pretty-eyed girl,
your underbelly's pink,
green, deep time,

don't know what you see in me,
I overcook things,
burn my mouth, trying to speak,

as
we daggle our already wet feet
over the pits of dog-bitten territory,

you always scratch first,

  but I dig deepest,

                 I guess, secretly,
                       I'm ready to see you go,

             far away, where the screams can't bind you,
                            and all the guilt quietly fades away,
                                 where you're comfortable, forever,
                             and your days remain the same, always
                                     where words don't come out
                                                      all ******,
                                              and your pretty thoughts
                                                    untangle at the feet,

                              where love can loop endlessly,
                                 and the old me is waiting

1.) I feel fine.
2.) don't like coming down from the high
3.) I'm ready for the next adventure - tired of being here

4.) All 8 sound good to me - 10, reallym oops

5.) I feel fine.
6.) Stomache hurts a little, but I'm eating a little

      numbers are starting to limit me,
      space even feels limiting
      in the thick of repeating,
       contrasting safety.

  Danger
is fun to me,
placing the awareness
uncomfortably
to expand,

7.) I'm thinking of passages
8.) Dreaming, in creation, romances; freedom

9. still feels fine

1.0.) hallucinatons

goodbye

record breaking amnesia,
don't remember how to love you,

screaming,
  you aim for my face,

I strike for the gut,
where the misery
has nestled in disguise,
symptoms
come in binges,
don't think about
it stretching,
    lasting,
    coming back again,
anger,
pain,
hatred,
     you are blood,
      and I still can't pretend,

  record breaking amnesia,
  don't remember how to love you,

you provide strings
with your support,
meanings
checked at the door,
meaning,
you attach and consume
before we go forth,

  and, I
  just asked for help,
    not a third hand to feed me,
    not a list of nasty names,
    not a knife in the back,
    not another family member trying to bleed me,

honesty, clarity, hope:

record breaking amnesia,
don't remember how to love you

it was time to sow the seed,
  stitch the old me
    to the present me,
       and breathe,

release
   all this anxiety,
     tension tightening
       the grip, strapped around
         my throat,
          around my hopes,
           the me I've missed,
burn white candles,
  lay out my stones,
     rewrite the misery,
       untie the history,
         reach closer
           to the underbelly's guise, mystery,
      why I've lived
       through the eyes of others,

flies, gnats,
  and dead meat,

    there is no me there,

      just blurred scribbles,
        hopes for sunshine,
          trying to be
            something realer

butterflies love the blood,
tumbling about in bellies,
whisk it away, the way we pray,
a bird being carried by a breeze,
lifted essence, manifested,
heart shade, finally, at ease,
signal came through,
translated to
sharpened claws,
unclenched jaws -
unthought it all while sober -

  you came as ocean, as breeze,
   as birds, as leaves,
   as hues and blues,
   sunshines and moons,
and you left as you pleased,

    opened my mouth wide to cry for you,
    praise you,
   love you, raise you above
  what I've said in silence,
  unbreak the trust I betrayed in private,

  you came as hearts, as people I've known,
  and stories never told, as whispers,
  as hugs, and as kisses,
  as melodies, repeatedly on my brain, as so,
absent of you,

      I came to know you:

butterflies love the blood,
dying slowly from the greed,
whisk it away, the way I pray,
would ask for your forgiveness,
but I know there is no need,

I feel you in the leaps
of knowing when to regret,
and when to let it be,
summon the tides stronger
aside dying suns, each day,
each night I pray for you to call upon me,
like you did when I was your favourite color,
pray for you to love the me now, and be sure of no other,

so if I adjust the pitch,
tune the sounds to form around
your wisdom, or pretty eyes,
maybe the melody will reach you again,

if not for love,
lost at sea,
then for truth,
and maybe friends we'll be,

no longer eclipsed by rumors

In the wee hours of nothing
We exist as ourselves
Too tired for delusions
Too asleep to lie
Too awake to dream
Unintentionally
We are our unfiltered selves
Content to just be...
In the wee hours

wondering if sound escapes heart
if voice will become foreign again, a new soul again,
stretch these wings for the first time,
deeply inhale madness, for the first time,
recognize Blue, for the first time, sadness, too, or
reluctance, soft, tickling agony,
radiating,
as being woven in a nightmare, loose thoughts, I,
cannot breathe, loose thoughts, growing pains,

swell in the belly, void fear,
swell in the heart, too, he is not here,
so faint, we become, bruising our elbows,
gathering tongues with strangers,
heart's silence echoes,
truth glistens, in the rain, tear showers,
seedlings find themselves crawling
back down in the rabbit hole, again, devour

1) Somewhere not so deep, serendipity carries serenity.

2) Eyes are just more beautiful fingers, so try to leave goose bumps where others leave bruises.

3) My hobbies are poetry, basketball and convincing people of things I don’t believe.

4) Art is something that cannot be expressed in any other way.

5) Fear God.

6) Sometimes, the answer might be right but the question might be wrong.

7) If you could steal the moon from the night sky, the stars would get more attention.

8) If tears glowed in the dark, pillows would make wonderful night lamps.

9) People may be shades of grey but still have one black shadow.

10) Beauty is not so relevant when drawing with white chalk on concrete.

a natural work of art
   unnaturally rearranged
delicate sensibilities
   under patterns of shadow

self-portrait of inertia
   depicting withdrawal
pursuit of recognition
   motionless in futility

muted colors of being
   imbalance in the spectrum
intrinsic inquisition
   casting quality of light

fruits of perseverance
   nourishment for survival
openness and acceptance
   creating spatial composition

flowers in heart's vase
   healing from suffering
light from obscurity
   still life with darkness