On my skin I wear the bands of shielded sun.
Commitment to the heart makes this skin colour run.
With one liberal hand, I tear down these branches being hung,
to shower in yellowed leaf confetti.

These forest roots ran like hair line skull fractures,
under canopies blooming red from the sunlight rapture
and now these trees leave their taller brothers to fall as ashes,
with ivy on my ankles, stifling hope up to my chin.

Living memories, my forest sheltered, scrambled for home;
small pretty beasts, unrefined, breathing caricatures with bones.
Screaming they beg for attention, inattentive to this situation as a whole.
Our own view is all we can consider.

This house of cards built on paper-cuts, from the trees before.
I'm now growing wiser to my winter freeze and your summer thaw.
I need all of these things I hate about me, and they can never be ignored;
a psychological pre-disposition, the only one I can afford.

In the depths of your spine ;
chakras are aligned they'll awaken at a time
When you bout to lose your mind
its fine
I find im stuck in mazes all the time
the visions in my mind often lost as i am blind ;
Unrefined
losing track of all my time
Obtuse to the benign as a god i couldn't find..
stool ;
I find that i am looking like a fool
the confines of my shell which i returned had kept me cool..
But now
i realize to a god a shouldn't bow
Instead i built myself a pedestal and won't come down..

I stare into the half length,
double wide vanity that sits
poised in my two bathroom home.

It's reflection of me, naked and
unrefined, are often and unmistakingly
disappointing. But, no longer.

I will embrace my scars of battle. I
will soak in the curves and crevices
of the weight I carry with me.

Counting carbs and chasing carrots
with salad day after day were never
really even my style.

Health. Happiness. Heart. Those
are what matter. Cliche, yes. But true:
A number on a scale is nothing.

I clutch my sides and embrace the
mountains that ridge and peak
laterally on my canvas.

I embrace my full bust and curvy
thighs with earnest demeanor. I
am an image of me. Nearly 20.

No longer will I hold my head low
at a passing glance. I refuse to hide
in clothes too large to disguise my shape.

Beauty is who you are. It's not what
you look like according to the golden
ratios or whatever the hell "they" say.

Sunshine!
Sickly yellow
slow-light colored streaks
slithering worse than sweat
down my body.
That golden ball stares down at me
like a haughty goddess,
her duality shallow and hot.
She cares not for the freedoms of humans.
She's a two-faced coin,
purgatory masked by the promise
of freedom from pained brains
and scholarly shackles.
The sun laughs at her own trickery, gargling through melting teeth
as she collects suppressed confessions
from weakened teens.
When her crescent counterpart
offers solace from her torment,
the moonlit darkness
only serves to drown us
and we splutter in our own
self-taught
year-round
lies.
And the sun
rears her tattered, flaming mane
at daybreak,
belly-laughing at idle minds now unrefined,
gleefully adding her own scorch
to already inflamed brains.

Nobody no longer contains the desire for unrefinity
The urge to tap into the void smacks of divinity
What exists in its place in the flesh market place
Are bartering skill sets and chocoalte puddings
When confronted by an invisible elephant
The people, in consensus, turn away
This happens within the day to day
The elephants march on, heedless vessels
Turbans floating downstreat, mainstream.
****** babble replaces conversation
Emblamatic gestures infiltrate the realm of the symbolic
The priests have all taken off their underwear
And the women are putting their brasiers
Back onto their chests, underneath their shirts
Blouses are burnt.
Toast is burnt.
Jams are being made by machines, horses do have dreams
Jelly and ice cream make delicate farts
Ghosts live in pipes and buy and sell art
People whose names are Horace or Rupert
Have been decommisioned
And the stories are locked in pie dishes
And the tale remains the same.
Remember, that future archeologists will exist.
Excavating sites will bring us all
To the kingdom of devon
In the beautiful future of documented tales
Which we are building for
Inside the spaceships.
When ponies are invalid and germs become common currency
Know that it will be time to fly your pillow cases as flags

From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its planetarium
lemons descended to the earth.

Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.

Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.

So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant ******
of the earth's breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.

i think it's kind of absurd how i need to include
an abundance of metaphors
and a countless number of similes
included in any of my writings
for people to think it's good
and for me to feel okay with what i created
i have to clean and polish
every stanza
every line
every thought
for me to even consider it to be presentable
but not anymore
if i feel something that's angering me
or tearing up my insides to shreds
or even something that's filling up my body with warmth
i'm just gonna write
because i can
because i want to
because i feel it.
my grandma used to always tell me that finding the unrefined beauty in yourself is important
and cherishing it was even more so.
maybe i need to do the same with my writings

She builds a nest, builds a home
Out of twine and twigs and love
Day and night, dawn and gloam,
She works in trees above.

All to prepare for her offspring
To give them the chance to fly
Only the best for her children
These are the words to her cry

A fortnight her eyes are skinned
She is sentinel over her eggs
Come storm, gale, blustering wind
Her treasures safe under her legs

At last she meets her brood
Hungry and unrefined
She tirelessly gathers food
Their lives now intertwined

She kisses the food into their beaks
She cares for their every need
She answers their every screak
To love, to tend, to feed.

She watches them grow new feathers,
And reach out to the beckoning sky
They want to see other weathers
So she teaches them how to fly

They soar higher and higher
She watches from below
It makes her smile and smile
To see her babies go

As they climb and tumble
She makes sure to let them know
They are always welcome to return
To the home built long ago

The love she gave her young ones
Gave them the strength to fly
The strength to build their own nests
High up in the sky.

I think it's beautiful
The way your hands are sturdy and calloused
Not the gentle softness illustrators are known for
These hands have felt real art
Built from the ground up
Days of mixing, moulding and texturing
Breathing life into deathly white parchments

I think it's beautiful
The way your arms are slender yet firm
Dusky brown skin holding rippling strong muscles
Strengthened slowly
through years of bullying and soul searching
Their unsymmetrical realness known not
For their harshness
But for the gentle notes they strum
Weaving elegantly with the quiet moving pictures on screens

I think it's beautiful
The way your shoulders always stand strong
A declaration demanding the eyes of every being in sight
Their angled rigidity know to be surprisingly nimble
An immovable pillar for the melting of your body
A constant transformation into unknown characters

The hidden bumps of tired hands
The rough ridges of calloused skin
The angled sharpness of chiseled bones
Hidden works of art
Flitting secretively under the armor you wear
The priviledge of their appearance
But a few can bear

He came from a land unrefined;
Encompassed by violence, poverty yet possesses clarity of mind.
A mind built from Hardwork and Determination,
A soul inspired by Intrepidation
Freedom, Release and an infectious sense of inner Peace.


They met in a state of flux,
Going, coming, nothing left but to give it up,
So heart broken, she took his hand,
The adventure began on water but would end on land,
Meadows, Beaches, Visions left them speechless.


She saw a flash, a light;
Precautionary measures tested the capacity of his might.
Slow Down! She'd lost sight.
Tried to keep up but her heart said "Flight"!
Escape! Hide from the cruelty clawing from the inside.


Time was chasing, they had to keep up,
He left as she collapsed into the mouth of a half empty cup.
She gobbled up the cup with no thought of tomorrow.
"He is strong, he'll be fine," focus deflected from sorrow.
Regret, Remorse, shall Fate be trusted to run it's course?


Smiles and Mischief were all that could remain,
She slowly began to learn to becloud fruitless pain,
She's walked away from tough stains,
In memory of his arms where enthusiasm never wanes.
Growing, longer, when he returns she shall be stronger.


If Fate knows Love and Love is true,
Fate shall be entrusted to do what it do,
But Fate can be twisted, Fate can be cruel
And the little girl knew the twisted Power of Fate's Rule

I just wish that my heart wasn't a star
Still shining bright to those that see it
But dead millions of years ago
Something to be wisheded upon
In the careless, childish folly of daily life

Such as making wishes
Pointless beacons of unrequited hope
That drives us as souls to the brink of sanity
And for some, such as the wanderer that I am
It drives us over that invisible boundary
And banishes us to an unfathomable pit

This pit, generalized as depression, insanity
Is seen with similarity amongst pits
Yet no pit is equal to another
Each is unique, special to and hated by its owner
Yet it is seemingly inescapable
And thus loved from necessity

And those who pass us by want to help
Offer a hand to pull us from the pit
But every outreached hand reaches a little deeper
And the abyss of life likewise deepens
Until you have no choice but to fill it

And filling such a whole is no simple task
First a pail of confidence is added
And then several more of momentum
As the hole begins to fill a hunger to heal forms
Where you overemphasize the process
And forget the reason

Thus the devilish being opens its jaws
And swallows every pail you have placed upon it
And mistakes your action for hope
And once more deepens exponentially

So here I lay, contemplating the treachery
That my life has slowly devolved into
And I have to question to myself
Do the stars in the sky hang so low
Because they feel the death of their brother inside me?