Moonflower Dec 2017

I do not care if you have made a home within my bones
Or if you believe the key to finding your happiness is hidden beneath my tongue.
If you take your stay for granted,
I will tear that shit to the fucking ground.

Moonflower Dec 2017

Am I a fleeting thought?
Am I kept up in the attic?
My lungs crave the ache
Cigarettes make me sad
Make me look bad
Smell bad
Feel bad
And yet I crave them
for now, at least.
Tomorrow I'm challenging myself to work an entire shift without stepping out to smoke.
I want to
The idea sounds delightful
But I can't.
Do you ever run to the thought of me when shit hits the fan
and you just want the world to be silenced
and enjoy a cigarette
and a little music
I run to the thought of you when shit gets bad
And you've taken the form of calm
My brain now associates you with comfort.
Not sappy, oozing with muck and syrupy sweetness,
but fucking calm.
just quiet.
stress free.
smoking a jay in the front seat of your car kind of peaceful.

Moonflower Nov 2017

It's alright to be a cog if you adore the clock you're ticking for.

  Nov 2017 Moonflower

back in the day
rocks could talk
they where
casual, petty and small-minded
just like us
divinities platitudes
every word a drop of manna
its magic
wow magic

so out of conceit
we made them gods
deferred to their credibility
and like idiot children
paid attention to their great allegories
a provident sea of wisdom
from the skeletons of time

we carved their faces from stones
put them on pedestals
and gave them names
the great know it alls
urns of heaven
those oracles of old

and so ensued
the epic cycle of talking statues
and thats how decisions where made
back in the day

the statues are strangely mute now
sunken shadows into earths bowels
and the age of reason
has been transplanted
by the age of
what the fuck
a new
hobbled world soul
of darkened consciousness
to cope with tentacles of complexity
and a forest of trials
where depth of thought has been replaced
and decisions are made by
the exalted
ennie meenie minee moe
an abstruse form of ritual magic

from now on
all arguments will be settled
by me
sticking my tongue out

  Nov 2017 Moonflower

now when I think of love I want to puke,
the thought literally makes me sick to my stomach because I know now what it does to a person

how you lose yourself in someone else and then all of sudden you can't breathe anymore without them

I am promising myself to never be that stretched again,
to give myself a try for once, relying only on my intuition and will to power through life and relationships, never getting too blind to see things as they really are

I wanna know what it's like to be so good alone that the earth shatters when I take a step,
electricity radiates from my skin and my soul is so loud it shouts through my eyes

Moonflower Oct 2017

Some days the past comes bubbling up like recurrent hiccups or soda burps.
I am in my own cocoon and it isn't the same as being pressed against your chest, my head tucked safely in the nook of your neck, but it is my own
and I've learned to start from nothing before.
We're 4 months shy of the two-year mark and I can honestly say I'm mostly numb to it.
Some days the skies turn ash grey and each hidden, lingering memory of you knocks the wind out of me,
But I really am okay.
There are still days like today
when what I refuse to say yet cannot deny are found in the same string of letters, of words...
The kaleidoscopes in the sky beckon me
as do men with beautiful words...
Though when the night is still,
and my center is not,
you are the one I'm thinking of.

Lately, I've awakened with the feeling that I met with someone within my dreams yet can never remember their face
  Sep 2017 Moonflower

In your room
my lipstick stained coffee mug sits smugly on your desk
you  tell me not to bring my cups up to your room after the time my unfinished coffee found its way through your bedsheets.
I sneak looks at you from the corner of my eye.
you pretend not to notice.

Littered around your laundry basket are my lacey bras and patterned underwear
I know you’ve always been neat and I’ve scattered your living space with my messy habits
and maybe you mind, but you’ve never given me a hard time for it.
my mom never made me fold my clothes, but i fold all yours.

An empty box of wheat thins stands straight up aside the trash bin
you can never make them last more than one night
and I still don’t understand their appeal
but i buy them over and over
you never forget to recycle.

Multiple journals of mine clutter your desk drawers
you ask to read what i write, eyes kind and curious
I don’t  let you, but for different reasons than you think
I write my poems onto papers the size of a dog-eared page,
hide them in the pockets of your jackets
it ‘s summer. you don’t find them.

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