I got scorched by the sun.
It raked it's teeth on me instead
Of gently pecking my cheek.
I hurt for a while,
Licking my wounds,
Not literally of course,
And now my hurt is healing.
And perhaps mr. Sun will give me another chance.

I'll show them,
Telling me I can't use grammar
Correctly,
Or even spelling it for that matter.
I don't know how I feel about him.
We saw Rodin
And he picked me up and carried me
Until I begged him to let me
Go.
He has a girlfriend
I'm not her, besides, he swears
I don't.
I just can spell grammar.
But I can't use it.
What's a girl to do?

Sometimes I go to see paintings
Of people,or sometimes I go to see the
People watch the paintings.
Which is more artistic:
The thinker,
Or the furrowed eyebrows
Of the face thinking about the thinker?
There's more screaming inside
Our eyes than the scream itself
When we see it.
We heard the screaming in our heads
Painting is silent.
Sometimes I go to see the live people.
To see the moving exhibits.
To see what they think
Of art.

Sorrow is a tidal wave
Washing over those
Trying to frantically swim away.
Sorrow is the unexpected guest
At the dinner table,
Who isn't supposed to be there until
Never.
Sorrow is the rainstorm
That won't let up.
And sometimes you find yourself
Dancing in the rain.
Feeling the cold wet
Drops on your face,
And you realize
Sorrow is temporary.

I talk to dead people.
I see their faces upon the walls
I see their faces in my dreams.
I see their faces,
In the reflection of my own.
And I speak to the deceased tongue
That hasn't wagged in ages.
Hello corpse.

I rarely shouldn't eat.
I'm not hungry.
But I need to save my strength,
For darker days ahead.
So I sacrifice the fullness,
Of my occupied stomach,
And build up my strength,
Or maybe just excess fat.

What do I shove in first?
My suitcase an empty canvas
A blank page,
Which I can fill with whatever I want
But also whatever I need.
I have to think about the future.
I have to assume I'll need
This and
This and
This.
And I will make it out alive
To buy my sister
This and
This and
This.