to the girl who made the mistake of
standing auburn hair raving in the sun
knee deep in the city street,
lungs roaring and eyes giving,
you can't fight the rain
but you can beat the sun.

Sometimes I wish I never knew you,
sometimes you're all I know.

I asked him
to stop singing
but his voice just
got higher.

My left ear lobe is having an
allergic reaction to the chemicals
of my bullet-studded earring while
my right ear lobe is just fine with the
bow and arrow that's speared through.

My lungs are anaphylactic response to
the silence of your words and the nasal
voice that whinnies out of your throat.

I am not unaware of your sudden decision
to grow out the raven-colored hair out of its
buzzed stage much like how I understand
your need to refuse my query of,
"What are you?"

I admire your commitment to further your
thinkings, the reach of your leaves.

I'd kiss the state flag you have tattooed
on your forearm if it meant getting closer to you.

The ghost in your eyes tells me it's gonna be alright. ****** senseless on what might as well have been a two stacked mattress at Holiday Inn, your girl closes her yes and sees orange tones of red flashing down the white sleeves of your bland shirt,

she's on fire, heavenly so, she's on fire, a can of crushed fruit stuffed and so you feel for me, your dreams of wooly women curved of sheep and soul-y wandering across your aim, you fire, "I'm into it." as you set my frame a-glow. My legs twist into pretzels, see me baby. I am your Amazonian woman, wide-shipped and shimmering beneath the angry sun.

Orange hued and hungry for your blue American Spirited high yellow lungs, you find my funkadellic paraphernalic lips, swollen as they are for your candor.

I am Queen Ivy inspire, lucidly waiting to be the poison that inspires you, I sit lonesome on the stoop of anabandoned lot, Peter Penning down your inked arms, "Not only boys are lost," into your caramel Cuban coffeed dreams, "Girls can be too."

What live game do I remind you of, I wonder as you taste me, bitter kola nut forming across your lips as white swells of smoke ruin you, we are unbearably distant. One never hurt and the other already ruined once before and possibly never again: That sickeningly silly kind of shy but not that lingers cold to the blue flames you expel my way as dark clouds form into your eyes.

I am your Amazonian woman.

midnight shiverings of semi-neurotic portions, strike my ******* as I lay on a bed of eggshells, Malibu-Barbie-d to the head of your knees, baby said he'd paint me pink like the insides of my vaginal regions because it was his favorite, favorite, favorite place to read about, think about, taste about and feel about, baby, baby, he said he'd shake me salty like the Dead Sea and then he'd leave me comfy like the title repeats, my baby, baby is wilder than I could ever be but I swear there's one thing we have in common: he don't like me and I don't like he but we sure did like 'we'. We sure did love something funny and silly, never too serious, just like true, blue young'uns do.

I climb on a seafoam mattress, baby breath puke green and of the lyrics he scripts, they swim across your sea-like covers. He loves my lost mind as though the puzzle of me hummed to him as my thighs rode across his blanketed scene. I hated him and his laundry list of post-consumerism articles that he'd spout off one after the other. He checks me off like his last bought pair of socks

from where I'm sitting,
I'm thinkin'
ever as freely
as I'm livin'.

they do what they say
and they pick at all two
hundred and six plus bones
until I am left with no poles
to stand firm upon.
No limbs. No cartlidge.
they do what they say and
they alienate me into
a spineless coward.

Cliché Walking-
His hands jittered
Struggled to zip his
khaki colored jacket
Her eyes remained
On his pained face
Observing through contacted
Magnifying lenses
Somehow their eyes met
Past the jammed crossway
The cluttered New York street
Through the busy cars
And zesty pedestrians
With spill-able coffees
And steamy attitudes
Somehow their eyes met
And the air froze
Still as the desert
Although the air doesn’t freeze
‘Least not in the middle of spring
Although the desert is attacked by constant wind
The silence was like a pin drop
Or something to that effect
Although with the zooming cars
And obnoxious New Yorkers’
It couldn’t have been like so.
And they knew
They just knew
Love at first sight
And all that jazz
Without even knowing
They knew.
He was her Humphrey Bogart
Whoever in heaven’s name that is
And she was his Audrey Hepburn
‘Cause he seemed like the kind that’d know her
And so this, the cockyspaniel
And the chickyhuahua
Crossed the street
And met each other
Halfway…
Right there
In the middle of it all
Cars honking, women screaming
And they swore to the depths of hell
That people clapped and whooped
Because the STD filled kiss
Was Shakespeare inspired
Cosigned, even
And the love was tragic as ever
But hey
What did he say again?
All is fair in love and war and all that hooplah

Don't let them drown you

he left me resting
crooked
on the pith of his
lemon-split lips
and I just keep
sleeping
through its rind
like the sleep
won't leave me.

last night,
i had a comforting dream
of a young she
standing so close to her mirror
that she became lost within it,
her eyes heavy to the
unfamiliar world that she
was transitioning into-
her body began to grow
thin like plastic as
she stood on her thickening legs,
marble set below her feet
and she raised her hands
to either sides of her head and
twisted her neck
until it popped off her body
before placing it onto her sink,
she then reached into medicine cabinet
that leaned off the wall, towards her,
grabbed a different head
and ******* it in place
before walk out of her
bathroom door
stepping into the already
ready world.

if they are soul mates
then what are we

subtle reminders are nature's best ejection of pain, i swear i saw your shadow overcast mine every time i walked. cowering rationalizations seem to weep as though it's dying sense of control bends folding branches down against the base of my willow. i've seen you with my eyes wide open and with my eyes closed and each time I skip stones against the walls of my memory hoping to eject which ever flick is humming on repeat.

Everyone writes about coffee
The embedded love
The innate passion
That’s brewed strong
That’s filtered long
Everyone talks about coffee and love
Everyone compares coffee to love
Everyone forgets its natural taste
Everyone forgets its bitter taste
Its rancid lingerance
Its putrid flavor
Everyone forgets to write about coffee creamer
The artificial sweetener
The true romancer

"You're killing me,"
I mumbled. And he pressed
my hips as far into his as our
fall plaids and jeans would allow
as we settled into the corner
of the dining room and the
mooning sun shadowed
through the plantation shutters.
Our breaths fell dark against the
gold tan of the wall. He held my hat
behind his back with one hand,
and the small of my back with his
other as drunkenness lulled
concern into his eyes.
"What did I do?" he said
as the halo of the tiring sun
darkened his puppy brown eyes.
His breath smelled like cinnamon
and his eyes were as full as the rising moon.

i must remind myself:

you don't disappear
simply because you
close your eyes
and see nothing but
black.

you disappear when
you hold your breath
and everything shifts
into black.

death is in
the illusion of choice
and i am severed
within its guilt:

i must remind myself.
i won't disappear simply
because i close my eyes
and see nothing but black.

I climb on a seafoam mattress, baby breath puke green and of the lyrics he scripts, they swim across your sea-like covers. He loves my lost mind as though the puzzle of me hummed to him as my thighs rode across his blanketed scene. I hated him and his laundry list of post-consumerism articles that he'd spout off one after the other. He checks me off like his last bought pair of socks and hung me from around his neck and so I bled like a wasted pen blemishes, down to the front seat of his pants. The stress of him rests in the nook of my shoulder blades and vibrates through to my chest. Blue dream and acidically-tinged hazes ripple against my reptilian skin and sheds me time and time again. I cannot grow old with you or young with you. We are alone an together, unmoving and polarizing. A few cool blue specks of light that never change but appear to mean to. We are in lust and stagnantly so, we will never grow. I climb on a sea of green and wade into the late night streamings, the abyss of you.

He held me, left me and still,
I feel his body pressed against mine,
a gentle whisper. I feel him
even when he is gone.
He lingers against my frame,
a silent reminder.

He used to call me
cornflakes
not because of the way
my body
crumbled in his mouth
but rather
for my
inconsistancies

i'm sure, i'm sure
she's the kind of girl
you've got to love
*e v e r y  n i g h t.

we didn't mind our mistakes
like everyone else did.
he spelled his name wrong,
always and I sometimes.
He forgot key letters
slung his slang between
my tongue, pierced his
bottom lip, tatted
Breaking Babylon
across his chest, buzzed
his black hair low so that
his olive colored scalp
shone through,
scissored his black jeans into
shorts, lectured me on
his truths and my truths
and how our privilege
is self-evident, whispered
to me on cold cold nights
about the coming of the
Zion train and that either
Lauryn Hill or Nneka
would be it's conductor,
grew his hair down to his
shoulder when I
buzzed mine low revealing
my tight curls
and cursed his blossom
pink lips and prodded his
piercing with my thick
bottom lip and waited
and waited and waited.
He liked my mistakes
and my curiosity and I
liked his confidence
in his abilities. He didn't
cover his mistakes, he
was sure of them.
He told me the Zion
train would come the
day that I decided
to ask and still I
couldn't resist asking,
is your heart breaking?
and now he's telling me
he's missed me and that
it's good to hear from me
and that he's missed my
blue velvet voice, and I
have to bite my tongue
and nibble my fingers
to stop myself from
asking him,
is your heart still breaking?
but I know that I've
missed him more than I
enjoyed breaking his heart.
He likes my curiosity
and the mistakes that
come along with them.

my chest hangs over my knees and my head weighs heavy to the floor, I am slowly separating from my body, my limbs, my soul and my smile. and on the days you tell me to linger after not seeing you for years, I wonder how much longer you'd make me keep waiting while you continue to mingle.

She thinks me a
springboard. A
project piece to
project to and then
to leave. I've known
more people that
believe in me
then I've known
me's that believe
in me.

I feel as though we are
always on the verge of
something.
Brilliant or assholish.

I feel as though the
only things that keep us
contained are
sanity and insanity,
mere reflections of
each of themselves.

And I feel as though
the safeguard of
insanity-
sanity would be
unknown

give me a hole to crawl into

was it not the camel that
broke the straw's back
had it feeling like
it's straw was made of
unmendable water
had it feeling like
it's back was the only
piece he could sit upon
nevermind the ground
and all the pressure it
could handle.

he told me to tell her hi
as if their relationship
was something that i
wanted to help foster
and she said, "hiback"
as if she didn't know
all of the ways she was
******* up everything.
i hate her and the way
she makes herself so
comfortable everywhere,
i want her to stay sitting
on eggshells, i want her
hands to be branded by
nails, i want her leave his
lap alone, I want her to.

i spend my days now counting til you, morning glory's cactii-ed to my tongue, goosebump ridden and hungry for some distant memory to bring me back down, if the early spring sun was to stop glowing, maybe that's be a start, but it beams innocence down my lungs and through the pours of my skin. Your eyes shine as though an angel lives between the thin realms of your mind and your soul and right there, inter-mixed between it all, I can't seem to help but hope to live, am I greedy enough now, because according to me, it's seems like this is all this is.

marie-niege is jaso bolay
i am an empty pill bottle
of nothing more than
just emotions, a stack of
empty liquor bottles. i
am nothing. just nothing.
isn't that classy? but um
you see, marie-niege is
cleaner than me. more
sterile. less edgy. but
sicker in the head.
we're never just
one person.
welcome. to the
madness in my head.

tomorrowwon'tcomefastenough

I
am
only
a
fact
when
my
existence
hums
beneath
the
felt tip
of your
fingers,
your hands
lingering
above
my
chestnut
skin,
have
I
become
a
fact
of
life?
I only
come
into
existence
when
you've
made
me a
fact
of
your
life.

you took my grace and slid it between your bed sheets, the next day, i stayed comatose in my room until the sun hid itself, i hummed silly rhymes and watched them waft away, the following day, i dropped everything i tried to hold, my hands didn't shake like they usually do, they stood still and uncertain. kind of like you, clearly, oh so clearly of you and me