Feelings hold no justification as the wheel of fortune turns
three eleven
two women, a man,
and an elephant in the room.
Three blades in the heart
and a cigarette tattoo.
Three dark freckles mapping a triangle on my wrist -
on the top was man, two woman at bottom, a fault in logic.
Circles scar as they trace their story down
to the ending you thought you would never
come back to.
I just wanted one lover,
my one lover wants two.

Open to the wrong doors
a bag of loose leaf tea
falling into a pattern
of steamed water
that cannot be taken out easily by
getting pulled out
by a string.
Only solution is to dump
all the remnants into the sink,
including me.
Addictions are draining.

Carrying sweet and lows in my wallet
to make the the tough times bittersweet,
and my bag collects sand from my frequencies
at the beach
vibrating with my Tibetan bowl
to balance auras.
My heart has smiling children inside.
My chest pains have lessened, ever since I quit coffee
and the illusion that one day you're coming back.
You touched me in all the ways that made love songs possible.
My head has found a legitimate reason to stay where I am,
although I doubt myself in moments when nothing seems aligned.
Like you and I.
You know, the Chinese have an ancient myth that says soul mates
have red strings connected to each other and tied.
Tangled or straightened they are always bound,
even when the other seems not to be around.
I tug the line, step towards me.
But I know there is a scissor in your pocket debating.
And these are all the things you don't know about me,
or how I am feeling and thinking.

Crying about a man
that doesn't understand
what it meant when he said
I love you

Singing a song about something I'd always have
but I lost
and I'm sorry

Killing myself over something I want so bad
but I wont have
and I'm sorry

Lying to the world
so my family won't be so sad
but it's hard living in a mask
and I'm sorry

so sorry

My heart center is churning,
spiraling through my chest
translating.
Moving art through my body
and suddenly all the ******* is worth it.
Walking out of dance class, towards my van,
my heart spilling all over the sidewalk,
invisible rain drops of reality trickling on my head,
the colors darken in my aura because I have to wait awhile
for the next moment where I feel like the sacrifice is paying off.
I would be a vagrant gypsy living humbly if it weren't for professional movement.
My feet are on a solid spot surrounded by things that don't love me.
At least that's how it seems, at night, when I have to fight for tranquility.
But wandering thoughts come visit me while I'm driving of pirouettes and plies,
and smiling children asking me how to teach them the rhythm of life.
Strength to endure the shadow, instead of aiming towards distractions that
evade responsibility to glow.
Stage light on bodies showing life in another context,
that is what lives in my visions of beauty.

Red eyes from red flames
smoking a blunt
cause you don't miss me that much
not enough

pages passing permanently marking days
I barely got to breathe in
much less read through
the mirror is see through
but I'm not looking back at you

you are me
I am you
I will always be with you

***** ghosts pent up in your van
that I drive now
ever since you left to tour the country
they whisper lonely, beg for cleansing

I make up melodies of nostalgia
that bleed down the neck
of my heart strings
Spanish guitar strumming:
forget about us
there isn't proof anymore
just a sting
from all the unheard calls that you ring

The moon is our only guide now for relation
sitting on this pavement staring at the constellations that shine:
you are me
I am you
I will always be with you

Father figures through out my life
they fall to pieces for my mother,
only to get swept out by her broom
when the floor the family is depending on
gets too filthy to dwell in.
Blame this on the fact that Pisces
is in Saturn in my birth chart.
It was never in the cards
for me to have a father.
I no longer have to play the role of a daughter.
My age has outgrown that possibility,
my mother could never keep a man
in the house for too long,
on the surface she is strong
but my mother makes us sleep
in her bed for a reason.
I came from a male chromosome
that came from a body
that has yet to perish
but dead to my existence.
I don't mind this,
except nights when I'm pure tragic
madness, and he pulls up in front
of my house while I'm drinking wine
and puffing chemicals.
Hello, you made me
but we don't speak.
Strange sadness but mammals don't
need parents to fend for them once one hits
a certain degree of awareness.
But I thank him anyways for giving me life.