When here, you are a knife ****** into my heart and twisted to draw blood.
When away, you are the painful throb of longing in the middle of my chest.
When I see you pass without a word, I die, but rejoice at your merest glance.
When you are not anywhere, I search and worry about you even though it is not my place.
If I accidentally graze your arm or get you to utter some mere greeting, I feel the glow of a hundred thousand suns
And the edges of a million blades because you will never be mine.
But there is hope for the ease of my release, there is another
One who always returns my smiles and glances and greetings,
and laughs at my jokes that aren't really funny
Who cares that I exist and does not tarry to comfort and console when I am sunk in the marshes of despair and
when I wallow in pools of anxiety
I once thought you were sweet and wonderful, but now I know that he is truly sweet and kind, the quintessence of a gentleman and good friend
So I'm leaving any thought of you behind and strolling away in a better friend's company

Last night I reached my hand out to the monster under my bed whose eyes usually glow scarlet and whose teeth typically gnash and snap but this time had the same deep brown eyes and average teeth that I do

Last night I pulled my skeleton out of the closet and we danced to the blue jazz that floated through my window from the sax player below and then we played never-have-I-ever and watched SciFi TV on Netflix

Last night I asked the mermaid down the bathtub drain if she'd like to come up for a swim and we laughed and splashed and sat on my roof in the star light talking about love and sushi recipes and where to get a really good haircut

Last night I called out to the werewolf who roams these parts as he called out to the silver globe of a moon and I gave him some salad because he's a vegetarian and he showed me pictures of his pet bunnies Morningglory and Killer

Last night I covered the mirrors and opened the shades for my vampiric friend Velma, a quiet girl who volunteers at the animal shelter and soup kitchen

Last night I said good night to my nocturnal friends and went back inside to turn off the lights and make sure my dog was inside who I call Albertius Rex but was previously known just as Cerberus

Oh little
Lonely traveler
Where is your home?
You are cold, tarnished and
Silver and black
Your name?
Who knows, but
You have been branded
925 stamped into your saddle
Shall I call you this?
Tiny one, come home
Go home, be home
No longer be alone
And wandering forever
You stand *****,
Proud and petit of stature
You speak no
Words to me, but
You do express volumes. Tiny one,
Little prince
Find your home.
Go, and belong

I want to go back, back to my New Orleans
This place that I call New Orleans is actually Louisiana
But still, the gorgeousness of this dirt and grime
The live oaks stretching over the 6-lane wide streets,
Touching leaftips, making a canopy over the passerbys
Crepe myrtles showering streets with lacy pink faerie dresses
Smells of beignets and seafood fill the French Quarter
Intense, consuming, warm, loving sun burning through your shirt
In New Orleans to say horses sweat, men perspire and women glow
is to be ridiculous.
In New Orleans everyone sweats like pigs.
As for the grime I mentioned, this exists mainly in
the sidewalks cracked by live oaks which make an adventure of every walk down the street
And in any semi-deserted street
To have a Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day without a parade and citywide party is to toss aside traditions and the New Orleanian way
The New Orleanians are welcoming, hearty and heartwarming, tough and unafraid to talk to a stranger on the streets.
An old black man once greeted me with 'konichiwa' as I walked past
A middle aged white man once struck up a conversation with us as he realised we had shared the same ferry earlier in the day
An old asian woman conversed familiarly with our family at Cafe Du Monde simply because we are Vietnamese as well
A teenaged white boy waved at us as we drove past him jogging
A different old black man stopped and serenaded my siblings, mother and me with his trumpet just because we smiled
Several young mothers and women have stopped my mother to gush  over my siblings and me, usually when we were very small
I, myself, have given directions to a tourist or two, lost near Cafe Du Monde or the levee,
And I hope that the warm smiling spirit of the Big Easy will remain forever immortal.

I love you.
I love you more than the skies and the air currents and birds that dance amongst the clouds
I love you more than the lands and the mountains and the beasts that play in the forests.
I love you more than the oceans and the oceanic plates, and the aquatic creatures that frolic in the waves.
I love you more than life and death.
I love you more than words can say.
I love you, but you want to fly free and they say if you love someone, let them go.
So I release you and you scamper away as I try to hold back tears.
And I never tell you these words.
I love you

Love is a riddle
A Gideon's knot of emotion
That can only be untangled
By two sets of hands
And a pair of hearts

Love is a riddle
A Gideon's knot of emotion
Only untangled
By two sets of hands
And a pair of hearts

So lend me your hands
And protect my heart
Help me untangle and unlock
Our love
And as long as you wish
I'll be yours

So I was flying through the woods one day
And hummingbirds flitting and flashing
Iridescence and opalescence
Shimmery glints of golden green and violet blue
I laughed and darted with these sweet ones
Twisting and chasing in a game of faerie-bird-tag
Then a mosquitoe's whining shrill
zips past my head
zip zip two more speed by
I whip my head around and see a crazed mountain man
Blunderbuss in tow and limp carcasses dangling from his belt
Beard and hair more of a mane of insanity
In this manic frenzy, one cant help but to smile
Then dive in to dodge as if in a Matrix world
The madman fires, shooting away at his brilliant tiny targets,
Shooting if only for the sake of practice

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
Your wing-pages flipping quickly
Then slowly, desperately as cars pass
As if your pathetic fluttering can lift
The only thing you can call a body,
A flat, limp *** of paper
Shuddering and shifting when a
Quickmoving elephant runs by

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
The muscles of your sides
Heaving in, out, in out
Gasp for ink and blood
Shudder with need
As if that inhale, intake
Of gasoline soaked air will
Replenish the lack of life in you

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
I saw you die
And flutter no more

Magic
Force of old earth
And one to be reckoned with
Neither benevolent,
Nor malevolent by nature
The purpose determined by the user

Dark and light,
Good and bad.
Used by the wrong person,
It causes peace and happiness,
Or death and destruction.
A force to be reckoned with indeed.
But also to be used with care.

Yin and yang
And salt and pepper
Balance the decision with great care
Walk the edge of a razor to channel it
And think before every move

Unstable as it is,
Delight is brought.
Tricks of the light, perhaps.
But perhaps not.
An unending fun for those who use it
With great care.
Those who don't...
Consequences shall be suffered.

So when dealing with magic
Keep in mind that
No matter how simple
And innocent it appears,
It is more complex and old
And you are just a channel.
So beware of the path
That you choose to send it down
And remember: have fun

Math
Numbers
The only things everyone
And everything have in common
You can find mathematical proofs written
In between the stars
Numerical sequences hiding beneath a fern
That unfurls to reach the heavens
No one can deny, one will always equal one
And the sum of two numbers will never change
Truths remain truths no matter the language
I can't see how my friends can say 'I hate math'
Or how people say 'numbers are stupid'
Numbers and math comprise the essence of life
On another planet the number pi and
Sierpinski's triangle may have different names
But their rules remain the same
Math and numbers make up geometry
Which is full of tesselations, and fractals
And beautiful diagrams and principles
How can you not love something like the
Golden Ratio, or the Fibonacci sequence?
They provide the curl of a fern, the twist of
A snail's shell, the spiral of a pineapple
And rotation of axial leaves
Such a beautiful, never changing system
That appears in so so many forms
Why be bored when you can play with fractal-y
Tesselating doodles?
And don't even get me started on science...

"Nobody has ever measured,
not even poets,
how much the human heart can hold"
So now I wonder,
How might one measure this?
you could pour emotion and feelings
In until it overflows
And that may be the only way
For who can ask for a cup of love
A handful of laughter and sorrows
Three spoonfuls of spite
Perhaps a dash of smiles and indifference
But maybe too theses emotions and
These hearts are not measured the same
Each heart has its own experiences
Capacities and tolerances
Each emotion its own range of harshness
Level of strength, and color of feeling
Maybe Zelda had a point...

Blue or black shoes
Skinny jeans
Graphic t-shirts
Wrist-encircling chains and strings
Messy brown hair
Dark skin and darker eyes
******* bag
This is the outer me
A bubbly quirky girl
Strange smiles and stranger laughter
But inside I'm crazier
Layers of personality
Like an onion or an ogre
The deeper you peel
The curiouser I seem, I'm sure
Made-up superstitions
Good luck charms and rituals
Fear and Hatred for self
Confusion, stress, twisted love
Two outlets alone for my pain and
Tears, do not count
People think I'm bright
A faerie of sunshine
A beam of light
But how does someone so dark
So self-destructive
Become a guiding light?

How can one be half in love?
Perhaps with half a heart.
But how does one have half a heart?
Your soulmate is missing.

Yesterday they lined up all the boys to give them a good talking to.
After all, when you're about to ask the head priest's daughter for her hand, you must do it the right way.

But of course, they'd only line up the boys, and not the girls who glance and flirt and trail the tips of their fingers along wet gowns when bathing.
It's known that Victoria will kiss anyone who can tame her curls, and Alice leaves violets for those she fancies.
Even a pig recognize that Jacob and Peter have been making eyes at each other for about two summers, and that Matti only longs for books.
Harold's true love is venison, and though he could be won over digestively, Emi is really trying to move towards vegetarianism.

So they told the boys how to carry themselves and some listened in desperate eagerness and earnest and a few planned pranks, and anyone worth their salt could tell it was a disaster.
This morning, the local girls dressed the boys in flowers, as is strange tradition, but then a few joined the line and fairly glowed in their blue linen and lemony cinnamon licorice hair, dripping with petals.

The king laughed and the head priest smirked in bemusement, as it is every year.
And Emi gazed, bored and silent to every proclamation, gift, and oath.
Yet a fourth year had passed without a chosen suitor.
Courtyard emptied, and I drew near her chair as well.

"I have no strange and beautiful art to exhibit or exotic sweet to taste. I do not seek what you will not eagerly give, and I will not ask you to be my wife, but I'd very much like to be your friend ifthatwouldbeokaywithyouthanks."

After all, who doesn't fall in love with Artemis.

Nature is everything
From tiny protozoa to the largest whale
Even the simplest insects
Contain elegent complexity
Beauty in even the most ugly beast

Peaceful, quiet and beautiful is Nature calm,

Like a natural healing balm,

From the largest beast to the smallest fly;

Under Mother Nature’s air so sweet and high!

The mist, the moon, the stars, and the night,

Are Mother Nature’s biggest delight!

The light, the sun, the rays,

And light of the first morning’s day,

Are all a part of beauty;

Nature is a beautiful treasure to see!

Nature is my favorite theme,

The morning is Mother Nature’s greatest scheme!

The leaves are falling from the trees,

And land inside the blue-green seas.

Blue-greeny seas and red firey stars
Dancing fish and snarling wolves
A little red fox trotting across cold snow
A flash of bold crimson in an icy white land
The aurora borealis and corona of the sun
The swirl of galaxies floating unfettered
Crashing into one another and stars dancing between them
Even these touch upon nature
A sort of large scale metaphor for the people of Earth
The whole of Mother Nature,
Her essence, and the ideas around her
Stretching into the greatest star and the smallest seed
The essence of life subtly covers all
Echoing the shapes and spirals
Mountains high and valleys low,
Spiders and creepy crawlies
Soft minxes and gentle pachyderms
A world of life in even the tiniest
Drop of water or crumb of dirt
All this beauty and wonder
Falls in Gaia's realm

A sunrise in the sky,
Birds chirping in the trees so high,
The sun reflecting on the sandy shore;
It also hits the forest floor.

The hot and dry desert with scorching sand,
The long miles of vast-bare land,
Only a few birds chirp in the air;
There’s no water over there!

The mountains of powder white,
Are so pretty even at night,
When owls do roam and birds doth sleep;

In trees on mountains steep.

Cats that are a homeless stray,
Still walk onward even in the cold day,
They sleep outside at night;
No one should make them homeless they have no right!

Mother Nature mourns when she sees cats not treated kind,
Still she walks onward through the wind,
She looks onward crying;
Watching sick animals dying.

Help this earth become a better one,
Until then our work may never be done,
The sun may never fade away;
Or the sky ever become gray,
But help keep Mother Nature from crying;
As she watches sick animals dying.

I am Muerte, no not Morty
I am the big 'M'
Death incarnate
I will come for you, I'm coming to get you
And you will regret crossing my path
What's that? You're looking for the boss man?
Muerte, the big 'M'
Death incarnate?
Who are you kidding?
I'm not him, I'm Morty.

Here, hold out your hands
Don't drop what I give you
Please don't be repelled
See? It's not so bad
Mucous and slime won't hurt
Blood and water won't burn
Do you feel it beating?
Can you sense its pulse of life?
It's living because of you
It feeds off of your emotion
But don't worry, it replenishes
What it takes, and more
What you give it will take
And what you take it will give
It will not strike out and
Will not harm you
You are in complete control
If you so deign to **** it
Then do it and swiftly
It will follow you and be yours
Forever and always
So as you receive my gift,
I ask you, please be nice
After all, it is my heart you play with

Before I die, yes I know, I'm only 15,
But before I die
I want to live as no one has lived ever before
Smell the most gorgeous aroma
Feel the softest object, pet the gentlest lamb
Play and wrestle with a cub, be it lion, tiger, or bear
Go for a long long walk in the woods with one friend
And sit together talking and capturing instants on paper
I want to learn four languages, or five, or six
Spend one entire weeked in bed, catching up on books
Read the most glorious poem and hear the sweetest song
Fully enjoy my career and learn enough about bones
Be able to know when someone is lying and
To die, really really happy.

My outwards view, though as open
And strange as my heart, is hazy
Decisions, made in the moment are a
Testament to my mind and self; always crazy
Though I can most certainly be studious
I'm far more inclined to be lazy
You bought me roses? Thanks but,
You should know I'd prefer a daisy
I act so nice and neat, cute ain't it?
But my taste in jokes? A touch of ****
And as for my state of being, I'm rarely focused
I'm more often drifting, dreaming, spacey

I climb out of my window in
the middle of the night onto the
cool metal roof that warps
beneath my bare feet.
I sit and lean against the wall,
below the window, sweet breezes
that send a pleasant chill all over my body,
brush my clothes and
tickle my arms with my hair,
which, four days ago was chopped short
so that it barely reaches past
the short ends of my shirt sleeves.
I wrap my arms around my knees,
close my eyes, inhale and rest
for a moment in the near perfection of the silence, feeling so overwhelmed with love and happiness for everyone and everything that I feel as if I will implode or explode, word choice doesn't matter in this exquisite moment of bliss embedded in the insanity that is my life.

It's a bit funny
But on doomsday I found
No fear or tears shed by me
Somehow on the day of doom
I only found love and happiness
My best friend wasn't a loss
When he lost that title
In fact it was a gain,
And he exchanged for a new one
Fingers intertwining
Sitting close and talking
My incessantly icy fingers
Warmed by your touch
My smiles always flow easier
And more readily around you
I either talk too much or too little
But with you it seems fine
I wouldn't change much about
My doomsday
It was pretty **** near perfect
On my doomsday I found hope
What did you find?

Picture this:
I'm walking on the boardwalk
In New Orleans
On Christmas Eve
I've got
Nikes on my feet
Beignets in my hand
Smartphone in my pocket
The memory of my mum handing a 20 to a funny street magician
And a really nice home to visit in
When I pass a group of the homeless
Five or six or so, and they're all talking
Half have signs asking for help
As I pass by, one man, not too old and quite young in fact
This man, he looks up, sharpie etched cardboard in hand
Knees drawn to chest
Hair touseld, generally disheveled appearance
Our eyes lock and he says
In the most meaningful and sincere way possile
Have a very Merry Christmas
By instinct, I flash a smile
And then I hope he noticed
And hope he knew I meant it.
I felt so quietly sober afterwards
Walking in complete meditiation
On those five words
The man had so little
And yet he gave me a wish

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these things. - T. S. Eliott*

So maybe by pouring out our emotions and personalities, overflowing and drowning pages in the ink of our words, maybe this is how some escape from themselves and feeling. By expulsing their repugnant selves, using the energy behind self-loathing or -fear to rid themselves of themselves. Perhaps that way we can live with ourselves and all our faults. They say when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back. Thus, deep self-reflection for too long reveals the abyss in us all. This deep, animal emptyness, clawing the sides of its pit, becoming and creating an overwhelming gnawing of absence. This feeling that you lack, this feeling of loss, of some unknown, perhaps this is what we poets write for. We write to find our unkown selves by escaping our known selves.

Math is no more a single stagnant
Stationary idea than english is
Why not bother with math and science?
The world revolves around them,
We can not live without them
English was created as was history,
Math and science were merely given names
If the claim is that english alone
Expands horizons, then that is a lie
Science is the obtaining of knowledge and exploration
How can one not expand horizons
And encourage imagination with science?
Ideas and english are not synonomous
Though you may think so
As for history, it need not be writ
Only in english
English is merely one language
And knowledge may be written in pictograms
Or hieroglyphs or symbols
English and ideas are not the same,
Ideas are simply usually recorded
In english.

My story,
Do I have one?
Of course I do, everyone does.
Some are harsher and crueler
Some are nice and happer
Many are a mix of cruel and happy
And as for me, I have one too
It's sad and happy, a bit of both.
My story.
It starts in the beginning
And ends at the end
It's quirky and troubled
Sunny and long.
But it's also shorter than many
I've lived much in my
Fifteen(almost sixteen) years of life
Not as much as others
But my tapestry is tightly woven
My story
Is a story of
Pain and laughter
Love and indifference
And it is still being written.

My cherry tree stands quite tall, bearing fruits and flowers
Good for climbing  and snacking, breathing and thinking
Walk out upon a limb, and lean against a branch
To calm and relax and hang out with friends
Laughing and joking, playing and singing
Hot sticky summers, made all the stickier by cherries
Sunshine dappled grass beneath the tree
The perfect Treffpunkt for all us monkeys and goofballs.

First name:
A fire red, carrot orange, and dull rust
A dusty-on-the-outside-bright-spicy-and-wet-on-the-inside tuber
A dancer and cartoon
Second name:
Three short letters, one tonal syllable
From my mother's motherlanguage
Joy
Last name:
Hill of deer in German
(Also a Jewish name?)
Sounds like a chocolate sandwich
Makes my name a score of letters long

Hurricane fighter
Life and death celebrator, Spicy food eater
Street performer and Harborer of ships
Weather-beaten, resilient, colorful
The City that Care Forgot

They tell me you are beaten, *****, and old, and I acknowledge this, having seen your streets and limping buildings, water-marked and sagging
They tell me you are cruel and dark, and I agree, I've seen the voodoo shops, and the papers speaking of crimes
They tell me you are raucous and crowded, and I respond, "Yes, I know. I have walked through her streets and through the ear shattering sound"

And having said these things, I look again to those who ridicule my home, my city and tell them:
I dare you to bring me news of another place that's been beat down, and yet time after time rises again, singing even in death and anguish, wearing the dingy but bright colors of life

Laughing in the face of defeat, walking proud, and even as its guts tear each other apart, she sets her jaw and keeps moving forward
Fierce as a gator grappling with a hunter, clever and bright as a bird
Battered,
Falling,
Flying,
Soaring,
Hurting, healing, grinning
Beneath the ******, dirt smeared face, she smiles with a brilliant grin
Beneath the harsh reality of injuries and setbacks, fire dances in her heart and soul
Dancing even as a wizened soldier knowledgeable in pain but carefree would
Twisting and spinning over and around obstacles, taking the occasional hit, laughing in the ***** air, lifeblood of the city coursing through her veins
Dancing!
Laughing the weather-beaten, resilient, colorful laugh of Youth. Proud to be a Hurricane fighter
Life and death celebrator, Spicy food eater Street performer, Harborer of ships,
The City that Care Forgot

Vocal pyrotechnics and aural fireworks
Fire and flame from my mind
Begin to drive me berserk
So I join the rest of my dying kind,

Laughing through pain and sorrow
Living now, only for today
Forgetting there was ever tomorrow.
Sticks and stones and bricks and hay

Poor building materials are these
The big bad wolf comes to knock them down
His pelt mangy and ridden with fleas
Humpty dumpty wore a crown

Yet it too rolled down the hill.
Following the example of its predecessors, poor Jack and clumsy Jill.

b.

Once the sage gaze of starlight fades,

the twinkle and flash of cosmological mineral death,

descending in a tumble through the atmosphere,

puncturing each layer like a pebble through cobwebs,

we wake to a frightening new wonder.

We rise to the growling of the center and the sun.

You walk through the hallways
Mind set on destination
Smart enough to have grade-skipped
Curly dark hair pulled back
Tall stack of binders
Glasses? Yeah
Girlfriend? Ich weiss nicht
I know so little about you
And you don't say much at all
What are you like?
Who are you?

O Captain! My Captain
An agent of Time
Set out on a mission,
That went all but fine.
Two years of memories
All down the drain

Two new friends left him
Near as soon as they came
After a battle between Dalek and man
This in a sense,
Was his last stand.
He came, he conquered
He fell, and rose

Abandoned by friends
To fend for his own

Back in time he went,
And stuck once again,
Our Captain seemed doomed
To live on his own

The immortal was cocky,
Lived life to its best
Though after a few hundred years,
He'd soon beg for rest.

O Captain! My Captain!
What's brought you dread?
Is it the fact that you went
From human to a head?

He was merely a face.
The Face of Boe, he was called.
His long lived life,
Lived with flaw.

Alas, it seems,
All things come to an end.
And with the Time Lord and companion,
Our Captain was dead.

O Captain, my Captain!
Though plans were never followed through,
We all met you with one line:
"Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"

I think the most poetic thing about the flu
Is the resulting weakness
The fever's fire hollowing me from the inside out
Burning holes in my bones and muscles
******* my body dry of blood
Then replacing it with
Weakness, frailty, and, my inability to move
Feeling thin and worn
Bony and small and vulnerable, like a baby bird
And a throbbing head
The gnomes are back with a vengeance
Doubled over with pain in my side and belly
Yep, the weakness is definitely the most poetic

What's this rush i feel when your skin touches mine?
When you hold me close and our fingers intertwine
to pull me behind you, as we run and laugh
through casino tables, guests and staff.
When we draw odd looks from curious faces
who stare and pretentiously wonder if places
like this are for people like us.
But really, sweetheart, if i had to guess
at how i feel and what magic this is,
then i could only try to describe my bliss
as the gentle tickle of your dress against mine
and the click of our heels, as we move in time
to a beat, that doesn't match that of the DJ
and the music he chose for us to dance the night away.
Then we dance to the Time Warp, and Thriller,
and then a slow dance, after establishing that C is killer
at dancing no matter how crazy. That we should kiss
though we awkwardly don't and maybe, it's my guess,
you don't feel the way i do,
and you don't feel this rush and want this affection for you
that i anxiously hold, and try to restrain from running wild.
Yet i feel as though it is a Great Dane and I a small child
trying very nervously not to be shy,
but to express through words or kiss and a sigh
the feelings i feel for you as you stand at my side
hands perfectly entwined
as your hair and dress
                             slide
                        around
                   your
             curves
          like
        wysteria
           or ivy
              and flare
               dramatically
and             splendidly
               as you spin                            
              and rush
       and laugh
and smile

I smile

Isn't it interesting how the
Fountain of Youth
Elixir of Life
And Tree of Knowledge
Fill the spread of faerie tales,
Legends, and myths, but
We have no
Fountain of Age
Elixir of Death
Or Tree of Ignorance?
Sure they aren't usually helpful,
But they'd make for some
Cool plot twists.
The protagonist accidentally
Eating fruit of the Tree of Ignorance
And forgetting his purpose and self
Only to be reminded by
His companion or leading lady.
The evil wizard drinking from
The Fountain of Age by fluke
And crumbling away into dust
A young hero or heroine
Searching for the Elixir of
Death to end misery of theirs, or anothers

I want to write good poetry again, but I cant seem to make it come.
I hardly have the energy to lift my arms or take a single step forward,
if only for the chains I wear
of lace, and tied down with heavy frocks.
The moment I reach for a pen
my dress begins to slip and I must grasp and fumble.
This masquerade is growing old
and my mask is wearing thin enough to see through.
I want to speak,
cry out and scream my soul
but the red they've painted across my mouth
is worse than any gag, and ribbons streaming
from my hair snag on the thorns and rocks of my path.
The weight which hangs, draping over my body is not of iron or steel,
Yet still I outgrow these bonds, and only now
realise they are bonds and weary of my restriction.
They are bonds I no longer wish to wear, as
with every moment I live weighted down
the sky in my eyes grows clouded with fire and smoke.
Any inspirations to paint are lost to the thread which hangs from my eyes.
Were I to try, the ability to sing would be choked away,
sounds stolen by the ever pressing knife.
But
my only chance to escape this seems to lie in the blade's threat, to sing
with all the fire and rage in my soul
and bow back before it catches my mind as prize.
I'm no doll to be toyed with
And I'm sick of playing make believe.
I think it's high time the clock struck midnight.
It's time to burn the dress.

Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me,
But bear this in mind, it is meant to be
Since you've dreamed a vision of us together
And I'll love us, you and I, always and forever.
Cause when I'm with you, my world is so different from any hell I'm living
And when you're around me, your eyes light up like the stars have been spilled out along with all the suns of heaven into your eyes
You're the one who seems to love this wildflower so she feels as lovely as the sweetest camelias, and strong enough to push the planets out of orbit
As for you, I only know what you've said to me;
     That my kisses are oxygen when you can't breath, and that
     You feel such an intense desire to protect me from any potential harm
     That you plan to marry and live with me for years to come.
But I know with less certainty than you that we'll be together forever to come
All I know is you love me and you make me feel so loved
More loved than the moon is loved by the sun, chased endlessly and almost futilely for a mere glimpse of her silver face
And I know this is a scientifically proven-to-be-incorrect metaphor, but I still love you
And will love you, until the sun falls into the sea of milk, the knees of those arthritic elephants shake and kneel with feebleness, and the great sea turtle turns belly-up, drowning the world in the Milky Way
And even past then
Past the time where men and spirits fade into ghostly memories, forgotten because there's no one to remember them
Past the time that the sun is finally swallowed and held in the sea, past King Arthur's return, and when the giant serpent finally kills Ra
Past the time when the gods grow tired of their human games, and fall asleep at their chessboards, one hand dipped in the Adriatic and a finger spinning the galaxies ever slower as dust and cobwebs of invisible spiders come to blanket the universe
And even past then, past all these mythological improbabilities, past Death's abandonment of his duties and his scythe while sand no longer runs in glasses and he reaps himself
Past then will I love you and think of the spilled out flaming stars in your eyes and the velvety sparks in your fingertips and lips.

I think I figured out why I don't like pencils
They have advantages, I admit
I draw a hundred times better with them
And write fifty times neater than with
My usual plethora of pens
The colors and textures of the ink
Only a small part of my reason
I think I don't like pencils because they are
Impermanent
And smudge too easily
Ink only smudges when wet, and soft
Then it bleeds color all over the white expanse
It is set on
Inks and graphite, they don't mix in my head
The graphite is always too grey for me
Too dull when I use it
The inks give me the paint of gods
To shower in bold all that I deign to
And then pencils wear down,
Far too quickly for my hand
I need to scribble fast and hard
The pen stands much more solidly
And for me the pencil is too subtle and gentle
Not nearly enough vivacity

So I've got two new bracelets
One's actually a necklace but who cares

I've got blue and reddish beads dangling
From this necklace, wrapped
Five times around my wrist
And sometimes the bobbles get under
My wrist when I write

I've got five peace signs melded
Together, gold toned and metal
I must admit, the reason I prefer it
Is because of a tiny imperfection
A little spike of metal on the second
Only I know it's there and it's
My silly imperfect secret

So there you have it
My two new bracelets...
I think I'll name them
Pentapax and sanguine
Bet you can't guess why

I'm periwinkle,
Peri, perry wrinkle.
Perry the platypus in a time wrinkle.
A blue growling platypus in a time-space wrinkle.

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

Hahaha
Wait, you thought we were what?
A, 'unit'?
Who says that?
I was sitting with my friend
He was lonely
He asked
He's a friend
I'm not allowed to sit with a friend?
This automatically makes him my boyfriend?
Two days?
So what.
Get over it sillies
I sit with you everyday
Two lunches alone with a good friend
Is not a pink slip
You've got each other, don't be jealous
And besides, its two freaking days!
The world has not ended
My 'relationship status' hasn't changed
Calm down, and carry on.

Lies are lullabies
Sweet songs that we sing
To ourselves and to others
Trying to convince ourselves
That something isn't our fault
That our world is more utopian than
Reality allows for
We tell ourselves that
It's better to live a lie
Than face the harsh world
Without our emerald glasses
Or maybe everything we believe
In is a lie*
The faerie tales have even been
Changed to suit our own needs
Pretty ballgowns and sparkling glass shoes
Forget the truths of rags, dirt, blood and filth
The romance still remains
But the glamorous side is tougher
More truthful, less plastic
The grime and dirt gives the story life
These Disney-fied, prettied up stories
Are just machine made, molded
Plastic. Commercialised. Dead.
And they spell faerie wrong too

I can't seem to write short poems.
I'd like to, and admire all the short, succinct
And meaningful poems
But I can't cut mine short enough.
Sure I could stop here
Or here
Or maybe after a couple other words
Like here
But I feel like all my thoughts aren't out,
So I continue
Pushing through the thought that
This is getting a bit long
Faerie, what are you doing? Stop
Its too long.
Alright, just one more thought
And I'll
End
It
Here.

I can shake off everything if I write;
my sorrows disappear,
my courage is reborn.
-Anne Frank

When I write and pour out my troubles
I speak to the invisible audience
To the page, to the future
To my friends, and myself
And those things I hate and love
I spill out the ink of my worries and past
My thoughts and feelings and doubt
And for a moment, a handful of planck seconds,
I have nothing, feel nothing, *am nothing,
But one entity with myself
The little trouble I have is voiced and shed,
And I cry, but do not worry so much about it
I lose my gloomy dark thoughts and
Lighten up, and feel... not warmer exactly
Not happier either, but more.
More neutral and more myself, and more happy
And just more
And I again have courage and strength
To continue living without being weighed down

Beautiful piranha
Bare your teeth in a scheming grin
Pull back your harsh red lips
Flash your blue-green-gold coat of scales
Blood thirst blinding your eyes
White boney razor teeth gnashing,
Biting on empty space
Dart around your territory
With your cliques of similarly minded
Similarly equipped predators
Your body specifically designed
To be irresistible
To let you spot your victim,
****** them,
And go for the jugular

Shouldn’t talk about it,
But a thousand times,
A thousand singing stars from now,
You’ll hear the flip
Of my cards hit the table.


The kingfisher left the crown,
And a lantern in the storm
Scattered arrow shadows,
Pointing violent paths through
The blinding white.


We hope for the shining respect
Of yellow prints in the darkness.
Sharp stars between jungle leaves,
And the whisper of cosmic shifting.


Like the gods rolling over in their galactic sheets,
Sending waves of glittered gasses
And planetary matter,
flying.

You said you'd always protect me
And that you'd never hurt me
That you'd love me and hold me
And I was your precious.
But can you protect me from yourself?
My missing you and crying inside
Pretending to be stronger than I am
A defiant faerie, who wants no help
Pushed over and pushed around
I fight back and get up every time
Persist and hold my ground
But you still have yet to show mercy
Perhaps you don't know, but I
I am still subject to your blows and graces
And still defy those stronger