it's sort of funny how i can bang you like
a frying pan to the head
and *** all your cigarettes
until your pockets are empty
and so is the bed
because

i'll want to know what kissing the
boy who lives next door
with the green eyes
feels like too

****
i wish we could drop acid
on a rolling hill like earthly ocean
waves,
summer breeze swiftly rocking
us back and forth in the
twisting realities, and
folding, condensing, expanding
visions, exploding in our
open, wide eyes.

i wish i could kiss you
and feel flowers grow from
your lips,
my ******* turning into
opening roses
soft and voluptuous under your
persistent hands.

get grass in my hair,
and count each and every one of the
angrily pulsating stars above us
as we lay naked somewhere
where reality can't breach.

let me comfortably say after
that i have lost my virginity;

because it'll be the first time i've ever
made love to a god.

STOP
CALLING
PEOPLE
"MOTHER *******"

DO YOU HAVE ANY RESPECT?

WHY IS "*****" AN INSULT?
WHY DO MEN CALL OTHER MEN "GIRLS"
WHEN THEY ARE "WEAK"?

WEAK?
WEAK YOU SAY?

A WOMAN BIRTHED YOU OUT OF
HER ******* ******* ******
SWEATING AND ******
IN A BATTLEGROUND OF AGONY,
SHE WENT THROUGH HOURS OF THAT PAIN
JUST SO YOU COULD BE CREATED.

do you really have such small respect
for the STRONGEST CREATURES on this earth?

**** IT UP, AND LOOK AT YOUR POSITION IN THIS WORLD.

WOMEN ARE NOT WEAK.

if you really want to test the strength of a *****
why don't you kick a man and a woman's crotch at the same time?

you can guess which one will be crouched
and holding their nether regions, gasping in
agony afterwards.

STOP BEING
SO
*******
IGNORANT,
AND RESPECT
THE *******
BEAUTIFUL WOMEN
IN THIS SPINNING WORLD.

i wrote my first poem
when i was somewhere around the age of two or three,
singing out the words,
and having my mother write them down.

something about a rose,
and its devotion to the light.
i have it scribbled down somewhere.

then, the words took form in shaky
childs writing,
small words and sentences describing fantastical worlds
swirling vividly in my mind,
and then in elementary school drawl,
across colored construction paper,
then on my arms and legs in middle school,
in black ink scrawling across
golden skin,
sinking in.

then, books full
of endless pages filled with
flowing and burning inspiration piled on my desk
and by my bed
the most ferocious of inspiration finding me in all my
highschool classes.
a sketchbook,
or at least a pen always held close at hand,
i even had inspiration in the shower,
and sometimes ran out naked
if i forgot a pad and pencil.

my love of words started when my mother
used to read me poetry in the womb,
and play tapes of Native American
flute music as she fell asleep
to the small, but constant feeling of
my unborn lips inside her growing stomach
forming the outline of
words to be written and said.

i started writing,
and it became my addiction;
and i've never felt the urge to stop.

i want to learn french,
but i suppose i've learned enough because
cigarette
is a french word isn't it?

this night was different;
there were more moments spent looking back then forward,
panic always pulsating in the crook of our throat
like some giant, out of breath beast
waiting in the hollow sweat, and gnarled tree branches
reflecting black against the slightly purple sky.

it was too quiet to mask our
echoing footsteps;
boot on pavement
no rain to soften the blow.

we made it in thirty minutes to the gas station,
where we unzipped our jackets
and let the lace show out of our drooping shirts
blinking like a warning sign
to the drugged up cashier,
words mumbling over his body,
strings mixed up.

men entered and i saw that look
that i always see
in men who look at me;
its hungry, a type of lusting mouth with no
feeling,
**** trusted more than his heart.

the kind of look that says,
“i want you feeling my biceps in the back of
my truck,
and i want to feel your tightness all over me,”
the only problem is i play along,
pretending to be seductive
and then leaving with an agonizingly frozen stare, and
a quickened pace
just to show them who's actually in control.

a pack of Newports exchanged over the counter,
another lighter;
this time with a green and red flower on it;
dahlias of the night.
exoskeletons of black jackets and tights
like some shadow riding vagabonds,
inside guts made out of
swallowed cigarette smoke
and bravery.

we smoked and walked,
watching as headlights flickered toward our slim frames,
and men leaned out from trucks
with salivating mouths like dogs,
inviting us to their burning desire
in the cold, shrinking night.

under the layer of skin
that tells the girl beside me that it would be stupid
to heed to their invitations,
i admit to myself
that all i want is for a stranger to wrap around me
and kiss my smoke stained lips
with a different fury,
so i can whisper a fake name in the depths of their ears,
and show them that i will kiss
better than all the women that have
wrapped themselves in
their limp bedsheets,
and leave them wanting more as i disappear into the night,
leaving nothing but a longing burn
on the tips of their tongues.

but i don't give into my fierce desires,
and we simply turn around,
smoke five more cigarettes,
and climb up the fence
to **** her hand,
and run across the raging freeway
like the Klamath itself.

i don't like nice poetry.
i don't like fancy words,
or tranquil thoughts,
i don't like comfortable or smooth.

i like
R A W

i like poetry that rips you apart from the inside out
shreds your skin,
takes your oxygen and forms it into something else
unbreathable.

i like poetry that leaves you staring,
with watering eyes like whole oceans somehow slipped,
unlocked the bolted door to your retinas late at night
and slept cold, salty and drunk on your bed without an invitation.

somehow the love you made,
sweat staining the soft, greasy thin sheets
meant nothing.
and now the oceans lying beside you,
inside you
salt making you cringe, gag in the safe dark cover of night,
strikes you as positively
irritating;
their breath of tides,
growing small and large with every
step closer they take towards shore.

so you ****** your hands in the swift
raging waters of their
body.
you try to find its warped, used heart,
like a crumpled, empty cigarette package
discarded and wet after a war waging rain;
rippled and streaming in the
transparency of its quaking body.

you seek to rip it out,
and tiptoe to the open window,
vacantly staring at you from across the room,
every inhale it takes
letting more warm, humid air like
dead fishes breath
into the scalding room.

you wish to throw that pulsing,
helpless heart out into the night
listen for a couple of moments
and hear it splatter on the concrete below
the ajar window,
sure that cold,
wet
remains of the ocean floor would be scattered on
the sidewalk in the morning.

but you cant seem to successfully rip it out,
the tendons holding onto the ribs
like wild veins,
stubborn and clingy.
you pull and pull,
aching to tear it from
the body,
but the water around it is too cold so you
jump out of the
waves and weeds of under the sea,
and lie on your back listening to its breath
breathing still in deep sleep,
angry that the tearing on its
heart
didn't make it stir one bit;
just made your hands burning
ice and numb
purple in the dark.

so you satisfy yourself by gently
pressing your lips to its
throat,
sinking your teeth deep below its
vital veins,
stopping the raging rivers in its
soft neck,
pulsating with currents,
glowing with a sliver of silver moonlight passing
through it like a wrenching scar.

you crunch down violently
on its delicate
lifeless passageways
transporting fresh water
to salted sour oceans,
crispy like stringy celery
breaking uneasily in the warm cavern of
your mouth.

then you lie down, fulfilled.
the lack of its vessels
stopping the tide of its breath violently and suddenly,
carotid arteries,
jugular veins
and muscles
spread out,
spurting from its throat,
vast like twisted wings.

you ash your cigarette on the draining
wetness of its tongue,
throw the filter down its decapitated throat
and sit on the white, crusting balcony,
waiting for the rusting sun to rise,
picking sand out from your teeth.