I think I could be
perfectly
blissfully
happy

married to a poet,

because words are the only things
I ever truly loved.

morning brushes
my rested conscience
drawing me from one world
terrifyingly into the next
images slip
my mind starts to trip
what is real?
the force of the new world outweighs
the light hearted images
that delicately play
and splay
my vision
but its inevitable
this collision
that stops my dreams in it tracks
throws me out of whack
until Im smack
in the middle
of someone elses reality
and as thoughts of that day
chase away
my melodic dreams
i scream, for them to come back
but like quick sand
the harder I reach
the further it secretes
from my memory
and the toxic seeps
deeper in my veins

finger-paint yourself a picture
on a canvas destined for nothing more
than late-night
one-night
kisses

arrange fabric on a doll
that was store bought
for perfection
owned by jealousy
mocked by
lessers

stain lips
to never speak
gentle words
train lips
to reside
in perfect pouts

school eyes
in fluttering
slitted
hooded
gestures
arrange toes
into smooth, unbroken shapes
to be molded
in a set of high heels
high ballers
high flyers
being higher on the food chain
only makes you
more likely
to be consumed
and if we are anything
we are
consumers

limited
to materialistic consumption
we dress ourselves up like
a sweetshop-confection
topped with gucci
and laced with victoria's secret
lucidity

it's not hard to see
what we're about
if this is a judgement
of clear intentions
we are the clear
winners

our faces are perfect
optical illusions
standing on an assembly line
waiting for someone to take a shine
to the curve of our hips
lips
chest
there is nothing to confess
our cards are laid
only after
we
are

a green parachute soldier
infinitely suspended in air
a a green room
with hearts falling from the ceiling
spiraling down to the bed
I lay my head
in paper stuffed pillows
of where I will go
the left
lights beam off
a cheap vase
that doesnt have a place
just yet
but someday could mean the world
a map to my right
I really do hate
that purple sari
because
im sorry
but it makes no sense
and its exactly the shade I hate most
its funny
how you say purple is like a void
because now when I look at it
Im void
of all my senses
that seem to disappear
when I think of you
and how I cant understand
why you do what you do?
never saw it through
or maybe you did
and I just
couldnt keep up
Not used to the turning over
that, for you is
expected
but I never expected
being rejected
waiting suspended
like the green soldier with his
parachute hanging over
the edge of my mirror

body language that requires
no reading between the lines
its apparent
without the mask of vague
emotions and thoughts
that chased us
apart
and you two
back together
never a matter of whether, just when
I'll pretend not to feel something
when I hear your name
notice how its your arms that wrap
and not hers
its her cheek you kiss, her not on yours
the changes that come, when nothing changes
but the world rearranges
and it all seems to fit
push aside the feelings that rip
melt and they drip
down in slow trickles
and just because they dont stream
like water from a hose
doesnt mean they mean any less
it just means that
they cant put out the fire
and thats something
that just was never an option
for you

I plucked a splinter from my heart
As the past began to leak-
Before clumping up against the sore
And trickling down my feet.

I exhaled the bitter, salty air,
And coughed and heaved my loss
For my lungs could only hold their share
As long as I paid the cost.

I cornered you with words, tonight,
And wailed out against the moon-
While anger poured from every noun
Falling dormant upon my tomb.

You thought I mixed it up, somehow,
Between the trembling blame,
As you coiled up upon the sound
That harshly sang your name.

I burried up my bitter soul
Beneath some shards of glass,
And planted a new world right there,
Atop a hidden past.

I crossed my t's, and said my alms
To your sweet and sickly lord.
I held my voice from trembling,
So my distress would not be heard.

I washed my wounds with holiness
Drained from the city streets,
Cleansing myself of all that feels,
For acceptance comes as defeat.

I sat there in the dark, that night,
As I painted out my life
Upon the shores of an indifferent sea,
Unscarred by wisdom's knife.

Oh, do you see the butterfly
That's shriveled against the pane
Of a dusty, concealed windowsill-
Never to see light again.

its easy to forget
I'm only almost seventeen
I feel so aged
so worn.