There's a lunatic in my mirror.

Oh come hither to me
My sweetest honey roasted peanut lips
Your almonds I will nibble
You won't be able now to sleep
Let me crack your  perfect pecans
I will walnut you away
I will **** away your cashews
Lick all the salt away
I will ****** all your Brazil nuts
They are most precious I must say .
Yes I have gone completely nutty
What more could I say .

It’s not a bad goal
to be the kind of girl who
Rumi writes about.

So unknowingly
this bright muse interpreted
to touch and inspire.

But me? Never meant
to be the subject of art—
an object of thirst.

See, I’m the poet,
existing somewhere alone—
a penchant for soul.

Watercolor thoughts,
manipulating the lines
between joy and pain.

It’s not a bad goal
to be the kind of girl
who becomes Rumi

either.

ELEVEN* was tired because it was
Almost TWELVE, but ONE was
Up late TWO watch THREE come
Home, FOUR was tired because FIVE
Did snore but SIX pushed him out of
The bed he snored no more, SEVEN
Was up as bright as could be, its
Amazing what EIGHT hours of sleep
Can do for me, NINE was happy as it
Was almost TEN because ELEVEN
Was coming to brunch again, TWELVE
Did come along the day going so quick
So more numbers counted once again
Which will leave us at the first number once again.

when i saw you hovering there
          some little
                    brown thing
i thought of my nails
          scraping across pink flesh
the amassing of skin under
          their beds
                                                 know this

had I been born from some kind of egg
         hatched as a larvae
                   thirsty for blood meal
the weight of the tortillas
        might not have felt
                   so light in my hand
as I brought them to you
        speed like colors
                   against a cabinet door

I didn't mind you balling Jack in our sack

Behind my back

But to take the fridge which held the beer

That was low, even for you dear

Now I hear you've dumped Jack, in favour of Mark

Everybody knows, he’s a nark

And what about the beer

Is it true, Mark the nark was shot in the dark

Now you're with Joe

The price of beer, it’s shocking you know

Heard the news, heart attack, poor Joe, and at the point of blow

Way to go Joe, the beer will flow

Is it true, Joe’s hardly dead and you’re away with Fred

My god, I'm drinking myself dead

Oh no, surely not Fred, he was in his prime

Time gentlemen please, time

Well that sobered me up

You’re living with Mary, quite contrary

That's it, you've crossed the line

I'm the laughing stock in the Rose and Crown

You have finally pushed me over the ridge

For Christsakes woman

Keep the ****** fridge.

You are beautiful
-love the sloth who has been adhesified

With his tongue coated in sugar
and a smile seeping with sin,
I ignored what Mama told me
and let that devil in.