blue
not
brown
are the colors of your eyes
and
smooth
not
rough
are the contours of your jaw
and
straight
not
crooked
is the bridge of your nose
and
warm
not
cold
are the palms of your hands
so why do I have to repeatedly tell myself
**YOU ARE NOT HIM

We were careless in the summer
If there was a day to be remembered we quickly forgot
Sun filled days of bliss were too engaging
We trifiled in unimportant matters, we were free
Yet somehow something was missed
And as the autumn days reached us, we let go of bated breath
Just to be reminded of the chill we left behind
We swore we'd never go back to it...
And they say love is not like the weather

The reinvention of woman
will be the test of man
To see if he will follow
as steadily as he can
For if the world
becomes unbalanced by the two
There might be much conflict
between me and you
The test of man is not simple at start
it searches deep and turns on reality...
Their morals are shown and intentions burned brightly
they're soul-***** in all actuality
But the goal of we women is not destroy
nor embarrass the league of men...
It's simply to encourage and shelter and feed
through love, as best as we can

spots
like blisters on skin
irritate me
not only are they
extremely noticeable
they also have the audacity
to be irreversible
once marked or made
they never go, as if to say
I am here
you have seen me
and you can do nothing about it
nothing makes me feel
as powerless as spots do
plus, you can't always hide them
so someone else is bound
to see them too
now we have two irritated
people
because of one
significantly insignificant
spot

this girl is not a gun
she is an old shoelace ripped and ragged
worn and overused but
unwilling to be retired, she is

lazy, but still does what is needed
holds tight and gets from A
to B, and maybe there is a bit of
unravelling on the way but she made it

why is life the only race we
don't get draped in roses and gold at the
end but instead burnt up and locked away
or worse, stuffed in a box that will not rot with us

and if the tales about souls are true
there is reprieve in that belief,

but this girl got so much cotton stuffed under her skin
the impact of falling from grace never scared her much

Changed my number in the morning
Broke my records on the floor
Laced my fingers through his hands
Pulled the latch and locked the door

Fell in love with a name, not a number
Asked where he lived, he answered "On the shore"
Left my inhibitions back in the tundra
All night long he kept me begging for more

Sent me roses laced with arsenic
Gave him pinches full of pain
Slept beside him barely breathing
It seemed I was stuck in this silly game

Took my freedom but showed me love
Held my hands to keep me tame
I wasn't lonely, not with him
Life would never be the same

I'm sad
But not in that way
I write to relieve my thoughts
Not my woes
I breathe
And my heart beats
I do not wish for either to stop
I am alone
But only from the cause of my own
I choose to do
the self-harming things I do
But I do not cut
I ride skateboards
And motorcycles
This is not a cry for help
Simply a look into the life of a loner

We are not made of stars, I don't know why you told me that
Would it have made a difference if we were?
To be flaming ***** of combusted gas
Temperate and voatile
Already, that's how we exist...
So would it really have changed us?
(I think not)
Do you really think of me that way?
Combustible...unpredictable in every way
(Possibly not even there anymore)
Radiating your world from far away
So far...
You wouldn't notice if I disappeared
Do you truly think we're made of stars?
(It's not as romantic as you think)
Honestly, I view us more as a sunset
If we're going to talk atmosphere
The pinkish kind that melts and blends
Into the dark bruise of night sky
We mix and evolve into something atramentous
Something tantalizingly morbid
But our morbidity shall not keep
Us from living free and happy
Because, eventually, the sun rises
And brightens our venomous palors
Sweetens the berries of our tender youth
(Though not so young anymore)

You never say the right things anymore
Lucky you.
You have me.
(And I'll never let you go)
Star dust and all.

1.** black coffee

lipstick stains I always have to clean,
not from mugs
but
from his shirt collars when I forget the cream
“Two creams babe. Why is it so
******* hard to remember two creams?”
I don’t have an answer so
I continue to scrub the lipstick stains and
swear I’ll get it right
He’s messing up worse, no one is keeping count
So I swear I’ll get it right

2. wrinkled shirt sleeves

my favorite time is
in the morning before he’s up
when I get to take time and iron his works clothes
Today is not one of those times
He’s up early, and he’s risen irritated
He has a meeting
he told me, I needed to wake him up early
I forgot
He grabs his shirt and pants
whining incessantly about the shirt sleeves
I missed them because I was
not finished
He doesn’t care, “You’re worthless, so why should I be surprised?”
I don’t leave the bathroom all day

3. dog-eared pages

sometimes,
he has to “work late”
and I get time to myself
I’ve been reading a memoir about Vivaldi
I flip to find the most recently creased page
and settle into the soft couch
He thinks it is ridiculous and childish
that I don’t use a bookmark
I told him it makes the books
just that much more personable
He isn’t one for sentiment so
he laughs
and asks if I want him to pick me up one on his way back from work
I don’t say yes, but I don’t say no either
The bookmark he bought me
makes a really nice
coke liner

4. ivory piano keys

when I was younger
before the addiction
I played piano
In the basement of my great aunts
four story Victorian
sat the most elegant baby grand
it was out of tune, and dusty
but that never stopped me
from clunking out thunderous melodies
and driving the cats insane
now, in the emptiness of this apartment
I dream of that piano
it’s long white keys and low, low seat
I hear its music
never a note right but
it never sounded sweeter

5. crooked lip liner

“we’re going to be late to the banquet, babe.”
erratic nodding, yes yes yes I know but
I’m shaking again
he knows why he always he knows
“I need more.”
I don’t say of what, he knows
there’s no time is what he tells me
I know that but
god, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears
ragged breath and it feels like my skin wants
to be separate from my body
I hate when I’m like this
he’s so responsible
I hate him
fingers twitching and teeth itching
red lip liner was such a bad idea
I don’t bother filling it in neatly
if I’m to play the role
of cracked out wife
well goodness, I must look it
he doesn’t lay an eye on me all night
whispers let me know
if the people aren’t aware, they’re guessing
I don’t bother to uphold
one semblance of normalcy
knock back one glass of the
fancy bubbly champagne
the shaking subsides
knock back a second
my vision no longer whirls
the drunker I get
the more normal I feel
my outward appearance is a mess
but
I feel good inside

absolute
a word that marks finality
yet seems to encourage improvement
like how we are (were) absolutely perfect for each other
yet you went seeking for someone better
though I would hesitate
to call her arm improvement
and I know you were sincere
when you softly cried your apologies
but it is so hard, you see
to believe in a word like that when it surrounded my entirety
though I absolutely hate you
and I absolutely loathe her
I don't really
because absolute is not a real thing
not a real way to measure the mercuriality
of the human race
of you
of me
of we

The world is missing, nah loosing, it's main supplier
Young kids scheming on ways just to get higher
Forgetting that what we need to be doing is making fire
Burning out what y'all old folks have laid, crucifier
Young kids killing off themselves, donning Columbian neckties
Cause no one told them that eventually they will get by
Watching out for our youth, it ain't in the old folks heart to try
Given up on us, not even worth it for us to cry
Over spilled milk, because honestly we did it to ourselves
We're buying all the crap the industry likes to sell
Like if we don't think a certain way we're all surely going to hell
Young kids taking all of this in like a chorus of angry bells
When the choir started to sing and we all felt uplifted
Old preachers telling us that all His children are gifted
Yet when I turn on a TV it seems that mindset has shifted
No one tells us about other religions without getting frigid
Young kids thinking they're crazy because our mindscrap are different
If I didn't know better I'd say you adults were all in ya feelings
It's just layers upon layers of ignorance, but I'll keep on peeling
Until this world opens it's eyes onto this new millineum
Young kids holding their tongues, we need to stop fearing
We need to start growing and shearing
Away these layers of skin that don't mean a thing, become domineering
We don't need their permission to take charge, start clearing
Cause it takes a village to raise one child, major solution
A child I'd like to call revolution