Divergent as always, I'm flying a kite in an avalanche zone.
Inevitably, from your safe harbor, you will judge me.

I yell, "this, this is liberation!"

But you don't see me as a revolutionary.
You'll take me for savage.
Medicate the unprecedented out of my veins
Cover me in a quilt of your culture, label it safety.              

Repression of variation, of the noise and the bold, is optimal for this society.
Freefalling enthusiasm isn't exhilarating to you, and paint splatters aren't modern art
They are just a mess on a clean canvas

I do not look at the stars and think of the immensity of the universe.
I see them as quiet selfless guardians, the kind sisters I always wanted.
I am their sister, their daughter.

With eyes like a lunar eclipse, I stare at them and say "did you see that?"
As though the occurrences of my night were
their equivalent of a shooting star.

I hope they see all my smiles the size of galaxies,
Where my dimples have their own gravitational pull.
I hope they smile at the boys I show them
And remark about similar he looks to their dear friend, the man in the moon.
I hope they see the supernovas these boys inspire.

And I hope they see when my tears fall like meteors,
Leaving comet trails on my cheeks,
Or when I feel like there's a black hole developing in my chest
When my supernovas start to collapse.

I tell them the tales that they will connect into my constellations,
They will tell each other the stories that are the reasons for my shapes.

I do not look at the stars and think of the immensity of the universe.
I look at the stars and hope they are amazed by my personal immense universe.

You are a pair of cuffed jeans, a balloon,
Christmas lights in August that make me smile more than the same old December traditionals.
You are the bermuda triangle and endurance.
You are a loose wire in the wall I can't help but touch, exhilarating.   
You are halfway hoodies, broken guitar strings,
a lot of dandelions and sometimes daisies.

I fall for crooked people
Crooked smile, nose, sternum
I make promises with a crooked pinky
I must have a crooked heart

thank goodness, thank God, for you

thank every possible god, every being,
every collision of matter, every exploding star,
every instance to ever occur,
for you

thank goodness, thank God, for you

I thought I heard you say "I love you" but it very well could have been the wind.
I reply, in a mixture of whisper and breeze, "I love you too, please don't go."

This is a timid tragedy.

Last night, I dreamt that you died

And I woke with shaking lungs,
And lips of pale blue
My mind musing on if I wanted to continue breathing
If you were not breathing too.

Horizons are not the only way to view sunsets
you can watch the way they kiss every last thing good night
every thing except one accepts the temporary absence of the sunlight
the sea is the exception
the sea rages as though the sky is on fire
the waves grasp the shoreline      
the sea is inconsolable,
roaring over the suns goodbye

On a level far less grand and mad as the sea, I can relate.
even though you,
I mean the sun,
shall return in the morning,
your "good night"s will still be goodbyes, and byes are never any good.
so until morning        
I'll be restless, as the sea.

The Queen of England was praying
for more than twenty years
with gray eyes.
Her passion
now a pleasure
that once was sinful.
Magnificent vanities
faded gently
from passion
to steadfast devotion.

The King was overwhelmed;
he had an eye that noticed everything.
He grew rather afraid of himself.

At least I saw him:
the source of all happiness,
(phrasing it in the most modest terms)