Jan 7 blue
mk

oh sunshine
  how do i tell you?
  i am flying so high
  above these clouds
  weightlessly mine

            oh sunshine
                 how do i show you
                 the butterflies that live in me
                 my veins full of ecstasy
                 the warmth of that summer breeze

oh sunshine
  the monsoon comes closer
  and that rain is here to purify
  everything will find its place
  there is so much to see
  so little to say

             oh sunshine
                  how do i show you
                  there is so much more warmth than cold
                  these golden rays never get old
                  the grass blades sway with hope
                  there is so much more to live for

oh sunshine
  the morning is yet to come
  the dawn is where you're from
  hold my hand and let me show you
  together we'll run
  straight into the sun

good music, good vibes
blue Dec 2017

tell me
what you want
because i want you

you look the same way
the sunset paints brush strokes
on the horizon

i want to be your horizon.

sometimes we love without a reason why, without knowing anything except for this. the way we clumsily work toward interlacing our fingers reminds me that life isn't perfect until we're content withthe fact that it's not perfect.
you make me see all that life can be. with you here, i am more than content. i am happy.

you changed my life.
like an autumn evening
changes green to red.
to yellow.

your smile is my
favourite constellation.
and i play connect the dots between
the corners of your mouth.

you make me love.
myself.
life.
the world.
you.

always.

i love love love you
blue Dec 2017

his eyes spill over with yellow
sunlight
and honestly i've never
wanted anything so
bad.

i found the meaning of life
in his smile/
when he says my name/
in his eyes like autumn mornings.

i was made for him.
and on good, fine, and bad days,
my love is made for me too.

i see my future in that look
he's got in his eyes.
and it's all
i ever dreamed it would be.

blue Dec 2017

in this thrifted sweater
and black and white floral skirt

in my soft and faded yellow
and on those pastel clouds
with my daydreaming eyes

i wanted a cheap ticket

you see,
i wanted a one way trip
to heaven
so i could stand protected
so i could stand behind
the holy gates,
bathing in gold light.
in my sweater,
wrapped in light
and safe.

little did i know i’d feel safer that day
that i’d taste some of heaven
in that sweater in late november
with your arm interlaced
in mine
like fate
had planned
for that to be
the moment our stars
aligned

you were a sunbeam
my sweater was security
and your arms beheld the stars
of the heavens
to me

and can i tell you something?
they were all
so
yellow

  Nov 2017 blue
Charles Bukowski

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

  Nov 2017 blue
no

he left with mothballs in his soul and mother of pearl in his teeth. the golden boy set out to the city, his harvest yellow hair a whole halo around his head and his heart hardening against her heaving. they say she hasn't been out in days, weeks even. she won't leave her house now that he's gone. we read about him in the news the other week, the words melting into each other under the unforgiving sun as we gasped; shocked at how little of him remained.

he left with a taste for revenge, his time running out and his father running into our house. "look at what they did to my boy!" the frazzled father frantically shrieked; and we were all silent. in his pinstripe suit he found a pipe dream, stacks of a mean green thing consumed him, and his suit case carried pictures that he wanted to throw away but forgot about. he was blossoming; riveting; blooming in the concrete of the clay catacombs. he was a problem and no one knew how to deal with him, but it's not like they ever tried.

he left half the boy he was, his ribcages still rooted deep into the soil of his hometown.

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