Jun 2012
My eyelids stick shut like a messy origami fold,
because my dear sister’s ever straightening crooked teeth
produce joy soaked syrupy tears I don’t want to shed.
To spread her soul’s iridescent glow would heal the world’s wounds, and put its scraped knees to bed.
Possibility licks and lines my lips
its grip the most permanent of chapstick,
and it rests there, to run off my tongue in the form of
“who would look best by my side on 16 and pregnant?”
But that really isn’t funny,
another messed up poem to be told,
and the fine tip pin ***** point is:
I want to infuse the veins of the world with her dancing green soul.
Her body is a patisserie and every morning she wakes
to a fresh baked billowy pillowy bun of a heart
as if it were plain pb&j;, she gives me half;
says its called life.
My people are prayers, my people are promising.
Kevin, a father, silver in hue,
Heather, a mother, a gold so true.
My Sister is blended silver in winter, golden by summer
and I an unfortunate white, but a fortunate bright eyed
daughter and sister and wisher;
wishing upon the moon, time, slug-bug shine,
and every four leaf or three leaf clover I can find.
All my wishes are the same
please someone come swell my stomach,
widen my heart and hips,
for I want to populate the planet with sun ripened kids.
She shows me her soul’s iridescent glow, its ability to heal the world’s wounds and put its scraped knees to bed.
When friends reach the door of my family’s warm embrace
paint peels freckle the neighborhood’s floor, but beauty covers
not only the faces.
It lives in their warmth,
and some may argue that’s because we keep the heat heavy and high
but I guess that’s just us;
the sweaty summers
we may be the dumber of the summer,
but we have admiration
so I’ll hurry these words:
I admire you.
because of you I’ve got the inclination
to fill the thirsty mouths of current and future children,
with not runny nutrition less sugar, spice, and everything nice
but long lasting love, admiration, and
A soul glowing with iridescence, and the ability to heal the world’s wounds and put its scraped knees to bed.
So for the love of Charis Rose! Can I just have a baby already?
because my dear sister’s ever straightening crooked teeth
produce joy soaked syrupy tears I don’t want to shed.
To spread her soul’s iridescent glow would heal the world’s wounds, and put its scraped knees to bed.
Possibility licks and lines my lips
its grip the most permanent of chapstick,
and it rests there, to run off my tongue in the form of
“who would look best by my side on 16 and pregnant?”
But that really isn’t funny,
another messed up poem to be told,
and the fine tip pin ***** point is:
I want to infuse the veins of the world with her dancing green soul.
Her body is a patisserie and every morning she wakes
to a fresh baked billowy pillowy bun of a heart
as if it were plain pb&j;, she gives me half;
says its called life.
My people are prayers, my people are promising.
Kevin, a father, silver in hue,
Heather, a mother, a gold so true.
My Sister is blended silver in winter, golden by summer
and I an unfortunate white, but a fortunate bright eyed
daughter and sister and wisher;
wishing upon the moon, time, slug-bug shine,
and every four leaf or three leaf clover I can find.
All my wishes are the same
please someone come swell my stomach,
widen my heart and hips,
for I want to populate the planet with sun ripened kids.
She shows me her soul’s iridescent glow, its ability to heal the world’s wounds and put its scraped knees to bed.
When friends reach the door of my family’s warm embrace
paint peels freckle the neighborhood’s floor, but beauty covers
not only the faces.
It lives in their warmth,
and some may argue that’s because we keep the heat heavy and high
but I guess that’s just us;
the sweaty summers
we may be the dumber of the summer,
but we have admiration
so I’ll hurry these words:
I admire you.
because of you I’ve got the inclination
to fill the thirsty mouths of current and future children,
with not runny nutrition less sugar, spice, and everything nice
but long lasting love, admiration, and
A soul glowing with iridescence, and the ability to heal the world’s wounds and put its scraped knees to bed.
So for the love of Charis Rose! Can I just have a baby already?
