There is a darkness that's unyielding
Standing  just this side of fright
But even shadows in their concealing
Need some form of light
There is a lightness which goes unbroken
Into the dark side full of hate
And despite the ghosts of midnight
It arrives before too late
Dripping from off the ceiling
Sliding down barren walls
Oozing from the basement
Filling up the halls
Falling off the table
Rolling across the floor
Scampering in the attic
Scratching at the door
There's a bitter taste inside the darkness
A slight twisting of the tongue
A secret held up to the shadows
Playing favorites to no one
There's sweet flavor in the lightness
Sugar coated, smooth and warm
Caressing those in sunlight
Who were and are to form
Pouring out into the darkness
Giving life to the reborn

As we step into tomorrow
Leaving behind our yesterdays
Taking it in with a slight touch of sorrow
And the feeling of come what may
We try to hold our heads high
Trying to keep on keeping on
Following a red thread of hope
Tied to our wrists and tugging at us blindly
But is it the blind leading the blind
That gives us inner sight
Taking us to another level
Pulling us back into the light
They say love is blind
But hope is not love, while it never stings a soul
It only guides us gently
Soothing wounds til we are whole
So as we step into tomorrow
Perhaps it won't be so dark after all
If we walk this walk together
We will never be left alone

One star two star
Little moon
Something dark and something blue
Something here something there
Something underneath the stairs
Trapped under pounding feet
It wakes to falling dust storms
Life of isolation, darkness, pain
It can only hope to be better reborn
For what it says and what it does
In the deep dark depths below
Are not made for human consumption
If you feel the need to know
You have been warned
All is as it appears
There is no light at the end of the tunnel and no hidden layer of love
With power in its presence
Luster in its lack
Stealing the breath from out of dreams
And never giving back
Your attempts to run are futile and his claws embrace you tightly
In space they cannot hear you scream
But this is not space; this is the space under the stairs where your darkest dream lives

Sometimes wonder if I have synesthesia
Or something like it
Cause for me I associate colors and animals with people
Cause I see time as a map in my head of memories and images of greenery and snow and memories of my life instead of seasons so that I can cycle through the hours of a day in class periods on weekdays viewed as memories of the class, and walk through the past which takes a sharp left at the year 2000 and from there on the flatness of the millenial years drops off into a sloping textbook
Cause sounds and words have textures on my tongue, notes tickling my taste buds as they spill out
Cause I can taste electricity which has a surprisingly dead flavor
Cause I can describe colors with texture and it makes perfect sense to me even though my friends say it cannot be done
Because if I don't, I don't know what the hell to call this

crisis chat will
only get you so far--
throws you a lifevest when
you’re drowning but doesn’t
tell you how to use it,
lets you flounder in the sea
uncontrollably gasping for air,
drowns you in the issues
watches you
as the current sweeps
     you
             away
and then tells you it’s going to be okay.

why is it that whenever we–
women–
show the slightest sign of anger or strength
we are presented with one of two masks:
the *****, or better yet,
the Joke.

why can’t we demand anything
without being called fickle or foolish
while a man can do the same and be called
Boss?

why can’t we choose to look like the calla
and not be chastised for pettiness,
for wanting to feel pretty?
after telling us that we’re duped and doped by media,
we’re labeled with a laugh
or the scales of a serpent when we want
to to bite back.

you chuckle when i bare my teeth,
you tell me that i’m cute when I’m angry.
I dare you to tell me why.

i am not a *****
i am far from a Joke.
i have skin and bones
hands to work with
eyes to see and most importantly
i have guts.
*i am human.

i sat in church one sunday
and in front of me stood a young mother
small baby cradled in arms
though the infant's skin was of a delicately golden caramel, her mothers was pale as milk cream
she turned to grin that sweet innocent grin only children possess and poke her tongue at me
it looked as a small petal held between her lips, moist with dew and velvety soft
she grinned so easily and lightly, it would have been unthinkable not to have an absolutely comic grin of one's own tugged from ****** muscles
her eyes sparked with that special flame only the innocent and childlike possess
and in that moment
i could not have loved a child more