pretty pretty girl
all wrapped up in pretty pretty ribbon
like a gift

an object

wrapped like an object
stuck in a pretty pretty box
a pretty pink box
dance on your tippy toes
raise higher
higher
higher, darling
break your pretty pretty pink toenails

i want to hear the snap your bones make when you bend backwards trying to please the people all roughly wrapped in blue

pretty pretty boy
all wrapped in pretty pretty ribbon
can you hear the whistles?
can you?

that high pitched squeal that shatters your ear drum
it beats like the bang of a drum
march, soldier
march

open your pretty pretty eyes
all sewn shut

shove purple paint down your own throat if it helps you

pretty pretty pretty girl
pretty pretty pretty boy

pretty pretty people don't exist

You have ripped bellbottoms a shaky smile,
The sandy curls that cascade down your back.

You smoke till your lungs go black,
You sit in the blazing sun meditating till you go tan.

You play the tunes of The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix,
That suede jacket you wear every Tuesday.

You decorate your room with blankets so the colors keep you company,
The daisies you wear in your hair till they go brown.

You let your cigarette dangle from your thin lips,
That gritty sound you make when you form words.

Your eyes are always clouded with memories,
You wear those circular shades to hide from people.

You wipe the tears off of people’s faces,
Smile when theres nothing to smile about.

Your hands are tatted with henna, and you wear the shirt of a tie-dye spider.
All you eat is trail-mix of pistachios and sun-dried apples.

You ride in a Volkswagen with windows down to feel the breeze.
Your peace sign is like “the healer” to all pain.

You take a pull off hookah and a bite of shrooms just to chase away the madness.
You create your own reality.

When the rain falls down you fling your head back and yell to the world,
The face you make when you see animals.
He’s like an eagle, ready to sore through the sky and bring positivity.

Don’t ever tell me you’re not a hippie, because I’ve never seen anyone as unique as you.

I’m not sure if I’m making sense anymore.
I keep looking up how to feel
Feel happy
Happy is no longer a word
Words don’t mean anything unless you give it a meaning.
Meaning that I can’t breathe
Happy means I can’t breathe
You make me stop breathing
Breathing means that I am alive
So, happy means that I am alive.

sm

Oh how our imperfections make us perfect for each other.

She held me and said “It’s about you, and you are I”

Grip tightened, bones creaking.

… “You’re insane”

And you’re a genius.

A kiss planted,

I caved into her chest and let the waves cradle me, bring me in.

A kiss planted,

On the grounds of untouched land.

Sinking… Euphoria?

Sinking nonetheless.

I spilled a *** of coffee on myself at 2 in the afternoon.
I let it sizzle on my skin for a moment;
The burn told me I was alive.
It reminded me of you.

You were the oxygen I took into
My carbon dioxide lungs.
You were the long drag on the cigarette of my depression,
A choking relief.
Hopelessly addicted to you,
A ****** for your touch,
Obsessed with the pictures of you on my phone.
******* butterflies in my stomach,
Restless and destructive,
I longed for your presence every waking moment
In a bed built for two.

I made myself another *** of coffee,
Was careful not to let it spill.
I didn’t want to feel your devilish fingertips
Singeing my porcelain skin.
You left enough scars on me already.

!

I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.