if i float on in
with flowers brandished
twisted into curling waves
tumbling from my fountain,
and you mistake my mind
full of mystery and marvel
for a dainty, empty vessel
to be filled with your creeds,
                     may you choke on my knowledge.

if i bounce between
bookmarks of laughter
that lift my heavy pages
aligning my beginning and end,
and you mistake my comfort
for the ditzy daze of a doll
fashioned to be played with,
and put on a collectors shelf
to scoff at imperfections,
                           may you be blinded by my light.

if i am flowing round
fabric billowing to catch sweet
wind of movement, spinning
glee of gliding off the ground
to glimpse golden gates,
and you mistake my joy
for a pair of hips to clutch,
and sneak your jolly rodger
past into pillage and plunder
and poke a broken flagpole in,
                         may you drown in my crashing waves.

if i am still in silence, serenely
lost in my clarity, presence of being
holding my unruly tongue, sleeping,
and you mistake my peace
for a void, desperately empty
to be cluttered with your
ostentatious masquerade of manhood
or statue to your *******,
                         may the wonders resting behind my sturdy walls
                         rise up rumbling pillars of awareness
                         and demolish your preconcieved
                        patriarchal perceptions of who you want me to be.

broken mirror of emaciated imagery,
stupid, slow, sorrowful ****, simply here for silly sulks to stick their sweaty sliding cylinders down to search for silk to steal and sell and sew as seeds of slandering stigma to slinking sailors.

may it be shattered in two and remade, a new
unified whole of harmonious equality,
shaking the chains of dichotomous value,
break the monstrous institution.

slither singed and sullen back to your tree
little snake boy, you know nothing.
and you cannot fool me into eating your apple,
i already know my truth.

I wish my fists would unfurl
like the curls of her hair

Lay my hands down
separate from the rest of me
wrapped in tired vines
which held on too tightly
to dreams which have long died

Despite the wilted pedals  
I still wait for
the open coffin nightly
Dream lie,
play pretend with me, seek and hide

these overgrown weeds
knots of blame to which they are tied
to loosen or to lose
which is the virtuous side

I am able
though its not my type
I call it winning when I
bring the dead back to life

I hope the rain sinks deep into the blackened cracks of the street
Outside my house there stands alone a naked ghost—
No flesh or bone.
It flies up to my window’s screen
And through its fickle mesh
Façades are no more,
Yet they are everything:
A story drags at the corners of your eyes
And the truth looms like the shadow under your
Chin up,
Chin. Up.
Positivity ephemeral as the fierce electricity in the night sky—
May I become a lightning rod: “The Light Catcher.”
May I keep what’s left of you,
The rest of you…?
And, m-might you burn forever?

Nothing will taste as sweet
With you
Gone.