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acacia Oct 8
let me bask in your light,for you are higher than me right now, since we are from the same light, but today and all of my years before, you shine heavenly, you shine brightly
you beam this all encompassing cacophony of electric blue and sense-depriving white;
and i want to be this,
i pray to you for you are above me and you give me this light
i pray to you, my baby boy, for you are my guide and my love, please know I am your Mary
i pray to you because you are a close source of divine light, a close river of pure water, and i am experiencing the same divinity you encompass every time i meditate on you,
the same hydration you receive from the elixir of knowledge every time i meditate on you and the origins we share
every time i cry tears of overwhelming joy,
each time i join myself with the capacity of linearity and am on the edge of the coarse shores of Boundary and Limit, I can step my foot inside the ocean to feel the water, I will not grab or kick the water, I will immerse myself in the water,
I will be in the water

we are no buoys in the water; to not be the anchor and sink in the water, but do dissolve us farther from matter—now us, the drops, become indistinguishable from the sea
rough draft and a one take, didn’t edit really

just wrote... man really is closer to god when he faces the sea...
acacia Sep 20
He even said it in the History Textbook, and he quoted this line,

"I heard you didn't like Drugs like me, I wish you'd show me how much you hate me and get down on your knees,"

and he continued to shut his Bible, and turn off the lamp on his right-side.

I'm swimming away, I'll pour my water elsewhere. I'll talk to
the word in the title is ' O-p-i-u-m' but censored for some reason. guess cuz itsa drugggg
acacia Sep 20
I will force my curves into word-induced landscapes and hidden meditation with my pashmina hiding my head,

the direction this originates matters none, for it will result in healing the wound of duality, healing the wound of It All Inside Me—

if originates from riposte, conceit, or because of the rainy day, it matters none, the Truth will filter through—it will increase and decrease into the Swallow, like my chest underneath this pale nightgown—

this nightgown is sheer, acquiescent to my body secretly revealed under,

this nightgown is slightly glowing under moonlight peering in from the window, the afterglow travels from ethers of yore to greet me, bringing jewellike rocks from asteroids with them,

(the rocks are crushed into fine powders then drizzled over me to glint my form)

the moon seemed to give the same droplets the morning did,

and the cheeks on my bottom bedewed, modest moisture clinging this nightgown to my body
But I knew it couldn't last 'til Summer's end; now give me back all the clothes you borrowed.
acacia Sep 18
Make me drink the orange-growing vines inside a drop of water; I sit in this bubble and I see the world as they transcend through slaughter; you drink the rain and bring me more strange parodies;
waiting for your darkness in the call, waiting for your call in a Tuesday window slot;
the driver forced you to buy a new one, a grown one, a torn one; a little boy brightly needs to see me, a little bird brightly needs to feel me;
forge the holy waters by the saunas, the natural sauna to drill in the Sun to drive me into the harkings through your brain, your frontal lobe, your northernmost pole;
crashing into cities, foraging through the dark;
you can’t take away from me, I’m in the single most nearest computer screen: did you see her by the lamppost? In the window, walking in the window—she got hit with the wind, though;
the brown hedge waters, they’re seeking you; they seek the driest triumphant day to reform the nations, reform indications about the way you dress, send a PSA about how to look at your chest!
Can you see me lurking in the window? Can you feel my hand through your twins, though? HER: Where does the gale blow?
HIM: Do you mean where the wind blows?
HER: Oh, the gale goes where the wind blows?
And he thinks she’s stupid, so her drinks her like a syrup and drizzles her; life is mirrored.
My whole heart has been contaminated by the single-use lines of you; I’m just a cigarette, a cigarillo with a frequent contempt for matrimony, busted **** inside the head—make me with lace of yarn; take me, trace me into the most prettiest fabric in the sea, with hair falling down Mountain Holy; I drift into your yard, with the life outside focused on my hands and green tops with hearts into jars—not that song.
Your song, (yeah, you) your song, the one you wrote for me (with calamezzo!) Mazaretto, that’s my name. I remember. Yeah, you. I remember you. Why would you say that, huh? I ask between gritted teeth, and gasping breaths. You thought it was okay to say that, huh? My voice heightens and cracks as I whip into you; sweat drips down your sides, I want to rip your heart.
Don’t tell me, don’t see. The sea is far, wide, stretched in your cavities; the crevices of your hide; my fish doesn’t like that. She takes everything away! She holds them inside of her cave, while she swims with her tail in her legs. She logs their heads there,
she holds their heads there; she follows the leader, she saw her as a cheater.
Maybe if you are lucky you can get a selfie of my chest . . .
Sep 18 · 42
acacia Sep 18
. . . but I don't have the courage this life time,
(Why? 'Cause look all you want: there's no use); I am threaded yet i am chained!
Don't you contemplate?
I must sit and eat at a table (I admit it); dance for a weary amount, though, I am a hoarder: a hoarder of bisouls, of biscorns, of biwhole )bihalves(

so right now
acacia Sep 10
I haven't seen you in a while; did you know today I wanted to be pink? Today I wanted to dress up in purple darkness (like the juice we drink in the dawn and dusk to commemorate the fertile groves between your mother's—that is I—legs) that'd stain every shoe you'd wear. You could sip orange juice while I dance all over the mirror,

the mirror, the mirror sees you in the way I'd want to: like the water—from every angle—like an angel you've been, even when my own plasma splashed your anatomy—from every view of that frimple in your eye, of the crinkle in your cheek, of the small mark above your nose.

My baby boy, conditionally, we are suppressing these memories: the memory of you no longer loving me. What is a mother going to do? Her baby bird has broken his farthest-right-wing; the dapper dauphin desires to fly even when he can tweet no longer. Can he even bring the petals to the celebration?

So because of this I cry and pray and grovel in the coarse sand while dusting my feathers; the same bath you used to sit in with I, smiling when I’d brush the hard Earth from your tiny head. Take your leaves and bring them to the nest:

feed me with words, I’ll feed you endorphins: my little bird, just let me die, take my note to Suicide—your phermones are all I need, I inhale them furiously. And we cry and we sigh to the God (inside us) above us, and we beg It to bless us with soft vapor that swallows us like the Swallow does; cuneiform scribes as the whispers form to you: bring me luck for my own return—I want my arc; I need rays to hit me with the brightest contingent beam. Poisoning you and not me, so I wouldn’t have to go on without you by choice.
I will grade the essay about the light inside of you, you present on the light inside of Me, me inside of You;

this started as an automatic writing session but then I started to expand on "My soul is maternal like a native country"

So this is automatic turned sequel. . . this doesn't have any direct muse, just an image of my head of a mom and a son and her husband
acacia Sep 7
I dream in your skies
I float into the equilibrium of your cries
I want to orbit closer to you
I want to feel your cold
I want to know your hold
I dream to you

[Journal entry from twenty suns ago]:

He stays floating in the air like no one’s watching
It is no one’s business what my friends do,
What my planets are up to
Uranus, while I figure this out
Please continue watching over my endless drought
I will continue to learn and
I’ll fly to you, one day
One night out of the many days
One day out of the many nights
I will sing to you
I will sing for stars
You will watch me dance from one end to the other end of the Heavens

And once I am done having a good laugh,
I'll turn the sound down, I'll turn the radio off
I'll close the book, now, I'll pick up another book now
Remember this is all up to you; remember You are the Observer, too
Remember you are playing a game
all the outer planets give you signs to Go back! there's nothing out here. it's all back in.

now that you have compartmentalized it, experience it. consciously shift your conciousness.
acacia Sep 3
It will roll along the waves with the rest of the men whose bodies sink to the floor whilst I stand on the shore with the shell I chose to keep in admiration, anticipating for when I will make it aware of itself as I have been made. Now, as I peel the skin of a banana, I dip into a reverie of the large ship whom I gave back to my tides.
Through the toughest sea-peaks he sailed sweetly, navigating as though he’s swam these blue bodies for aeons—I’m sure he has—yet, his wear from these waters was prominent, his ejection from these seas was eminent; his sail was now weaker than my second hand linens. I do not know if he knew—maybe—but I certainly did. I also remembered this was only a short journey. A short journey to the point of where I began. And where I began is the same place where I continue to begin. It is the same place where I breathe in new air through an old nose, where I see through the smoke, where I turn other persons lyres.
'How many more sentiments on this ship can I make?' I thought to myself as we neared the land. There was no more distinction between short and long; one, two, and three; night and day—no more. There was only the ship and I. And the ship consisted of his natal awakening and his natal sleeping; and I consisted of my start and end.

Once I’ve gotten towards sea firth, close enough to pink sand, I immediately climbed down the twine ladder zealous to bring vegetation to the rest of the land; bring a comma (never a period, it could never be a period, not materially or spiritually) to the question marks. I splashed and ran, rocks lifting from beneath my feet, droplets forming back into drops forming back into pools forming back into bodies.
I looked back to wave good-bye to the ship, then I noticed he remained a question mark. He kept his anchor close to the shores, wading in the pool, but I put a hyphen to this reverie. I put a hyphen to this reverie because he is still here. I am not getting back onto the ship. I must swim on my own, on our own, with the quests I embark with my shell, with the fragrant seeking I find when I lift the palm leaf. My shell has to see the journey I see, my shell needs to be in the drifting wings of the open conundrum. Use all senses. It is all I could need.
My reverie frees itself, my reality frees itself. My shell is harkened. The ship is harkened. I am harkened. You are watching our reflections sway in the water. I am reflecting in the water-sway.
I wear my shell on a chain. A yoga of my(Our)(I) one Soul. Marriage in the highest octave. I drift seemingly further from the ship, but I are not moving, the ship is not moving. 'Get closer to me,' Twinkles say. I are not moving.
aThe ship is separate, the only thing separate from me. I detach from him using pronouns, using things to emphasize the ships tear. I suggest everyone ride the ship, please. Once I learn to be accept the ship with my shell, with myself (and you all) then I think I will move towards the ship.

In this temporal realm I can only row one paddle at a time.
Sep 2 · 113
Don't Feed Me Lemons
acacia Sep 2
WHEN I DRINK LEMONADE: If I could call you, I’d tell you we’re still friends.

INNER THOUGHT: I don’t think he wants me as he watches me through the window dancing; as he watches rain dance on me, tempted to be there: by the way, I will never be there.

HE SHOUTS: Will you come in from the weather outside? The leaves are drunk on absinthe again! You can follow me up the ladder and I will reel your hair in.

TRYING ON MY NIGHTGOWN: Draped in silhouettes, I am; made from fibers taken from the Holy Day of Martyrs. On that day, you can see Jesus walking in the parades: and I’d really want to, by the way, I’d really want to see Jesus there.

FINALLY: My whole room lifted with the Sun as it took downers through the night, helped him come up, helped him sink down in beds of cards—court cards, beds of Ace of Wands. Maybe if you pulled The Lovers it’d be better. Maybe it’d be better.

FLYING KITES ON A BEACH: Will we come back from feeling so drifty? Touring on a blade and I’m dropping the knife, right now, on your back.

LOOK AT ME IN MY SKIRT: You don’t even notice when we’re on trips: your eyes are always closed, and you’re always staying in (again). Tired of senses feeling so senseless, can’t you be more wary of where you are walking?

REALLY?: You walk into my room, when and where I am naked, and I am getting climbed over by rats—they won’t stop!

TRUST ME: I will break your heart again. I really want to. I’d eat it for breakfast, I’d take you for lunch, and I’d steal you for supper. Don’t you question me, I know how I am writing. Don’t feed me lemons, I am aware and sure of how I am writing.

LET ME: I thought I had bronchitis, once, when he told me to go away: I cursed at him. He said he was disappointed. Maybe it’d be better that way.

BACK IN THE DAY (I HATE WHEN IT’S A BIRTHDAY): Never whole or complete: always fragments! Unholy realization whilst only seeing reflections, and never the source—if my eyes are exclusive so is my heart, if my eyes are exclusive so is my light.
night night
acacia Aug 30
For this I cannot have you: you never look at me.
I can make a movie—you’d never watch me.
Spinning out of orbit, faster than you can see.
Faster in my pointe shoes, fast enough for me.
Spinning out of orbit—no one ever mattered really.
acacia Aug 26
Had the feeling of being in a hole, again,
of hiding from the whole world, again,
of being into the womb, once more,
to hide from being torn apart, from being torn apart;
from being torn from the world and from the planes and
from the space into my years; the fear of being caught,
the fear of being wrong, once more, the fear of being misunderstood, (do not let me be understood)
again, the part of me that won’t let me be honest with you (and my Self),
it follows me through the seas and through every path I go.  
Now that we’re through, stop calling: took me a couple years to let my ******* run to you, took me some time to learn to myself peak for you, now, because of someone else I must let go of putting myself out there:
putting myself in someone’s hands whom I respect: because, now for me,
I was right: I was wrong!
If I could do anything I would want to be outside this husk:
if I could do anything I would put this vehicle in park, open this door, and get out of this car. Let me out, open the car door.
Get out of this cave, it’s what I want. If I could do anything I would walk away from everyone: because I know there’s no distinction, and there’s no more every-body-else. Because of this I would walk away. I’d let go of you all. I’d accept you all for as the Sun accepts the rain, again.
I’d go where I never thought the Sun would return to, but it will, it did, and it has, and I must go farther than it all because you and you have, too, and there is never nothing for you to not discover.
Unprecedented thinking drives you and I: if I could do anything I’d get out of my car.
acacia Aug 21
Talking through the walls, whispering endearing acts of heresy;
(for the most holy things are said in secret)
he's tricking and flipping the air around,
but will his gales blow stronger than the Sun's fire burns?

Who could be satisfied with clovers of their own?
I want clovers of yours, and yours: but I must not let this greed take root in my soil.
For if it is fertilized, I will have to uproot my whole skin—
truth is always becoming, truth would look nice on my body
(to become a spiritual young woman, I must make my mind like I make my bed, I must cleanse my heart as I cleanse my plates—I must, so to present my body as the ultimate sacrifice)— shedding the old, and the new glistens like moistened lips.
"Just a vehicle," I whisper to myself, looking into the window out my bedroom.

Ceiling is bright blue, decorated with moving clouds and stars: it is night and day in my land.
acacia Aug 19
I'm out to get you, Prince, and I'll cut your hair, take it for mine: take your mind, your ******* in a fistful of petals blooming from pods around the world and into the binary tools used over and over again stuffing it in my channel; the estuary floods!

If you can naturally prepare yourself, the gods seem to care less—I'm talking about how I'm out to get you, Prince, and take your virginity, steal the thing you want from me, and too bad you didn't get it first—

Tomorrow swings the bat, and I can give you this kitty-kat—play if you need the action: killer, gravitational pull, take your hair and not look back!

Scissors in a golden light, angelic chorus echo through the back drop, a jangly piano ****** and pings at our ears, you body is an instrument that I play like Tetris (if I could ever play, but it's an invitation I can't decline!)

I'm out to get you, Prince, get hit with a satellite laser beam. Wanna try? My dance, my song; I echo this back in the water to watch it ripple under the current ebbing waves controlled by the Moon in an empty part of a dreamed-universe.

You seem to be such an intangible falsity, floating through my own pink hearty tubular excavation: cut me in the jugular!

Hold my legs up to the petaled-Sun, breathe in this heat! I'm as thrilling as the stillness of silence after an atomic bomb, taking your virginity—I recommend you drop your price.

The most spiritual union the universe has ever seen, they take their eyes from our scene, so much purity and a gross obscene, cut my jeans from its inseam: I'm to get you, Prince.
Verbose. Inspired from a song, you might be able to tell from the repeating line, "I'm out to get you."

Was really inspired from the imagery from a Tantra book and the song mentioned.
acacia Aug 18
I look between lines in everything ,
looking for a divine message from Mercury:
waiting on the signal, searching for indication:
waiting on the whistle, reading for me in the pages, in the titles.
Looking to see if there any indication of me in your Thoughts, O Mercury, waiting to see if I'll see a song that reminds you of me.
Mercury, I don't know what's happening, I can't see past your foggy winds: I do know that I will not stop digging into even when I reach the planet's end.
You see me sitting in the lotus: splashing in the water, laughing (am I? are you?), two ears full of tears: petals shield my crown from the Sun's (sometimes) harmful ray. Right? This is what you see? When you hear these things? When you read those things?
Farther side of the moon... hey, it stays on my mind: friend.
Come to Uranus so that I could get through to you somehow: at least let me know if you still read these? Can I read your palmistry, now?
acacia Aug 17
my soul* is maternal and acts as a supplicant to her star-bearded Son; my soul is maternal like the smell of yeast rising, like the feel of folded laundry, and like the shine in cassia-toned hair.

My Soul is the mother's taut reaction to the whine of her baby: she writhes in pleasure of coining the perfect creation from her yarned womb. High-sunned stalks stem from his thousand-petaled crown, mewls, howls, and whiffs of love splash into creation of the babe’s anatomy: he is purple-faced, dipped eyes, marbled hands, endowed with his early-born mother’s atypical jewelness and his skyey father’s aptitude of royalty.

The babe tastes her malt-like milk and grows beyond the mass of my skull’s matter, hoping for the growth to cease in a stature of yore, to cease in a phase long passed.

My saturated maternity yearns for the inch length finger and inch width palm to cling to her, for she misses when she was the trellis for the vine.

Now, she must persist in her swerving non-linear growth, conceding her child was a Morning Star and drew further from Spica even faster than he did from her: but she must perpetuate his growth and her own. For there is no more stasis, only expansion, and because of this, their flights are to cross again somewhere,

there is no line and no route; she will walk in the footsteps of her precocious-boyish man days and years after he did, and he will walk over the hills of The Mother in days to come, (before she even realizes it) and sprightly sprint over the footprints fading in the cosmic snow, wanting to go back and sink in the imprint, hoping to burrow himself in it to be in her holding once again.

No thing is parallel, no thing is construct, all-one are we, and we are made to watch ourselves amplify and quieten.
*I use soul without a capital S because individuality is the ego. I might as well have put 'ego' or 'ego-soul' (??) but, um, stylistic reasons (I guess?). So, I guess this isn't really my Soul, but my mind. Or my heart. It’s my heart talking. Heart? It’s my flesh talking. The heart is a treacherous thing! I have bad articulation.

This is heavily inspired by an experience, a song, and from a poem by Saint-Pol Roux. The title, "My soul is maternal like a native country", is a direct quote from Saint-Pol Roux's "The Magdalene with Perfumes".

How verbose of me.
acacia Aug 15
I said a prayer, did it for you
I repeat my prayers, I pray to you
I said my prayer, I prayed through you
I say a prayer, end it with you
*ended the prayer with you

DRAFT #829483
acacia Aug 15
I am pleased
Took the chance, life will roll subsequently
Nothing here and now is ever new
Rolling endlessly down and up on a racetrack
Nothing I say can ever appease you
You must feel the hunger for yourself
Let yourself starve, I fill my nose with incense
I invoke my lover every time
Made a pros and cons list, then read the wheel: transit Venus quincunx natal Moon
A time where action must play
A time where you must decide before the scale tips-ips

Jupiter still amusingly sits in my 7th house, snickering away. I hold Saturn’s hand, I wave away illusions: Jupiter holds my other hand, Jupiter clears a sunny path of luck: love, luck, love, luck. Mars, here I am, send me! Send me. I’ll move through your horizons real gracefully. I’ve passed my test, what greater gift could there be(?), Mars (?),

here I am, send me! Send me.

I am: a day-born bird, a small young worm, am learning new, perched upon dew; I self-repair, I turn to you: My Diurnal King, my strength renew.
God, help me always know your love is greater than my heart:

yu grab yer book i hope itz good
you play music, I hope it’s good
The past-long days, I hope they’re good:
I swim I swim I swim (pause) I swim
acacia Aug 14
and after I came, I looked into the ceiling light: all I could see was the sun
I looked into the sun, I was taken for a ride
My eyes went everywhere
my sight blurred and all I could see
where shadows of ground and light before it came
My cheeks flushed
hard smell of salt and sweat
perhaps, even something sweet, a hint of saccharine, too
I am glued together,
glued to the top of the bed, the mattress could’ve used a little extra room anyway
I hit my peak when the sun was it’s peak today,
I hear your high-afternoon speaking in my ears;
I feel your August noon summer slowly rocking me along the waves of personal streams from my passageways
acacia Aug 14
What two* lucky days for me:
so star-crossed, lacrosse on the TV, and you both smiling

Every moving planet watches you sing light melodies into the air and they echo back
Every rotating star watches me dance to heavy beats on the balcony and they send another one

In the morning, the Sun shone on my mated mansion, preparing me:
Jupiter blessed you with an opportunity to blend our harmony:
Venus saw your Heart and gave you to me

Only fifteen minutes ‘til your birth, Venus wanted you to come see me:
Jupiter drove into your lot, ringing your seventh-door bell:
the Moon saw our hands in the Future

I misplace my gratitude for you men
Please, forgive me for nothing feels better than your touch,
nothing sounds better than your voice: I want nothing else
Please, forgive me for nothing feels better than holding you,
nothing sounds better than your laugh: I want nothing else
i'm happy
acacia Aug 13
I want to draw The Tower, instead I draw The Star: I want to crash, instead I keep sailing in the wind.
My wings keep moving even though I remain static under.
Sailing to the same points like the small ready-knots, (ready-knot, i.e., the invisible atom that doesn't move but look as if it is moving because of our eyesight; didn't you pay attention when the world was created?) though I am the 10th house, the macrocosm.
I cover my face with my hands: my wings keep moving: I cover because fear.
I bite the skin on my knuckles.
I wish I could fall apart: I wish I could tumble like a grain of sand down the dune into a pile of build up, yet someone won't let me collect.
Sreda throws me into His hurrcaning gales, I remain the same. The Monad rotates me over His fire, I remain the same.
I step over Your coal, Your knives, Your deluge; clumsily, yet I do.
My wings keep moving: everything I have could fall apart, my wings keep moving, and I cover my face out of fear.
You can call me the lamb, you can say I don't listen, you can call me weak and misunderstood, you can call me the small turtle dove, for I cover my face out of fear.
Though I don't want it to, my feathered sails glide through the skyscape; though I can't control it, I sail through white and blue; though I don't want to, I sail through nebulae tinged with unfinished fevers;
I peak through my fingers, eyes bright as a new-born cosmos, and I sometimes examine the pretty color of You, Father of Shine, and I sometimes study the tracks of You, Prince of Buoyancy. [BLAST BEAT]
I peak through my fingers, rain drops fall through these cracks, and I sometimes like the feel of your rays, Sun, and I sometimes like the feel of your winds, Mercury.
I stay far and cold and remaining: my wings keep moving, I keep sailing.

* [note]
I speak to you, the world, and to You, the avatar and the avatar:
feeling special again, please, someone put me in my place /
the monopolization / the vanity / the selfishness /
look how many I's are in my name:
feeling special again, please, someone put me in my place.
feeling special again, please, someone put me in my place
the monopolization
the vanity
the selfishness
look how much I refer to myself
feeling special again, please, someone put me in my place

I speak to you, the world, and to You, the avatar

I have wanted to fall apart
acacia Aug 10
The driest to evolve from the chambers of The Monads,
echoing from caves, mountains, and hills you roll amongst them all
in a stone pelted armor, cladded you are.
I drop from the depths of the blue sense, blue matter;
you wrinkle our bed sheets, pull them off the mattress with your toes,
I don't ever care, but I mourn when I feel like I am detached from your shine.
Your rays hit every inch of this House; it also hits
the 12th, the 3rd, the 4th, the 10th, and the 11th (even the 1st).
You ring my doorbell, you greet me with a smile:
you always have a grand jury under you.
Kingly Royal Star, I'd never share you: but in order to love you, I must share you, the Sun, you:
on days I don't want to visit Earth, I will continue to cool off by the river where I pour souls from my vase;
soon after a long day of light you come back to me. Uranus and Saturn reel you in as we now cool you off, the next twilight hours are the most important, for this is where you reign and fuel your ego-in-constant-development.
You say I am too cold, well, I say you are too warm.
I lust for you.
I love you so much that Venus could never know, Venus could never understand.
(The bed won’t break. I’m young, you’re old, we know; [GLISSANDE] the world, it’ll fade away. Doesn’t mean we will not stay.)
Mercury swings by me when I am lonely because I never know the difference between needing a friend and needing a lover. I give you all the same straws and you bow down to me, somehow:
to the smokey fog she drew, he cleared (it) so you wouldn’t drown: sea-foam rising in me.
O, King, you hold God in your palm; this is you, this is. O, Monad, I pray to you, I pray for you, for you are fast tracking near me.
I am stuck where I am, floating in your mass: Daylight, come back, twinkling Daylight.
Father of the Skies, you baffle me; amaze me with your ways, and show me how to be.
I feel the bar tip and it is going down, it flies all the way into Pluto’s claw.
Daylight God, you, O, Soul Beam, lead us all in the way of eternal life: show me how to create and express my nature, and I will show you how to refine and idealize your godliness.
You are my hyleg, You are my alcocoden, You are me.
I breathe in Your heat; I take refuge here in your pit with stomach-acid rain, with lava-purge *****. I roll to the nearest grass, I pluck the clovers from outside the widest lawns. I pluck them from fields, I pluck them from cracks.
Clover is my name, and with your rays I delight in sin. You hold me over raging flames, rotate me like a pig. Gods of small and big laugh and clap, you determine me like The One who cries of no pain.

Do you see what I see? Can you see these things?
Sun, you’re sitting with me by the river as I pour souls into this mix of yeast, wine, and gold—yes, all for you.
We share the throne of Chyle, and we whisk the whisk of Minm.
My sobering Prince, look in the waters, King, yes. Do you see you, Monad? Do you see the pretty I see?
I see the browning leaves wrestling with your hair, I see your dark spewing blood-eyes, I see your crater-deep dimples, I see the yarn stitched in for lashes: the most handsome I will ever see, if not, I will never see again. The tannest hand and the pinkest smile: you always come back home, and we sleep for nights and days during the Winter; you never burn the bed away, never during any Seasons.
I wanted to end this, but I can’t right now: I must continue to write [CADENZA] and tell you how you look like shimmers in the sea, like sparkles floating on top of green firth, like the lone fenny seaweed drifting amongst Adam’s ale; you are the small pockets of air clumped together in spindrift froth.
You are the eminent boat and the rowing-downwards motion, the flares of light reflecting off the great sea, the stiffest peaks in the sea-mountains.
You are the coldest gulp of air, the hottest gamma to ray, the darkest vignette to withhold in, the light peering through the treetops; you are zesty and buoyant like waves of heat traveling upwards in the distance; you are the tallest beam to hold God’s (which is You, my Monad) Heaven in place.
I want you on my lips, I want you on my tongue.
I make a small flower-pod bloom, and I do it thinking of you, my Master.
Father of the Shine / you perpetuate all light / you rule everything that is bright / you own everything (one) in sight / you make me smile / you bring my pain / you are the hero I need in any way / you are gold and we stay / I make you cry / I make you laugh / I am the huddles / I am the strongest waves (I am the wind) / [PIU DOLCE] let me take you away.

I must continue to fuel you, give you your fire for the days to burn everything away;
without my air you have no fuel, but too much and I choke you: it’s the Heavens way.
*I must continue to fuel you, give you your fire for the days to burn everything away;
without my air you have no fuel, but too much and I choke you: it’s the Heavens way.

Do you believe that love is a continuous stream?
acacia Aug 10
I don't like ******
I don't like (hidden) charms
I don't like hemmelig gestures
I don't like flick of the tongue

I cannot appreciate your beauty, it is not a talent
I cannot allow myself to faun over does who turn yellow like my lawn
Beauty is empty
Beauty is nothing at all
All you pretty girls, you seem like nothing at all
Don't bat your eyelashes
Don't color your cheeks
Don't throw on your new scarlet shoes
Don't let yourself fall into the week

You boys stay away from me
Your harrowing eyes rest beneath my leaking pipes
You pretty boys will never go for **** things like I
Sometimes it is you who tempt me
With you, boys, I would wish to go far
But take away your rotten dreams
Place them, from me, real real real real far

Take your tawny shoulders (take your blue shatter)
Take your conditional romance (take your charred bouquet)
Take your pre-set curls (take your square, veiny hands)
Take your petal heart (take your eyes from me)

I do not want (wo)man-kind (or the like)
I do not want you
Sometimes I wish to erase you from my palmistry
What is a being like me to do?

Charge me again, taxation, I rise from the smoke
Destroy all my golden photos
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Look away from me
Yes, look away from me

Giggling, bubbling, hysteria
Girlish, boyish beams
How do you stand this?
Why do you stand this?
I will not stand this
Look away from me
by Friar Sonya (my character)

she doesnt like these things
acacia Aug 9
[The Scene: She is sitting ahead of him in the dark with an amethyst hanging on a silver chain around her neck]

In the dark a loop siding from one end of the chain to the other
Eyes above the chain, pressed against, iris low in the eye, lids curtaining
Ineffable timbre-smoke plumes the atmos(tofall)sphere of us
The magnets drop
Amethyst colors the spaces between and outside of your eyes like a splash
Silver chain you're caught in, silver web I'm found in: you're the spider I'm eating
I pretend to follow you closely, though, you're following me, round in range into your crevices into the whites
We could find a well that'd be deep enough for our love, but you don't want me
We could lasso a meteor onto this Earth, crater a hole deep enough to fill with the bodies we'd(we've) ruin(ed) with our forces and heightened sense of being, but alas, you don't want me
At least, not in this form
For you have completed your karma, you've cut our attachments
Yet, I'm waiting for your return
Patiently waiting with the other Citta lost, wanting to return to their mothers
All I want is my mother: this is my karma, and this is my ball
This is my laundry to fold

[End scene: She gives him a kiss on the cheek and leaves him with the amethyst necklace]
Written in your perspective, this is how you view me
Written in his perspective, this is how he views her
Written in her perspective, this is how she views him
This is the real story
acacia Aug 8
It sharply cuts diamonds into small atmosphere; you glissade into
unconscious waves of blue that ebb and flow into a small creek near me, provocatively sliding from my matter (Higher Self) into my Lower Self (*******)
As she walks with her voice over vernal springs, she lifts bubbles capsulating butterflies into contoured skies, controlled by her waves and frequencies: though, I don't think she knows
So diminutive of a mouth yet the biggest passion-scales fly into the air breaking through chains and links in unseeable rolling tides
But the Sun will come again, perhaps, in the near future, and the grass will grow again, perhaps, in the near future
She is the new Goddess of me, she is the New Goddess of The Future: she comes to me in dreams, my New Goddess of The Future; and she comes to me again, my New Goddess of The Future
the name Halle was inspired from a singer
Aug 5 · 123
Water Lilies?
acacia Aug 5
The sun glowed by the candlelight, the beacon of freedom rings by him, holy beams slither round her. Deep breaths of selfishness, he.

"How do you do that?"

Biting into pistachios, only to remind her she's a living being not like him. "How do I do what?" Whimsicality exhaled, she.

"That thing you do," He flicks a cigarette into a well that extends into absence every atom closer to the ground. "Walking so naively like you're on water lilies."

In his escape, he redefined every aspect of her beauty. He'd make it the roots of the deluded world if he could, write it down in the books, mandate everyone to take precautionary heed from her.

"Water lilies?"

In his field, he put her through everything. Leisurely snipping her threshold unlike some others. "Yeah. Like you're floating on water; very buoyant, you are. So wobbly and so wiggly."

Echoes of the girl's child-like twitters stirred sprightly through the links and chains of oxygen, water vapor, pollen, and dirt. It bounced off everything, including his soft textiles. "Wobbly and wiggly? Like a fish!"

"Yeah, except you're water, you're a lily,"

Together in unison, like a chamber: "A water lily!"

Their heads roll back like boulders, belly-aches rumble the Sphere, making the sand encompassing the ponds and cities judder and sway like tides.
Are you down?
acacia Jul 29
I figure it like a song, like a vibration of focal points of force
without any more type of existentiality of physical whereabouts
a complete withdrawal
a completely unknown and without
it will be without exemption and with no remorse
will see nothing, for the field round me is clear, translucent and nothing but reflections
for I don’t have
so it is all vibrations and waves bouncing
off of nothing but everything and
traveling like a sneeze for miles with winds ahead to behind them
colors we cannot imagine for we could not see the sound but feel it
though our bodies would no longer
be how we perceive today it would feel light weight almost as if the sum of everything
is nothing and that is how we would feel
to be true and real is to be
to be true and real is to feel this
as a feather would feel it because
the weight i feel in my back is from the plumpness that resides within my backside
and the burrow from within me and the
gravity drops on my front side
for this shouldn’t stop you from traveling
though it does and to be the New Being
we must shed our skins and let go
of the bags
never has to mean anything or it does
acacia Jul 28
You live in a died of obscurities where you have field beneath the strangeness of your morality, yet, still seems to encumber the idea of factual (fractioned) evidence behind blatant vaunting of amour propre that only comes off as discreet in your "jagged, skewed, and isolated" projected matrix when, in fact, it's the most squared and neatly folded linen-textiles. Facile you are. But to me, the angel, it's okay. The angel will consider perpetuating you, even if it is against morals. (Neither cruelty nor kindness will influence the transit of the angel's verdict.) And, perhaps, the delusion of godhead soothes you with an old tear-soaked pillow from many purple skies ago, for you are the only one to break the poison-green chains of your own mind. Self-reflection does not imbrue you (with no follies), for there is no self to reflect on due to—not constant hammerings of your ego—the lack of introspective ability to see your body as fuel to a fire. In conclusion of that one fracture alone shows the vast difference between the bedroom door (Uranus/Saturn) and the bathroom door (Mercury/Mars)—if one were to take it literally, anyway. Almost nothing can not never be a stretch (do I mean stench?) of you, since three negatives means it is a lie; and it is all revolving around the sun-lighted Twin, whilst the other Twin is never going below the twelfth house—forests this idea of shallowness and this idea to never drive to the next town. So, please, end this.
Luminaries; girlhood is a synonym of godhood, celestial, sanctitiy
acacia Jul 27
Thorn in my side;
decisions not you;
hold my hand,
we’re family, okay?

Thorn in your eye;
distraction you;
flee to the night,
leave the morning, too.

You jealous little thing
I’ll always be in your life
as long as you let me get to you
There is no point in leaving you

My closest friend
you will stay
I promised you no matter what happens
you’ll always be my little thing

That is just what happens when we’ve met somewhere before
but you know I’ve already had a life
and that didn’t stop me before
This same old line, sorry to you

It’s both of our faults
there is no blame
I am content with the way
things remain between us

But I have made my decision
please love and respect this
I’m taking responsibility
please understand this

My closest friend
My dearest you
My most expensive pearl
Love morphed into a ebbing ball; intense tides is not only love / it is also the calm after the storm / that’s true love
acacia Jul 27
Don’t worry your head of this: I wish I could turn off the fish tank as I’ve begun to hate the sound as it pours into the wells of my concrete-jungle eardrums, coated with the same saline to line the stomach that you can punch; I won’t mind.

(It won’t let me sleep—the sound is being poured underneath my sheets of skin,
boiling and bubbling, seeping into the crevices beneath my bones)
Crashing onto the floor like a cosmic air-force plane, I broke my wings, and I fell from the weight of the personnel;
no, no one saw me—then did I really fall?

Draw forth from me the syllables in my kidneys, the meter you wish to use:
these words plague my thoughts and it swirls into my throat, wanting to be drooled onto paper, dribbling like torrential raindrops;
these photos pile high in my mind, the dreams swing outside on my front porch hammock,
and it never wants to leave me alone, never wants to leave me be.

Fallen from the oak tree after climbing;
I’ve broken too many bones—I shouldn’t have tried it, for my grip was too weak; my heart aches at this fact,
I still feel my head whirling down the tree, not on my neck.
My hands move from your neck to my neck to your body to my body to everything you see in sight.
Ah, you like this? I’ll buy it for you.
Oh, I really like this. Will you buy it for me?

Spinning faster than a figure skater; I’ve fallen, sprawled out on the ice—
dipped in honey, rolled along a line of sour citrus.
I feel down and like I’m in the abyss of God’s personal Hell—no, maybe that’s an exaggeration—possibly like I’m in the hot side of the pillow that you want to flip onto the cool side—that is I.
I wish to walk on top of stilts like those ballerinas in pointe shoes—
use your head as a demiurgic dreamer, scoop pools of wave from beneath you!
I’m a Queen, and foregoing these deaths until I see fit.
Perhaps after we can about this again, talk and see what is really of this;
what is really the meaning that you give to this? Disaster?

Fill your head with soft puddles from rivers in the reverie,
free your brain from multichroméd free-thinkers;
grab my foot and drag me off the bed, pull me onto the floor and rip off my clothing.
Bite my neck and slap me everywhere, burn me with a curling iron.
I want to be bruised and I want to be loved.
You can give me the worst you’ve ever dreamed of:
fill me with things and replace my body with dreams.
Let me hear you say my name just one more time.
Fling yourself into my bouncing drowsiness,
feel yourself drowning underneath my waves,
allow your moods to be in urgent flux during my seasons.
Talk to me as if you cannot see anyone else.
Hold my hand because, Daddy, you’re the overseer of this fever, this fever.
Re-wrote and re-constructed this a third time. Still applies.
Jul 26 · 73
Waiting #36
acacia Jul 26
‪waiting for you in the sun, fluffing the clouds around me because they are beautiful, too; I wear the strands of grass as though they are lace straps, I allow fibers of river water to flow from my crown’s pores — I dip my brush in moonshine, apply to my lashes, dotting myself with gems‬
Jul 26 · 130
Difficult Day
acacia Jul 26
[It is difficult now . . . ]

Soon, the cat retaliated and became violent with the gardener. The flower was the cat's favorite. The flower was the gardener's favorite.

The flower [has no say yet all the say].

The cat and the gardener quarreled and quarreled until
until I can have them the way that I want
acacia Jul 26
What are you? All you are is blatantly morbid with a subtle hint of fidelity, just like my wretched citrine.

What am I? All I am is whisked and blended Uranian, Neptunian, and Saturnian beauty—that is all.
I don't mean to compare or make you seem like you are just a speck in reality, you are much more than we know, more than God himself realizes (implying you are God*)

(*implying we all are God)


Seth and Rosaline, this is for Seth and Rosaline.
Jul 26 · 178
cinquain #2
acacia Jul 26
skittish furling
turning, fumbling swagger
throughout hallways guiding clammer
2 4 6 8 2
will get to class on time one day
acacia Jul 26
You don't see* these hues nor these cocoa grayish tones—you mess all over with spilled milk, take my silk from my open womb—spin with it webs from my ovaries—blanket you every night with clouds above your eyes—you take another hit, you fill the room with smoke, but I don't understand why you can't carry anymore—shades of delight, heavy beams on me—can't get up, I'm stuck on you—can't get enough, I **** from you—I do notice remnants of vibrancy in front of my eyes—behind the view—before you, too—neon colors in spaces of white.

No one should take control of this magical affair / no one can lay their eyes over your morning glare / this evening dew / resembles you / intense heat behold my eyes as you dabble over there /
and You never miss a beat while we sing and dance from here / shades of delight, indigo you / sheets of pleasure, I roll under you / spill of rapture, I dip into you / curtains of light, I plash onto you.
*[All I see are shades of delight twirling as if coffee creamer were dribbling into a cardinal mug like weighted paint, heavy trucks weighting on my shoulders in traffic between shoulder-blade-cones, heavy chests, large sounds, heavy breathing; red bulletin, over-hued saturate feelings of cold that never cross my mind; hurricanes unfold furling faster through the nile, namelessly opaque; the coconut astringent alternative never works, toning my skin with no toner; foresting wild, forthcome you, forthcame me, breathing in your smiles, hold me, too; Floridians laugh, cocoa hued, see swirls and whirls of miles floating like endless butterflies pulled from the root up, the pulled road drapes over my hedge like tarps of pomegranate.]

****** number 5.
Jul 26 · 207
What did I see?
acacia Jul 26
I saw the same leaves I watch outside my window in autumn.
that’s what I saw
acacia Jul 24
Playing with your sable thread, I wonder why you cannot see the same shards of glass and the same trails of wind in my eyes that are in yours.

I know who and what I am. We are exclamations.

For you taught me that, when we first met. You taught me I am not my body, I am not my trauma, I am not my thoughts. For I knew this, perhaps, deep in my kidneys, but I was not ready to let go of the straps of what follows identity.

A man like you has a head made of steel, for my words (anyone's words) seem not to penetrate you.
I tell you that you've changed me within the first moments of us speaking, and you do not see it.
I have written on leaves who I am, who You are, who We all are. If We are anything, what We are. Yet, for some reason, these words flee your mind. You believe I say and believe and dream these things ignorantly, without knowing or understanding its depths. You question my depths.

I am not a question mark. I am not on a journey to 'discover' myself. Get these ideas of me out of your head. They are pre-conceived. You say them with conviction, and you believe them. Polarizing. You think I am blind, you think I am unaware of what's around us.

I am walking through the flames, yet I can see through the smoke. I see it. Eye see it.

We both see through the smoke, yet I am walking through the flames and you are not.

Action. The difference between us is the action. Our action.

And that's okay. It is okay. We dance differently but we're dancing to the same melody; and I think that's beautiful.

Flashy things don't ****** me, the lights of the world don't attract me like moths.
same concept, different names
same object, different colors

There is no need.

when i said "there's no point" i meant there is no point in debating with you. you tell me things i already know as if i did not know. i know. i understand. we both do. you did not change my world by telling me of the corrupt of the school systems and everything else.

do not treat me like I am blind and deaf;
acacia Jul 24
Tears rolled and rolling from clouds, and after having the volume so loud, my head pounded, my head collided with the dreams and infallibility of your infidelity.
I've felt so sickening, and so rosey; I've never felt so.
I've never wanted the Music to touch me more than now,
in this seat in your car (I wish it'd carry me off)—turn the radio on, please. I'm slithering to your car radio for the wrong reasons; the thump of the bass—there's so much venereal vibration, kinetic energy, carnal desire;
(I wish to cry) at how lovely the Music might taste, at how good the quivering of the Music might feel;
if you let yourself into the melody's indulgences, the melody's quenchings. . .

Take a right at perfidy, and a left at sensitivity, keep straight
and you'll hear how Harmony really feels:
just something disclosed between you and I; something that grapples me like never before. (Maybe this is just better left unsaid.)

Strings of pearls flow from your tender pink passageways, bouncing and pitter-pattering like rain off of my* brown ceilings, off of the roof of your car, walls, and *(my) skin.
Pearls I'd wear every day around my neck, in my ears, and on my finger.
My line, "Take a right at perfidy, and a left at sensitivity, keep straight and you'll hear how Harmony really feels:" was inspired by Beyonce's line in Kitty Kat, "Make a left to compassion, keep straight and you'll see the sign right there."

Bogusified means this poem has been watered down from my very own honesty. If I were not to put any obvious signs of what this poem relates to, that is to bogusify. To make muddy, to take away the truth for the reader, for the safety of others.
Jul 22 · 103
I’m never turning back
acacia Jul 22
She looked away into the orange clementine space
forgoing her right as a human to smile—and I always hear it: she can express it very elegantly when she wants to;
she never wanted to before; perhaps she's fearful of expressing it,
or, maybe she's fearful of elegance: but she prefers not worrying of it
(always thinking about herself, if she chooses to worry):
I will gladly evaporate into the air, feeling my very limbs coagulate
with the particles in the air, no longer breathing but being breath,
Nevermore fearing the height because I am the length

I don't need to see this landscape, and I don't want to see this scenery:
(I don't belong): let me help with more important matters like
your mindless matter, and your transcending hope:
I am not of this plane with the long lashes, the small noses,
the deep hills and wide valleys:
I flip, turn, and rotate amongst the night clouds
and rise with the afternoon grass: I sit perched like morning dew
I am the thread in the stitching, I am the needle dancing around slim
limbs: I am the absence of light, I am what makes light: I am what shakes.

You can dream there, right there, in her ******, I will have no part.
I will be the mustard grains, I will be the sand grains.
You can dance there, right there, in his ******, I will have no part.
I will be the impact, I will be the gravity.

Let me cry in peace:
leave me alone! I think it's time to go, it's time to fall into
a warm clear sea. Let me be!
I don't want to talk, I don't want to see you! I want to get out of here:
get me out of this atmosphere! Let me roam and hop there.
I don't want to see You or you or anyone.
Let me avoid you all in the sun while the bride closes off:
let the door close on me, lock me out.
I won't be coming back, for I do not care. I cannot care. I detached myself from the third date of July, June, August, May, September, and April. I detach myself.
(Time to leave.)
Your time is almost over, say what you Must now.
You won't get the chance to do this again.
I don't want the feeling or the smell of her or him on you, of you:
I won't have any happiness around the pond. I must bathe in the ground, lift the ground, pull the bottom. I must bury into.
I must vow silence. I must for my heart, for who I am.
I want to look away. I will look away from you all. I don't want
my head full of lies. This makes me feel okay for monopolizing this whole poem. Illusions, software — you're shallow.
She is not an animal! Forget it, your time is up. Go away! Leave me be!

Better day than yesterday: ***** men like you won't infect me: boys, you **** me every day; boys, don't scare me. Girls, they hurt me the most; girls, I look away from you, and yet you still look my way: don't follow me. I forgot how to love myself because of you: there's no need to rely on a useless crutch of a man like you, a shallow stream of a woman like you: you all will make me late for class, again. I will not see what you say, I will not hear what you say. I've allowed this for too long.

I don't need you to tell me how to be:
I don't want you: I will not rely upon imperfect men. I don't want you: I will not rely upon imperfect women.
I am here, I am here, and I will sculpt.

I'm grounded.  I ground myself. I'm here in Earth and I need to be lifted away to space: call me by name one more time before I go, I want to forget you and your memories: let me erase mankind from my aching and brutal heart: the truth is I don't want any of you: you'd never love me, for I want your complete love. I want your whole love: I don't want pieces or fragments. You must really love me, huh? I'm not playing around, no more back and forth. Don't be so cruel, how can you be cruel?
I KNOW IT HURTS! BUT WE ALL MUST DETACH SOME DAY! I WILL DO IT NOW! I must be better myself, I must give to myself first. I must be aware. I must climb up the ladders and see Heaven for myself: I must find Her, I must meet my Soul, I must consult my Higher Self. Complete love I give to myself and I will give to You all. I need to calm down. I need to breathe. And I need to remember what makes us human: I must continue to see the beauty in you. You must really love me, don't you?

Entering Mosaic Law and please leave Me be, I'm tired of your taunts: you always get what you want: Everyone Disgusts me and No one is Satisfied, so I must turn away from all of You: learn self-control: you're ***** and the **** of the Earth —I am ashamed: bad! You make me cry: I don't want to: I don't need anybody: I don't believe you: Running away from you, and from all the **** looks: I'm never going back, never turning back; you'll never make me: I'm Hurt. I'm hurting, you know?
Jul 19 · 67
We are not our bodies
acacia Jul 19
Where my body goes doesn’t affect my soul, I don’t need to know:
how I adorn my husk is only secondary,
not a primary color, not a primary source
acacia Jul 18
way over it: over the shape of air: done grasping into short strands: never flinging into shallow depths: a fly on your wall
but it's too plain to see
acacia Jul 17
‘Ay, Eternal Woman,’ He sighs looking beyond the grass and the flowers, and into her dark hued beauty. He stands in the sun watching her.

He looks at her with gold, (like shadows are merely a highlight to her, and shimmers of reflected light creates creases and graphs of mathematical fractals that, maybe, only he could solve) and with ways of depravity that makes him never see the world in that same frivolous June-like vivacity again, he only saw her in that June-like vivacity; the same colors disappear from his very organs and pour out into the weather we sink in. That is what the Eternal Woman did to him and his skin; bleached and darkened him.

“What do you think of the movie so far?” He asks with wind.
“I’m in love with it.” She casts her spell of double entendre. False and true.
“Yes, it’s inspired me. Thank you for showing me this movie.”
“We still have half of the movie left to watch!”
“You know what I mean.”
His smile drifts into his voweled response, “Yeah.”
acacia Jul 16
My tears boil in a kettle over the stovetop, and it whistles
but I don't move for
I am in my own dreamland, it is safe here

In a world of my own I won't have to cry
about not being enough, about not having enough
In my land there won't be any competition,
all of the races will already be finished
My heart will be so big it covers me from head to toe;
every perimeter I walk on I will pump blood into the dirt of the gnolls and dales, nutrition and vitamins fed to every inanimate and animate thing: there is no distinction in my world

I want to be blind to the outisde world,
my eyes shrouded with shimmers and mink fur
I want cherry blossoms to cover each apple on my body,
marigolds shielding my honeydews and my backside
So that when I wake up in my bed huddled in blankets,
warm skin against fresh sea-shelled shell sheets, I can
shower in rain every single morning, bathe in the clearest
puddles every single night

For skin I'd have pink, violet, and (my favorite shade of) blue petals,
for eyes I'd have the smoothest pebbles
My hair would be cascading billowing streams of blue sky
I'd sew grass blades into lingerie, I'd take the Moon and crush her into gemstones
All in this world of my own

I can have wings for swimming
I can have flippers instead of feet
I can have a tail for flying
All in this world of my own

In my dreamland where it's safe:
I'm being hugged by the clouds
I'm dressed in a sweater stitched with the threads of Our dreams,
shoes made of puddles of tears from the lazy yawn instead of pain from my heart;
my heart can be my own heart, my heart can be my heart
My heart will feel only my love and my heart will give only my love

I could freely be selfish with the birds above me,
with the bees that hover the waterbed,
with the smells that linger near me,
and the trees that grow under my feet:

I won't have to share the love around me,
I won't have to give my love that feeds me
In this world that I have created,
I will only have eyes for my world, and my world will only have eyes for me
In this world that I have created,
the world can love me and I can love it back

O, in a world of my own . . .

Though it seemed like motion-sickness, the kettle is no longer whistling and the people around me yell and ask, "What is wrong with you? Why did you leave the kettle on?"

I fly away from them, onto the punch-red sofa
I sit
O, in a world of my own . . .
I wrote the original a couple months ago but only recently rewrote it

I wrote this because we all want to be selfish sometimes. This is a result of that want, that thought to be away from everyone and selfishly have your own land only to you

in our worlds, we all can be whoever we want, do whatever we want because we are not stars, no, we are comets (gods)
Jul 14 · 93
Sei la mía musa!
acacia Jul 14
A dopo, tesoro, il blu e tu!
À plus ****, chérie, le bleu et toi!
(want you in the world...)
Jul 14 · 237
lake placid
acacia Jul 14
the tea cooled and the flame returned to a gleam
better day than yesterday; you're elusive, i'm awake
Jul 13 · 115
Waiting #37
acacia Jul 13
‪waiting under a waning moon while I build castles in Spain: I follow you through the trails you litter—I dote endlessly on you, and I follow you in sound‬
e(y)e don't care
acacia Jul 13
with the most casual tone, with sultry breaths of swing
but you’d mean every commanding word, the power you hold hits me like a falling jet
Jul 13 · 161
Waiting #30
acacia Jul 13
waiting under my blankets with music blaring—you hear me in the music, you see me in the lyrics
how in the world can a girl say no? now it shows
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