Wings on caterpillar
Hide behind white door
Mute for 3 weeks
no one knows what for
new eyes
Weaving out cocoon
Empty veins
kiss bathroom tile
Paint over smile
Face buried in swimming water
wishing candles
wet pillow
dog barks
oiled moon
death stars
words
Breathing quickens
Heart rate pounds
Breathing stops
lullaby
to monitor sounds.
Hospital lights
Asked questions
“She’s normal,”
Black spaces
Familiar places
Love me love me
Don’t forget me.
Wings tare
Innocents never was
Cry the way mommy was
Wear sun can’t burn
Squints and flashes
They won't know

l

My body is a typewriter.
There are starving scrolls hidden in my hollow bones
and sable blood that paints my rib cage broken sentences
and my heart punches them into stories
and poems everytime I see you.
They drip down to my fingertips and
escape everytime I touch you.

Bleak bones crumble to snow covered soil,
Flesh floret wilted flower,
Empty bottle blood sinks,
and poisoned pills pour,
Swaying sparrow feathers
rot to feed my gentle grave.

When I sing to corvines to slumber,
I wish I could carve out my heart,
engrave it into a rose and rock it gently to sleep.
but birds are cold blood and travel south in the winter.
So now I'll just cuddle up to my insomnia
and wake 20 years later on a damp pillow
and my trembling body of the ghost thats left inside my hollow bones.

I like that I keep things hidden beneath my solar wolf flesh
and that I have organic pages filled with black howls
of melted moons and star dust that no one can encode
... not even myself.
I really like it when humans believe they
unraveled my secrets of deep ultraviolet tidal
waves crashing on the curves of my spine,
but they have only reached the shoreline of Europa's crust.
And even though no one really discovers what kisses
and revolves behind my cage of cosmic bone
(a stain glassed galaxy and a little juicy
heart that is a soft pressed nebula),
I like that the thoughts and passionate joys
are all mine and only mine,
and no human can steal the unnamed from me.
But I'm not going to lie,
I'm lonely and misplaced
in this vast, cold place
called outer space,
but maybe I’m just a little bit in love
with swimming in those infrared feelings.
I guess that’s why my sister told me last night
I am the lone wolf crying with the unknown.
And I fall in high respect and love
with the very few creatures
who like to carve me unlocked and
make me bleed my darkest constellations of shooting scars
hidden from sight
… somewhere deep in the outer space.

I have learned how fly
Though I maybe in the clouds, my feet still drag on the ground.
And I am having a hard time determining which is real and which isn't.