider not being.
Magnificent. In her alcoves and her storms.
Gestures of night and paradise.
2.3k · Mar 2019
Caro Mar 2019
It's March in California and,
It feels like an early September evening in Virginia,
An owl is cooing,
A nostalgic singsong that reminds me of the woods behind my parents house,
Comfort seekers in my senses inflate,
Disappearing into a heady haze,
Anything to distract myself from the mini self-betrayal I just executed.

I can watch myself as I do it,
Basking in this nostalgia,
The detachment from my pain easing my shoulders,
Making me feel high,
Or maybe it's the serotonin and dopamine,
Coursing around in my body,
As it pleases,
Results of.

The owl is howling and my roommate is home,
My phone is silent and I'm blissfully alone,
Detachment, detachment, detachment,
My favorite drug, how I've missed you.

So sickly happy,
So near to trauma,
(my familiar place)
But my perspective saving me from feeling it..

I could be in Virginia in 2008,
My legs a little hairy,
A breeze blowing through my long, long hair,
Innocence teasing me.

Or I could be here, now,
Listening for an owl that has stopped calling.

How delicious. Sweet detachment.

My favorite drug.
2.1k · Jan 2019
Caro Jan 2019
Manifesting as a goddess
Island of light or ocean
Or earth
Or universe

I feel star threads attached to my elbows and my rib cage where wings would grow
We dance together

Lightly affecting these precious astral ones with my desires and my light

O humanity, O goddess in me
Part of that star-freckled deep blue black sea


So light and free and golden to be
Manifesting my life exactly as I want it. It feels good to be this clear. I feel radiant, brighter than the sun and cooler than the breeze.
2.0k · Sep 2018
David, Hedonist, Myself
Caro Sep 2018
Sometimes I miss the holy grace of ignorance,
Sometimes I miss the comfort that I felt when I read about David and his caves,
About his moody eyes and his harp,
About his *** addiction and his jealous, musical heart that only a god could love,
About the way he loved with abandon, reckless, selfish, taken aback in naivety, balking at those who dared disagreed with his unwavering need to be as he was

David made me ***
David made me feel closer to God and my mother
David told me a story of lust and ****** and protection and angst and a sweet tortured easily patronized self

Maybe in all of this, one day this flawed, beautiful man who murdered a giant and sang to lambs

Would be me

A woman, self possessed, soothing sheep and culling sleep in her victims.
Passion dripping from her honey harp.

David, thank you for the awakening and for the saturated hedonism that you spoke to in me.
1.8k · Dec 2018
Rose Prey
Caro Dec 2018
Rose petals thick and heavy
Just ready to wrinkle
Strong, firm, delicate
Feigning delicacy.
Tighter and tighter to their middle
Lips curling back
Pouting open
All eventually revealing the
Veins on the roses
From the underside spread upward,
Some so proud and broad
Some coy and curtseying
Some wide open, greeting you.
Some angling to the light
Some fading their color at the tip
Some doubling inward. Two twists inside!
Why? Overcrowding.
Petals wide,
petals too ready, petals broad
And she made herself a lover
Some older, wiser
By quicker death wisdom grows
The peaked face within
Afraid of what is coming faster for her.
Something her beauty could not slow
An aging ballerina, refusing to retire her slippers
Some wider
More careless
Some like a dance
Such a vulnerable entrance  
Opening up her lips, her arms, her legs,
Spouting out her tiny tongue
Some so full
Hiding herself in her layers
More of her.

Just a blip.

Trimmed from their bush. Here to die in a vase by my bed.
1.4k · Jul 2018
My Skin
Caro Jul 2018
SOUL: Wrapping around me,
Holding me close,
Tapping itself and clothing my nose.
Keeping me in and tight.
My safety and my sensation.

Feeling sunshine and shame,
Goosebumps and bruises,
Keeping me intact.
It changes color and indicates.
Touching me,

The skin on my back my protectorate.
The skin on my hands my guide.
The skin on my face my years here.

It is with me to the end.
It grows and stretches and covers my vessel.
It flinches and heals and craves to be nestled.
It sweats and bleeds and cracks.
It wrinkles and sags.
And Baby, it’s you and it’s me.
But beautifully, painfully, tragically it is not.

Because once the skin has done all it can do.
Once it is thinner and can work for this Sinner no more.
Once it has lived and known me through and true.
Though I have lived and known it too.
It dies.

And I go on. To claim another skin.

A skin to clothe my nose.
A skin to protect my soul.
A vehicle to let me travel on this earth I think I know.

Poor skin. Naive and Perfect.

SKIN: Poor soul.
Going on forever ever,
and never ending,
never resting,
always needing me.
1.2k · Dec 2018
Image Vacancy
Caro Dec 2018
No mirror to keep me company
No reflection to satisfy my lonliness
A dying narcissism
A quiet relief
A tearful goodbye
A quickly deteriorating something of something of myself

Self image vacancy
Mirrorless existence
Me only inside of myself
No me projected into my own brain

Just me, with me, however I am, having no idea how I am.
Age old vanity plane that could reveal all the illness in my head, covered in king sized, pure white, Egyptian cotton sheets

Oh how the body pinchers have fallen
1.1k · Nov 2019
“No, not the soles”
Caro Nov 2019
What was it
The soles of my feet
That made your mouth quiver

The vulnerability

“He said achingly as he was convinced to stay for an hour longer”
Caro Dec 2018
Anxious she finds herself
Though lately less so
Childhood bed
In her childhood home
Thinking childish thoughts in her childhood head
Russian nesting doll

Nesting soon to be though not so
Rings and nausea
And please let me sleep
Head in her mother’s lap

Mental illness and lack of routine
Tapping on her glass

The blurry light from the hallway outside the bedroom reflecting on the shiny wooden headboard.
How many many many times has this dappled wood revealed its imperfections in that blurry reflected light?
Put me to sleep with your consistency and resolve

Thank you little light
And mother’s hands that flipped the switch
And eyes that remember
And mini terrors of her adolescents that gave this reflection the right to sweep across her consciousness in swooning waves that feel soothing as they scrape.

In this moment its comfort is quite enough
Trying to fall asleep over the holidays and the blurry reflection of the light on the headboard that I didn’t know was so familiar to me
910 · Feb 2019
Caro Feb 2019
Sleepless in Seattle on my mind and in my feelings,
Making me feel moody and 90's,
Chunky belts and colorful, dark sweater,
Old airports in family comedies,
Big clunky landline phones,
When Harry Met Sally and I watched it on a plane for the first time last summer.
Baroque in my headphones and 1950's swing playing from the ceiling

Girls talking loud, so important,
Deciding options for their next photo shoot,
sweet and divine making their plans.

And me
Silently observing, enjoying

If I were an overweight man
I would be creepy

But I am a nice package

They're in L.A. for the weekend.
Oh, they've been to London and "her boyfriend is an *******"
She wore the baby blue, "it was my mother's", and it brings out her eyes
Why is he friend's with Madeline?
She's a *****
But we like her. She's very bold.

Plans laid and heading out. Good for them.

And I'm still here.
Ache in my neck,
Baroque in my ears (because I heard it improves learning and slows heart rate),
This anti-poem coming from my fingertips

Alone in this cafe and now the mood has shifted.
Caro Aug 2016
Everything feels wrong when you're gone,
Like dusk in a movie about monsters,
Like rust, like too much dust,
Like sad elephants lacking tusks,
Too many eerie feelings for me to foster.
Things are off.

Dressed up with no where to go meets the first time you watch a dystopian film as a child.
That sinking pit in your stomach,
That hopeless apathy,
That dread of a future made of nothingness...

Well anyway, those two feelings fall in love, get married, and give birth to a hideous child that comes to visit me
every time you're away.
Darling. Come back to me.
Keep the terrible child at bay.

I can't listen to music.
I can't eat.

I know you're just sleeping or your phone died.
I know you're out eating or going for a ride.
But. ****.

This monster movie goes on and on
This dusty, rusty dusk won't end
And the elephants lacking tusks?
They moan and bellow and I join them.
Here for 4 perfect days. Gone for more than a month. In theory I'm being dramatic but...well, see above.
739 · Aug 2016
Torrent of Peace
Caro Aug 2016
He slept and I loved it,
He dreamt and I coveted not,
Having dreamt many dreams,
Spared of sleepless nights,
His sleep was my happiness,
His dreams my requite,

His hands in my hair,
Fingers long and strong,
The air in his lungs,
His chest so wide and proud,
Twice I said to him:
           Look up love it's the stars
Twice he said to me:
           No you are my star

Though I've dreamt and slept to my hearts content,
It's his dreaming, his sleeping,
That murders my weeping,
The gentle close of his eyes and his gracefully wandering mind,
That sends a torrent of peace through my chest.
He slept and I felt the heavens smile.
Caro Jun 2016
...They had gone for drinks. Then dancing. Then kissing. Then that night as he lay on her brothers spare couch, too drunk to drive, she kissed him goodnight. He wanted more and she wanted nothing more than to have it.
Two days later they were in a sweet little tent of sheets. Two days after that they were there again. And again for a week. She swore the air was foggy, the way his big hands and even bigger arms made her feel was like something out of her deepest longings. They took off each others glasses and looked into each others blurry eyes, her hair was curling in that wet air, her cheeks were red and he was falling quickly down her caverns. He kissed her face until the sun came up and then willed it to go back down. But she had other things to do.

Eugene had schemes and dreams for Davina, he wanted to take her far away and make her happy. He could too and she knew it. Terrified, she ran away swift and quick. She was in such danger of being content with the heart of someone else. He barely saw her go.

The air wasn't wet anymore, her waist was lonely without his fingerprints. But her eyes were dry and strong her thighs.

She burned the cabin down, left him with her lavender lace and took back her blurry eyes.
an excerpt from a book I'm writing
615 · Feb 2020
Caro Feb 2020
It’s okay
599 · Jun 2016
Christmas in July.
Caro Jun 2016
Stop screaming forever, like I'm some storm you're going to weather, you're the one who's tethered and I'm just trying to get my life together.

Now I'm screaming forever and wearing your words like a ******* sweater, I can read you like a letter and you want me too.

We're screaming like we're deaf, but we're not. I've got the hots. We're flashing the lights like we're blind but somehow we don't mind. I'm a wet mess all the time.

Just touch me and you'll see,
That your fingertips were made for me,
And then you'll drink me up like gin on that famous Eve.
Because I think we're done screaming,
I think you'll start dreaming,
I think we'll forget how to lie,
I think you're my Christmas in July.
583 · Jun 2016
Moody Foodie
Caro Jun 2016
Dark as night and in the mood for food,
Oh did I say food? I meant you
Isn't it the same?
I want to consume you, to move you around my plate,
I want to savor you,
Let your body fill my body and give me strength for days,

I'll know you on my palette,
My tongue will recognize,
The peculiar taste,
That is your face,
When its paired with a dark red wine.
574 · May 2019
Universe Shoes
Caro May 2019
To the universe in my shoes:

Thank you for tingling when I’ve gone too far

I’m thankful that you live for my gait
For shining stars between my toes
For planets orbiting beneath my ankles
For the milky ways and star highways playing tag with my arches

Thank you for keeping time with the motion of my stride

For spilling up over the tops of my ankles

For spiraling your meteors softly
Into my hollows

Thank you for the sensation and for the grace
Someone come massage my feet
Caro Dec 2018
Hazlo, fuertísimo pero

¿Recuerdas que soy que?
Ah, si. Delicada. Una delicia.

Ahora. Hazlo, peor que antes
Por favor... amor?

¡Ooi! Muy doloroso viejo.
Sin sangre. Entonces otra vez.
Por favor tesoro. Otra vez.

Y al mismo tiempo
Mi cariño
Toca mis costillas
Suave, suave, suave, sutil.

Otra vez.
Muérdame. Pero con cuidado.

Soy que?


Delicada. Una delicia.

Hay amor, muérdame otra vez?
Just getting off on the Spanish language
440 · Jun 2016
Caro Jun 2016
Do you ever feel like you're made of paper?
I don't.
I'm made of flesh and bone and rocks and stones.
The flesh and bone I was born with.
The rocks and stones came later,
You know, they came with the haters.

Do you ever feel like you're made of lead?
Heavy and falling and poison and dead?
I don't.
I'm made of blood and water and thread,
The blood and water my birth-right,
The thread to keep me warm, back full of stiches,
You know, from the *******.
435 · Jun 2016
Burning Sweaters
Caro Jun 2016
You don't get dark when you fall apart
It's when you're putting it back together, that you see the damage from the bad weather,
Mom I can't come inside my clothes are soaked

I guess it's not so serious in the end,
I'm not made of glass I don't break I bend,
So I'm bent out of shape,
I'll take some yoga,
Get a massage,
Focus on my breathing,

I'll do a bunch of stuff and sort out my kinks.
Give me a high five, promise I won't flinch,

I didn't do this to myself,
But I'm here by myself,
I won't be bitter,
I'll be better,
I burned all the sweaters,
I've moved somewhere with better weather,

So I should be getting lighter and I think I am.
But on Tuesday I cried because of a printer jam.
I wasn't worried about the printer but I was worried about my boss. Would they yell at me? Did I **** up? Am I worthless? Do I deserve this?

My boss is nice don't get me wrong, but I was told for four years that I am what's wrong. I am what's wrong. I am wrong.

So anyway I had to reload the paper,
I missed a therapy session and misplaced the stapler.  

So I didn't do this to myself,
But I am what I am and I'm dark,
Im here by myself not afraid of the dark,
Maybe in the end I win,
Maybe in the dark I'm better,
Maybe my night vision will save me next time,
Maybe my clothes won't be soaked.
425 · Jul 2018
Caro Jul 2018
I can still feel the pavement beating my feet,
Little bits of earth and water and worms between my toes.
I can feel the warm summer rain on my upper lip,
I can feel my hands splashing in the creek with this little man to be beside me.
I can feel wet hair on my forehead.
I can feel how tall those trees were above us.
How ******* lovely.
To go through childhood with a partner.
Someone to follow and imitate.
It’s that warm summer rain, our motivated, pounding feet, the slosh of mud and water, the scratch of twigs and sticks, clothes soaked and smiling.
Though I am your sister. I like to think that in those times, I was your brother too.
Maybe I showed you a sliver of what it is to have you.
Never in a million years would I give up the sweet sensation of these memories.
423 · Mar 2019
Storybook Hands
Caro Mar 2019
Like a romance novel I read
about an Irishman
and the warm side of the bed
and a homestead
and a big chest to lay my head

Honey seeping from my lips
that you throw back and back
coating your throat
and making you float
and making you spin me
watching you fall in

Down as you go
but never on me
certain intimacies kept privy
for another girl who will love you
like you love me

Every week you're here
and I’m here
and your cardio is improving
but your insecurities are making you
pinch me ever harder and
your drunken red head
gets hotter and hotter
weeks go by

I'm craving your scents and
I’m craving the dent
that you made in my bed
but you’re wanting more and more
and that I can’t give

I still crave your high
and riding your body
with your hands on my thighs
big freckled arms
and that noble nose that knows
how to rub my cheek
and you bite my teeth
you caress my moods

Storybook hands that
hold my gaze
look at me sideways
tell me secrets I shouldn't know
say nothing

Sweat drips from your curly orange mop
slow motion splash the pillow
falling down from the crown
cinematic memory telling me
we should have never stopped

We did

And you did

And now I’m here in my bed
that you’ve never been in.
396 · Jun 2019
Preserve Her
Caro Jun 2019
I hurt the me
That was good to me
By being his,

I betrayed my own sweet heart,
And now she’s run away from me.

Now she hides in the shadows.

And I miss her smile.

I want to steal her light.

Of course she hides from me.
395 · Jan 2019
Caro Jan 2019

I wish


was a fashion designer or someonelikethat maybe living in newyork being botheredbymynicotineaddiction but happy to not have to go stand intherain

wearing bellsleevesonatuesday and feeling n i c e and callingmymotherbefore dinner and having lunch withmybest friend and her dog

and living a life asleep


it feels good towishicouldbe someone else and to know that instead i will alway

b e  m e
just over tired and taking a break to write out some thoughts while I work
388 · Jul 2016
Utterly too too
Caro Jul 2016
The table we bought is too big,
My eyes adjust to the dark too quick,
My brassiere is too tight,
My heart is too big.
The week is too long,
The homeless are too lonely and so am I

Empty empty empty I feel bad.

But I kissed her.
No, I kissed her too much.

Empty empty empty I feel bad.

Forgive me, me? Not for kissing her or anything like that. But for...this. Because the table we bought is too big, I burned my bra long ago and the homeless ask for things you can't give.
Because being alone in a big city is tough.
385 · Jun 2020
Caro Jun 2020
I used to write poems
Who knew how to rhyme
Easy words hung out together
Matching pace, keeping time

But now I like my proses
That don’t have to try so hard
I can write each phrase
Quick as it catches ablaze
No rhythm in it’s ways
Just minding its own business
As it swirls across my page

But I guess it’s not the words themselves
That put in the effort
That craft phrases so pristine
You’d think they’d been conceived by Robert Redford

It’s my latent mind
That no longer lives in the land of
Where AABB and ABA
Just aren’t my preoccupation
They don’t rise me to another station
Of talent and prowess
Of being the very best

I just want to write out how I feel
And not worry how it sounds
That is until I go back
And see how emotions lack
In words that don’t capture me
Don’t rapture me
With their romanceless apathy

I forgot that poetry is poetry because it is an art
That a lion is more a lion for his mane than for his heart.
Would a balding lion still best the other beasts?
But if so,
Wouldn’t you know
That a bald lion is a she
The one who hunts and bears new beasts
The one who bleeds and shares her meat
The one who mangles cub thieves
And I’m sure the one who untangles
Knots in the mane of the he

I digress from this feminist lioness
But I like this point of view
That sometimes beauty is better
And sometimes better is use
But I also already knew that
And if you’re still reading, so did you

My point is that though I am
Smarter now
More mature
With thoughts that vibrate higher
And far less victim overtures
My poetry has suffered
And I enjoy it less
And now to create
Swooning phrases capped in rhythm
I must confess
That I labor

In my old way of feeling I found it easier to create
But in my new way of thinking

There it is.
In my new way of being I think
I choose when to be swayed by an emotion
Rarely being overtaken
But also rarely feeling forsaken
Accepting calmly an occasion where my intentions are mistaken
No matter,
I remain unshaken

There we go
I’ve got it back
A little rhyme
Picking up the slack
And in the evening I’ll have a snack
Some carbs
Some sugar
And the extra poundage won’t give me anxiety attacks
Cellulite on my thigh
Doesn’t make me want to cry
I’m not so lonely
I am content
I am ambitious
I pay my rent
I don’t overeat
Or undereat
I just want to feel sated
I’m not frustrated
I don’t feel hated
And my gratefulness is never belated
I’m happy
I am not manic
An unanswered text won’t send me into a panic
I moisturize
I don’t have bags under my eyes
I don’t compromise
I won’t lie
And when I care I really try
I love my home
And love my skin
I love my bumpy shins
I don’t feel stressed about my age
Or the passing of time
So I suppose I won’t fret
That my words won’t always rhyme
Caro Oct 2016
Space is deep and dark and blue black. It expands behind us, never ending, never beginning. Stars are sprinkled there in that space, some we engulf as we move our massive star outlined bodies, some become part of us as we move. We are magnificent and huge 3-d outlined beings, we are billions of years old, or maybe we have always been. We are not made of matter for there is no matter, only the blue black ‘space’ dotted with the lights of millions and trillions of stars; some of which make up our massive forms; and our consciousness, our knowing, our silent communication, our utterly immortal existence. We exist there with each other, there is no breath but we breathe each other, there is stillness except for ripples of love and knowing passed between our conscious mind.

We have been here for so long existing, taking millennia upon millennia to gracefully move about in this space, so massive and grandiose, then we wanted to create, or we needed to create. So we began in some way to create life and substance in our ‘souls’. Or maybe we willed souls to exist by our consciousness and from there we made light, maybe it was a black hole or rip in the continuum, but whatever it was, it was necessary and magnificent. From our diaphragm areas flowed blue, sparkling streams of light, shooting, streaming out of me and out of him.

Nearly facing each other square on, our individual streams of light and blue love and diamond brilliant swirls of matter caught each other and began to spin. Just like a wind storm on earth, two winds from opposite directions will create a tornado, a spinning, so did we. We created a soft and new little system, I wouldn’t quite call it a solar system yet, with the planets hardly developed, more like soft, foamy spirals trying to form sphere-like mounds, with suns in the middle still shy of their own little light. Everything so perfectly baby blue and new. Shooting stars soft and content, a milky blue and sparkling atmosphere enveloping airy spheres of new, new matter - we made something our own.

Something different from us existed, there between our bellies we kept it safe; there existed no to threat to it, but we longed to keep it close, watching it spin so comfortably between us. As we watched our little system develop, we too developed, our consciousness grew, we became even more gentle, with tenderness, a graceful antiquity and adoration dripping from our starry forms.
373 · Jun 2020
Thank You HePo
Caro Jun 2020
I get a feeling in my fingers and my mouth
That tell me to type "hel" into my browser
Chrome remembers the rest and I find myself here
"Title" I leave until the end
"Poem" usually knows what to say

This time I just want to say thank you hello poetry
For being a place where I can put my thoughts
Organized and attractive where I read them over and over
Where I can write new words and not get carpal tunnel
A place to gracefully dump out my feelings

A place to cry with words
Dance with syllables
To romance with the tapping of my fingers on my keyboard
To maybe catch someone's attention
And also maybe to not

Thank you for years of thoughts spelled out
Thank you for a place to read my ex's poems about me
Thank you for a page to write poems about my ex's
Thank you for a community of a few

Thank you to everyone who's ever liked my poems
The "<3" always make me giddy
Just to think that someone read my words
And liked them
Such a delight

I love this place to collect my words
358 · Apr 2019
Stiff Ankles
Caro Apr 2019
I hated your stiff ankles
Really really really hated them
I loved you
But I hated
Those ankles

Stiff, unmoving.
Like bricks, you said.

I labored for two years
Every time I saw you

Cursed ankles.
Stiff and plasticy skin.
Freckles that weren’t freckles.
Burns that weren’t burns

Failure to coax
those muscles into relaxing
Failure to ******
the tendons into lengthening
Failure to ease
that joint into movement

I did like how my thumb fit behind
Your ankle bone.
333 · Oct 2016
Caro Oct 2016
Feed me your visions,
Pour your thoughts into my throat,
Your eyes like mine.
I need. I need. I need, you.
You. You. You. You are my blood.
But with you, I never bleed.

Entrance me, easily,
Hands on my neck, fingers tracing the lines in my spine,
Turning my soul with your palm,
Shifting my dark heart into the light of your gaze.

Dreams my dear,
Demon gone,
Heavy angel wings sending pounding waves through my chest,
Feathers soft,
Tip my chin aloft, with one long finger placed where only it knows where to go.

In this way I am fed.
314 · Jun 2016
Out Of Your Seams
Caro Jun 2016
Half the time,
Half the heart it took,
Double the time and hiding beneath the cloth of the breakfast nook,
Lay fast asleep the death of dreams,
That would awaken when,
Her satisfaction,
Was just a fraction,
Her inaction,
Was his redaction and their attraction,
Wasn't gaining traction but rather losing the bet.

Is it selfish to chase your dreams once you've pushed humans out of your seams?
Honestly probably about your mom. And my mom too.
307 · Apr 2019
New Old Brain
Caro Apr 2019
What to do with the hum-drum, mundane, been done?

That no longer comforts, rests easy or pauses.

Now only exciting excites
Nothing bites quite as it might
Have when I was up all night
Now it’s poetry and mirrors that

But thinking of that sweet drunk girl dancing on her toes at midnight with a stranger...
There it is.

A new mundane for my new old brain to charm when clouds won’t let go their rain.
296 · Jun 2020
Laundromats and Pigeons
Caro Jun 2020
Today in LA
It’s humid and gray
And the pigeons are flying low

The air feels like wind
From a laundromat
259 · Apr 2019
Obvious Bliss
Caro Apr 2019
Sweetest ceremony of self,

Proud of the moons on my thumbnails...praising their rounded edges,

Soothed by the skin on the arch of the sole of my foot,

Finally, pleasurably, softly coexisting with myself,

A lazy stretch in bed on a Monday morning off,

The way the weekend falls away,

Blowing your nose and breathing deep,

Simple pleasures all encompassed in this body that I feed,

Exactly enough is what I need,

Luxurious and obvious, to exist in this bliss.
224 · Jan 2019
Caro Jan 2019
Double yous and Vees

Mouth tickling me and mixing vees

Vife and happy to be
Abs and accent and happiness for the rest of this
223 · May 2019
Middle Name
Caro May 2019
So many, many changes
In my lady palace, in my pink wallpapered hall,
You see, now I wish to know your middle initial.

You see, it's your chest hair that captivates me
On your face I ruminate
And it's your side eye sugar smile that slumbers on the suede side of my soul,
Especially when we found this new fold
a shape all knees and elbows
tucked up and out and in
a shape with my breast on your rib
and your thigh beneath my shin
all skin on skin
it's that love makin'
that a softer me would want to swim in.

Maybe I'm soft again
Maybe I should let myself lick you

"Let myself"? A world where soft desires reign?
Maybe it's not the initial I want to store away in my brain,
I actually just want to know your middle name.
Caro Sep 2018
Loving [you] me now, as [you are] I am,
In each moment that [you] I experience [yourself] myself
is like

what a body of water must feel like.

Affecting itself continuously,
Supported unconditionally regardless of matter or variants.

It is strongest, most full, most complete

when together.
In one container.

But even separated,
In different states,
With different influences

It can never cease to be.

Always: it is
always you
are always I am

But I am best when I am purely me,
Being me
Regardless of my conscious awareness that I am.

I am.
222 · Jun 2020
That’ll be 1 Howl
Caro Jun 2020
Haven’t you heard
The howling’s on tap
Even the birds bump
uglies and love a night cap
Uglies? Why uglies
I think I disagree
With that phrase entirely
Some transparent ploy by the religious patriarchy
I guess we don’t bump uglies
But it rolls off the tongue
Either way
Thump and bump
Smush and ****
Hillbillies and heretics and hummingbirds and Haye’s
All have to howl
Then heckle the other
For doing the same  
So please for the love of
Patricia who can’t say ‘*******’ and the Preacher’s daughter down the lane
Lets just agree to oust ****** shame
218 · Jul 2019
A Lemon’s Zest
Caro Jul 2019
Where to even start, I don’t know
Maybe with your wholeness.
With your completeness.

Sometimes maybe it feels that there is too much,
Such a great muchness in you,
It’s not too much.
It’s exactly as much as you are.
And it’s a blessing and a beauty and a bounty
That you will always overflow and you will never run dry.

Just the shine in your eyes could make the whole sea glimmer.
Just the zeal in your laugh could contest with all the lemons in the world in zest
Just the shimmer of your hair!
It could send rockets to the moon.

The point is
That you,
You are the point.
For my sister who I’ve just discovered is maybe my favorite person ever to write about
217 · Jun 2020
Caro Jun 2020
Makes me feel
kind of strange
very strange I'll be honest
it makes me want to overeat
it makes me feel like Im an alien learning to swim with no feet

But none of that's true and I'm a human
and I have feet and ankles
Vulnerability makes me feel
Very aware of my shins
It makes my head swirl and the back of my neck feel more naked than a dog shaved for summer

But in a way
it feels like home
is that too much to say
Do i really feel that way
go with it
try it out
its probably true

I used to like vulnerability

Maybe this is where I get my creativity back
Actually maybe this is how I combat
My detach

Maybe this is where my strength lies
Maybe in this honesty I am more myself than ever before
Maybe I've shed the fear that used to make other people a bore
I've been coming to this for a while
Now that I look back on this year
I've been craving this earnest collective of presentness being picked up by my ears

Little hairs swaying back and forth
A strange notion

Simpler and fully in
Learning to remember that I know how to swim
My calves engulfed in blue
feeling fresh and new

I did always say that I wished I was a fish
212 · Jun 2020
Bath with Old Young You
Caro Jun 2020
I took a bath
The other day
After looking at your Instagram
And seeing a photo of you on your birthday
You are wildly different now
Then you were when I last saw you

You were so sweet with a sleepy in your eye
And smile in mind
So confused when you asked “What?” “Why?”

Now honey you’re almost ugly in your darkness  
But the curve of your brow, the shape of your teeth, the beak in the center of your face
I’m still fond I’m still sweet on all of it
I still want you in my bath
But I guess I probably don’t want you, you
I want old young you and old young me
Sitting in my tub
Making bubbles
Playfully disrespecting each other
You were a bit of magic in my potion bottle
That never stops giving
I have no angst or pain associated with our parting
Because our meeting was so perfect
I wonder if you remember it too
Or maybe you blocked me out

Either way, you’re in my mind
Always laughing in the dark looking so ******* sublime.
193 · Mar 2020
Caro Mar 2020
You're still my vice baby
It scares me how much I love the thought that I could be yours too
The idea that I'm not
I push away
As it tries to confirm old beliefs that I am not enough
That what I want will not come to me

Because I live anew
What I want lands in my path
"I am abundance" I repeat as I fall asleep

I hope with tearful eyes
And shaking breath
And that sweet earnest quiver in the bridge of my nose
That one day you won't be my vice
That you'll be my good morning
Or my Tuesday afternoon
That we'll be in tune
Like we were in June and May and October and December

I don't want anything from you that you don't want though
And how hard to know what to want
When I'm afraid.
I don't want to live in fear
So I must live apart

But is it all so dramatic anyway?

I don't want to always be so deliberate in my wants

It's not all love and romance

It's just a normal day
Meaning passing between us

Is what I pretend.
But really.
Fervently, I love you.

I love your jaw and your voice.
I love your laugh
How giddy you become like a child smiling at the sun
I love your mania
I love your crazy eyes alight in the moon
I love your BELIEF I love your ******* earnest sincerity.
Who the **** else is earnest like that?
It's gorgeous, I'm obsessed.
I could drink and bathe in your sincerity.

A bless or a curse to be the object of my obsession
I worry how my attraction to you would affect you
Would it be too much?

I think so.
Read the signs, see the facts
When someone tells you who they are believe them and all of that...
But, I'd rather not?
Instead I want to think that when we stood behind your house smoking that joint trying to stay away from the wind that you felt the tension too.

I love the way you wear boots.
I love the way sweaters hang on your shoulders.

****, each time I revisit your room in my mind I must confirm again and again with growing certainty that I am obsessed with you.
Caro Nov 2019
I love the slate blue sky
Lightening over the gloomy, moody, swooshy sea
I love my pale skin that won’t tan
I love my hairy knees and calves and thighs
I love the cool breeze tickling my back
I love my oily, sea-salted hair
I love the plush sand from the high tide
I love my hairy hairy hairy waiter, covered in the cutest curly cues I’ve ever seen
I love the palm trees, with their fronds bent across each other from the wind
I love the muddy brown bumpy road
I love the rain and humidity, the wet.
I love the mist over the sea, making its surface a sweet mystery
I love the green and the blue and the brown
I love the happy, sleepy travelers
I love the happy, sleepy sea and my mind breathing it all in for keeps.
186 · Jun 2019
V-Day 2018
Caro Jun 2019
Sad like Valentines Day 2018 with my lover I loved no longer beside me in my bed, watching Inglorious *******, spaghetti I slaved all day on in the garbage because I spilled it in my haste, the words 'leave you' on my tongue.
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