Moments dressed up as old friend
Stories with sharp ends
Time can be violent, ever so silent
Is your love timeless?
I don’t need your love
I just want your eyes to unwind
See behind defining lines
Stories told by false notions
Innocence drinking potions
Do you even notice?
You’ve got to focus
I thought I saw you in a dream last night
My words wouldn’t let my heart speak
I'm not used to hearing colors in the words you use to make your mouth leak
An open letter to my mothers boyfriend,
When you blame millennials for the current state of our nation, you are disregarding the environment we've learn to survive in. Cookies hanging over our heads, blindly following the sound of people celebrating empty dreams. Dreams recited by our fathers. I am not trying to place blame on you, as I know you too have been infected by these unspoken rules. You too had a cookie hanging over your head. But I want you to know that our cookies just look different. As time passes recipes’ recalibrate and cookies transform. And I feel for you, maybe you’re still chasing the cookie, maybe it’s getting harder to chase, or maybe you ate the cookie and still felt hungry. But if we really want to have this conversation, about the current state of our nation, I’m gonna need for you to stop talking about cell phones and 20 something year olds and start talking about where these cookies came from!
How many times must my fists smack your stiffness until you soften?
I don’t want to use my fists, I’m not violent.
Even in defense, words raised to take the hardness,
silently, repeat, repeat.
Raised to repeat, repeat.
I never wanted to be violent.
I don’t want to use my fists, but your stiffness is contagious.
I don’t know how to look at you without them,
smacking every corner, separating hard shells.
I don’t want to use my fists.
They’re raw and dry, too sanitized.
and my shell is colliding, oozing, fermenting
into juices of the berries you forbid.
I don’t want to use my fists anymore.
My hands want to open, softly.
Sweet unfolding fingers
offer demons blessed darlings.
There are days I dream and feel like an imposter
until I remember we’re all imposters living in unrealized dreams.
Who are you
we wish to wake the shadows we don't own
the sun don't shine in places unknown
you've put monsters in our heads
monsters in our beds
our eyes may hide but we still see the lie
our hearts are meant to sing you deny
you've got monsters in your head
you're the monster in my bed
Addiction captures a group of very special people. Their power and wisdom could heal the world once reminded who they really are.
What an insidious dance among your
tone teeth and tongue. Words not formed to be heard, just flashing the flags you claim.
All actors acting the leads in roles of plays they don’t write.
Moving tongues become obsolete on stages build in concrete.
And as I watch
I listen for those words of choice to sound less like a noise and more like voice.