Motion makes me homesick, home makes me motion-sick.

I've seen some **** you wouldn't believe in the past month of my young life
I'm happy.
Makes me want more.
I want Guatemala
I want Nepal
I want the States by trains and motorcycles.
I want to make something tall enough to shake hands with god and strong enough to last to the ends of the earth
Or longer.
I want to give the world back all I've taken from it and all the damage I've done.
And then I want to do more.
I want to start a revolution,
live on a farm,
paint a mural,
play a symphony,
shake hands with the Dalai Lama,
write a book,
and be home in time for dinner.
I want to fold a thousand and one oragami cranes and set them free from space and while they float down to Mauritania and Portugal, to Argentina and Cambodia
I want to wish for a reset button.
Not to use right away, but just in case **** gets out of hand.
So we've got a backup plan.
I want to sit in my old age looking down that darkened tunnel and see my own birth pass before my eyes.
I want to embrace infinity without soreness or shortcomings,
without excuses or refusals
I want to watch the universe collapse back in on itself and be part of everything at once.
I want more than I can handle.

I guess that means I'm young.

I'd let you put your hand on my chest and tell you to close your eyes and see the kingdoms beneath my skin. Caverns and tunnels left barren and untouched, ready to be discovered, lie in wait for intrusion and the human touch. All these roads and back alleys follow up into the intersection of my heart and sanity. "You built this world on dreams, bricked fantasies and concrete love" you would say, if we existed. But if I did the same, would there be paper walls or wall paper skin? Would there be a barrier to entry or the warmest welcome yet to be given to me?

       I would love to be your dream house, and play all the roles of the pieces inside, trying to be all the functions you need and deserve and use to survive. If I knocked, would you let me in? For our hearts are brittle oragami folding and unfurling in our chests; our life supply, so soft inside these metallic apparatus's we operate on demand. I will be ready to operate whenever you wish and my metallic lips will kiss you and our lives will never rust.

       We've built these systems of ourselves, our clock work hearts, our factories of suspicion, and our steel vaults concealing our trust. We will go far; the farthest leagues whether it stretch arms length and beyond, or a thousand leagues below the most hungry and sleepy sea.

       We'll build our own worlds. I myself have this Empire Heart; it beats for the people, but it beats most importantly for you. With me, you'll never be alone. Sometimes the clouds swoop in at night, blocking out your view of the stars, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. I'm always here. I am an everyday forecast. Desolation will never be an option when I exist in your world or in your dreams.

       This world with a purpose, while purposefully perilous paths deter from direction, intersects and overlaps to create a maze built by masterminds. I refuse to romanticize with this belief though I will play along and remove myself stage left when I feel the need to be absolutely necessary. Time and goodbyes must conspire in order to keep the assembly line frantically recycling. So much movement for a planet that leads us to believe we're standing still, but then again, this world was built for me and you and is hidden in the confines of my hearts reality. I've simply been living in a dream about you. Would you taint something beautiful to make it perfect? Or would you destroy something perfect to make it beautiful? That's how this world is and the human version of "reality" fascinates me; It entails nothing really. So long as you alter every microscopic detail to standardised fraud. To think all this is encased in the refines of my cage like chest.

I can’t be delicate,
small, sad-looking and innerly folding,
my legs will never oragami-fold themselves
over my tired tired fat chest   .

I am blessed to be big, though
my *** is a curse, how it juts and forces
itself to be known by peoples’ eyes and
rudely introduces itself to chairs, knick knacks,

anything unfortunate enough to exist
within its gargantuan wake  .

I am blessed to be huge but small,
I am blessed to warmly ******* and spill
my flesh over everything I touch & taste;

I am forced to give myself up to
the world, to give my huge body up as
comfort to the multitudes of humans
I love and crave and want and dream up

because they will never find me small and cowered,
will never offer their bodies
to comfort mine, assuming instead that
my huge warmth can sustain its
own flame .

My own body can’t contain the
sad swells and lovely lakes that surge
and bash against its own hide  --- - ---

that’s why my stretch marks
leak and tendril their way
around my arms,
my belly folds,
my underloved thighs,

and I wonder why we both want
to tender my fire
to a low smolder
and let it fade out

do we
think that trees with thick
lush, curved and pink
foliage are somehow
whole-er
than trees with paperthin leaves?

my bark still craves
the sun, which sometimes
comes in the form
of human flesh

Under your door
     While you crept
          Toward the edge
               Of consciousness
I hand delivered a message

Finely creased
Highest quality pulp
Atop which I wrote
"I love you."

I never signed it
It fact
It took me ten years
To climb the stairs

I hope it finds you grumpy
As you always are
When the sun is breaching
Our horizon

And you think
"what is this
Wonderful paper on my
GO AWAY mat?"

Coffee in hand
You unfold oragami love
Smile
Go back to bed

You'll find me though
Fingerprints
Bloodhounds
Private ****

Only to reply
With a knife
to my bare chest
"I hate your guts."

you may bend me to break me,
but all you create is another fold,
and another reason to hate you

I'm gonna try this again, try to say something new
But who knows, I'm not sure if I'll ever get through-
To her, embedded in the background of my thoughts
I still find myself missing her more often than not

I spend so much of my time trying to see from her perspective
Always asking what went wrong, are our hearts too selective?
I wonder why I'm like this, deserve to be all alone again
Never will she call me something more than just a friend

If she's an X and I'm a Y, were we just missing variables?
Was I just another problem with unknows, much too terrible-
To try and solve, after all, what's algebra got to do with life?
Not a **** thing, it won't ever bring this darkness into light

And I've thought a lot on darkness, it's so full of unknowns
But that's what brings me peace, sometimes the moonlight feels like home
When the Sun is harsh and bright and the people are so loud
I try with all my might and with each day done, I'm proud

But I know she doesn't mind, she'll never truly be alone
I have no other choice to make but face this world on my own
And in my dreams, I'm still wishing she never ceases to smile
Even if for me that means I'll be sad for a long while

So I'll just watch her as she waits for whatever outcome is "meant to be"
Whatever that's supposed to mean, a future she can't even see
Though I'm still standing here, but I guess that's not worth much
Writing these useless poems that don't even work well as a crutch

And if I die alone, I guess it's "meant to be" my fate
Cause if I held my breath, I think she'd let me suffocate
You can find me in the moonlight, relearning how to breathe
I love her so **** much, but I need a new hobby

She'll fold oragami flowers while someone makes her little paper birds
At least every sheet she creases is one not wasted on these words
I fell apart, but it's time I start picking up my own mess
It's funny how I love you more as I finally miss you less...

Abandoning hope and adopting curiosity
Is a love interest without love
Like shooting yourself in the mirror
The glass shatters but you're likely to find your reflection again in another mirror you'll shoot,
window you'll jump out of
or body of water you'll drown in.
Hope is mortal
and we're all playing god.
Reckless creation and destruction in the heat of passion
Paper thin skin constantly folding in on itself
Crinkling carbon
Oragami organisms
Blood is not meant for bleeding
It is meant for consuming
Destined for an ****
****** by the confusion of the organs it visits
The priest's lipstick
The ******'s subway
The soldier's collateral
The rotten egg
Glistening crimson
Hope is death and curiosity killed the cat.
But you're likely to find that cat again in another mirror you'll shoot,
Window you'll jump out of
Or body of water you'll drown in

Compose and ignore, synthesize and release. The only lie we've ever told repeated through clinched teeth. Oragami backbone has been replaced in the night. Jurisdictional cowards on display in aisle 5.