Defecated, or did I say defeated
fated to live this life
barren as loose shoe strings
fraying a little at the ends.
Like a torn T-shirt
I am covered in holes and stains
splotches that just don’t
seem to go away.
Defeated in the mere inches I take
or the hearts that I break

but the only heart I break is my own.
How to pick up the pieces
when I am
piece-less
peaceless, no peace here.
So all I do is clench and worry
and hope that one day defeat
might become a feat
that can actually go somewhere
move someplace out of reach
as I seem to speak
of dreams unaccomplished and maimed
of dreams inferred striking infrared filters
that whisper mere fragments
of my name.

Take my heart out of the gutter and shake it ‘till it bleeds.
That lonely mother-****** can’t breathe
unless the sinews stitch back together
like the veins of leaves,
all smooshed by heels and debris.
My heart can’t see.
Laying in that gutter; it can only believe.

Who are you
but a spark in my bone matter
a bright ball of
green energy bouncing around
the ocean blue of my heart
residing in some sort of residual
cave of dreams that I conjured up
many nights in a row
many long
barren months ago
under the influence of sleep
your tall shadow frame
blocking the view
and my hearth of alacrity
bounding out so true
for what it’s worth, new friend,
you really have me moved.

Bitter and better

hands frozen splatter

dancing while the world watches

shimmy off their rockets

skimming marbled surfaces

and falling into pits of

pretty red haired young men.

Bitter and better

try sulking in a corner while

the pitiless fruits rot to the stem

and ****** trees collapse with

their leaves falling straight into

a pile of complete disarray.

Bitter and better it's been lately

bringing growls for empty stomachs gone crazy

while wrinkles in young

smooth skin crease around

the edges creating a sort of

dimple or smile line that's

indecent and secret and

sort of sublime.

Bubbles gone brighter,
didn't know you could
delight me so.
I won't be pulling the plug
because all I've got
is this indescribable tug
that seems to go and grow.
Your energy is iridescent
sparking off your gangly frame
like cable cars rubbing
against the corbel train.
Mightier than all
I could ever contemplate.
Your rhythm to my rhyming
is a taste I can't complain
and all I want
is to see you writhing
hot and bothered
blushing pink
stark naked
fully pining
on my silver platter plate.
So awakens your arousal
eyes drenched black
by hungry pupils
I want your desires
to match my own in strength
until it seems you've flipped
the switch
and grasped the flight of fate.

Riding this horse past oblivion

feeling wind shout past

sharp shoulder blades

long hair whipping strong

grinding both thighs

into these browning flanks.

This horse is built from

sticky pecan sugar

such spice sprinkled

and dusted whilst the rider

flits past us stream like

arrow fringes near the cusp

all harrowing and musky.

Horse of caramel and nuts

sticking together like childish

tar painted gold and copper

colors shining past in rounded

muscles as the horse pushes

through the gulch he glances down at us with coal inlaid eyes as rough as sandpaper against raw wood

trying not to get caught up

in sliced splinters but careful now

before the horse of brown mud

runs us down trampling us to

wet ****** pulp so wait until

he has settled down to sleep

and then we can climb the mountains by escaping his

cramped cave of dreams

which only reveals how tricky

slips can be.

You make me so giddy inside
nervous like
a warm runny egg.
You are so respectful
of boundaries
which has left me
wanting so much more.
You are a conundrum
always looking, looking, looking
at me causing blood to
flush my round cheeks.
I want to bone your firm ***
and make you ***
till kingdom come.
Cream your pants
and come undone.
You make me so churlish
all writhing inside with
a heavy licentious
attitude equating to
the silent space
between us where
nothing is said
and our eyes meet
but words seem to
stick in my
tarnished throat
choking up
on all those internal
sultry soliloquies
trapped tight
in my esophagus
wanting desperately
to venture forth
through tantalizing
whispers of the heart.
And somehow
I break through
that anxiety
and pour my soul
into your open arms
and you release me
making my fears dribble
out all over my pants and
all over my cheeks
in tears of joy.
You make me anxious
when I'm **** naked
and antsy like string beans
peeling their skins off
to reveal tiny round
little green seeds
not unlike peas.
You make my plant stems
and flowers engorge.
You make the sunlight
within me adored.
You are so kind and careful
by the way you carry
yourself full of warmth
and confidence and balance
and I feel an inability to express these physical desires seeming
endless in their tidings.
I always seem to keep my
****** secrets to myself
because they are bottomless
and embarrassing beyond belief.
But your words seem to
release me and so finally
I can speak.
You are so open and sensual
by the way you observe me
and I find myself burning
alive inside
my guts all squirming
in loose knots  
trying to unravel
these trivial thoughts.
Still wanting to leap
the distance and smother
you with wet kisses
my body is burdened
by natural urges.
These animal instincts
that venture on purges.
You make me so lascivious
by nothing of your
own accord
by the way you look and gaze
deeply into my eyes
for moments at a time
never ending
this joy is never ending
but secretly
I wish I could open you up
enough to hear your
******* screaming.
I wish I could satisfy
your insatiable need
and be able to pleasure you
instead of you pleasuring me.
This relief is somehow firm
and I've done a lot of freeing.
I ache to see your face
aroused and flushed
by something I'm not seeing.

The first of any month

is strange like

the peeling of a

hard boiled egg

where the sharp shards

if shell get all

stuck up

in cold fingernails

and the rubbery white

sphere of molded egg

jiggles and slips

plopping hard

on the white tiled floor

but it never breaks

just keeps it's shape

staying whole and

rolling off past the kitchen

and onto the warm

living room rug

where it stays

stuck and melting

becoming one with

the ruby red color

like a round white eye

glaring up at the world

unable to blink.

Oy! My poor heart!

It's expanding just as

the sun is setting

a golden glow awash

capturing light as

it brushes each object

reminding me of golden green

fields alight!

Oy! My poor heart

expands as the sun sets

becoming a whoopee cushion

in which to sit on after it's

blown way out of proportion.

there is this pithless entity

circling round my gut

waxing and waning

folding in infinite measures

like stiff cloth finding creases

that fit



and I caress this part

inside which has no fold

or definite pattern



but there is this power

and it increases as the light

of lesser days burn into night



brightly devouring

all lesser fabrications

willing them to speak

in hushed whispers

bathed by blackness



completely surrounded am I

a vagrant soul departed

yearning for this star of gasses

to not combust but

slowly awaken



and you spark that within me

heavy and unaware

a messy cloth of vibrance

washed and wrung and folded gently

with shaking hands and thumping breath



the atmosphere surrounding

all that is real



enveloping my body as it speaks

of glorious wonders

operating deep

within the cosmos



where air is sealed tight

like a vacuum and



I can't help but breathe in

even though

I know

I'll suffocate

Back to rainy poetry on a morning full of possibility.
Back to layers and winter breathing down my neck.
Back to shivers and cold feet in blue flip flops.
Back to the smell of fresh dew on wet grass, gleaming.
Back to scribbling down my feeling. Back to excited heart palpitations.
Back to new romantic relations.
Back to the beginning or maybe it's the end of summer officially past fall's complacency.
Back to hope fluttering like tiny fairies lifting off from my chest.
Their little smiles and pointed ears possessed.

Stuck between joy and rage…

What's more of there to say?

Free fall with that sputtering sound

return to the place so thickly bound.

Where weapons of words strictly slice

a frigid sort to roll the dice.

Clashing, clashing always clashing

an argument still throughly thrashing.

It's a consort to delirium

silly little thoughts that hum…

Back to the whirlwind of starting from scratch.
Alone in I sit and watch
as the world moves beneath me, around me, surrounding me and blanketing me with coolness.
Winter months are the best because they make me wonder and think clearer.
I'm waking to a fresh kind of birth where I can leave behind my struggles and venture forth into the great unknown.
And the white starkness of sky that was once bright blue awakens my true frozen heart, deep in slumber,
to pulse a red  purplish bruise that hurts, then soothes.
That's what this season is all about.

Preservation, hibernation, incubation, proclamation, prioritization.

It is the Root Cellar holding all that is dear.
It preserves the best parts of me so so I won't mold and crumble away.
I sit, soaked in vinegar, ripening.
I sleep, preserved in thick viscous jelly, not solid, but swishy.
I guess winter lets me breath as I try to wriggle out of the glass jar encasing my body.
It's hard, and a little slippery.
I am soaked in purplish red blood.
I am born to the rain soaked land, wishing it would snow.
But alas, it only welcomes me to a season so familiar that tears start to form in my eye corners.
Wet and shivering, I open the Root Cellar's door with a creak, and step into guerdon.

in the desert, she waits
for what? no one knows

she has sand in her long brown hair
which sparkles on the setting sun’s rays
she wears  a necklace of large white shells
and long flowing green robes
over her naked body
opening to show
two pale hairless legs

in the desert she paints
scenes from her brain

full of color and glitter
pouring a bit from the edges

of every person she has ever encountered
with pointed ears and gossamer wings

she wears a crown of sea ****
and ***** sleep at her feet
she listens, alone, as the ocean speaks
its vibrant blue waves a lullaby so sweet

her eyes are two clear crystals
reflecting the light
as sea gulls caw and mosquitoes buzz
she buries her toes in cold sand
and leans against the craggy worn rock
painting, silently, crying salt water tears

as her thin paper wings
lie in a tattered heap
ripped at the shoreline
getting ****** in by the ocean’s strong pull
disappearing into the froth of waves
while the sun’s bald head slips
into streamline

This is hard

like yanking teeth

or rising up

from a warm bed

at the beginning of winter.

This is hard

like stepping out of

quicksand or thick mud

like pulling a sled

up a steep mountain

in the midst of

a hazardous blizzard.

This is hard

to lie and lie again

but instead of

shrugging off those lies

like locusts or pestilence

or bugs or mal intent

a sanction needs to be clear

and fully carried out.

My actions need to reflect

past words as rough and as raw

as a sore throat

swallowing cold water.

To persevere is to not give up

even when my mind is trapped

in the heaviest of slumber.



I have to do what needs to be done

even though I'd rather

slit my wrists or cut off my thumb.

Quiet and gentle



this apparition

of caring about

the wind and how

it howls through

the air at top speeds.



Quiet and gentle



this space inside me

when music isn't playing

when silence calms the mind.



Quiet and gentle



this clean atmospheric

liberation front

canton of rhetoric feelings

theoretically seeming

just in its cause.u

I feel like someone just squeezed me alive!
The rain is now pelting down by my side.
Somehow I was let go from my job.
It's nothing personal I guess I'm a snob.
I feel as though my life is closing to an end.
There's no future here for me, my friend.
As an adult I pay my dues.
With no money in my account I am barren blues.
I kind of like a boy who I don't know very well.
These feelings inside me are making me swell.
Should I go hide or burry my face in the dirt.
Or is this a sign that when life really hurts
and the grey skies pour down
and the heavy clouds unburden
their sorrow there has to be meaning
in these wet tears to swallow.
It's kind of like a bittersweet revelation.
A complete failure or a filigree contemplation.
Somewhere deep inside, I weep.
In silent pity I lay to sleep.

I'm so **** scared of the future
with death's vast scythe circling
'round my throats about to
slice the stamina right out of me.
I'm so **** afraid of the next step
of what's coming for me which is
completely unknown and foreign.
Death's black cloak resembles a cover shrouding me in darkness
dismantling my sense of safety
threatening to suffocate me.
I'm so **** frightened of finding out how you truly feel about me
deep inside past all this *******.
It's going to be okay but I'm swallowing my tongue because death's cold skull stare is beating my brain to submission and I'm about to topple over from all the weight even though I know

you care about me.

But I'm still terrified

of the truth

whatever it could be.

But I'm still terrified

of venturing forth into

unknown territory

without a plan or a structure
without direction or control
without truly knowing
anything.

I'm so **** scared of the future
that it might tear my skin away
to reveal that I'm only made of
flesh and blood and bone and guts
and not the thick metal and steel that I thought I was made of.

I'm so **** scared of what's coming of finding out something of communicating my feeling to you

because it could change

everything.

And Death's shiny sycthe
still glints

at my quivering throat

and I gulp as I try to be brave
but bravery is not my strong suit.

You are all I ever longed for

in a friend. Thank you for

responding fast

and giving me the mend.

There's something in the

way you smile

and lace your fingers

through my own.

Relatively speaking

through our brains

I've found a sort of home.

It takes all I have

to control

each action sluiced

and sliced

into little round cubes

burnt by internal fire

soft ash dust

sparse windy air

pocketing my desire

for you in pieces

just waiting

for the right moment

to leap into unknown waters

feet first

so frozen and

the river could be cold

to the touch

but your skin is warm

and gentle

heat rising

searing my arm

tingling my senses

scrambling my brain

to mottled bunches.



I have too much



self control



(and it's eating me alive.)

Focus
your life is in shambles.
Focus
it’s already dismantled.
Focus
your trial awaits.
Focus
not time to delegate.
Focus
on something that breathes.
Focus
on someone that feeds.
Focus
the pressure’s getting to you.
Focus
the lessons’ somehow esque.
Focus
bring firelight to the forest.
Focus
don’t try to score us.
Focus
for your quaint life’s in danger.
Focus
and pay up your wager.
Focus
on nothing at all.
Focus
even though you feel small.
Focus
just know that it’s here.
Focus
you’re twisted in fear.
Focus
your pain is not real.
Focus
those thoughts that you feel.
Focus
are not at all plausible.
Focus
the damage is causable.
Focus
if only you are able.
Focus
to become a bit more stable.
Focus
just focus
at the camera on cue.
Focus
just focus
your petty sum’s due.

When the world shuts you out
whispering the silence among greater beings
the wind calls from various slumbers,
awaiting.
Growl, you growl,
as the world shrinks,
and expands.
Pushing the parameter,
the gargantuan man
a stranger in this land.
Reminiscing on past grandeur,
and lengthy, finite stones of words
as they fall, vicariously,
in the pitter patter of empty rain, and dry sunlight.
Short, are you
bringing forth new openings
as store fronts, covered with silk
and velvet dark red carpet
swirls into your body,
as it swims into the sea of thoughts and memories.

How can you be alone
when you are surrounded by loved ones
who keep pushing you
to make good decisions?
Is to be alone
a curse or something even more
sinister?
Like the villain
you were caught believing you
were the hero this whole time.

What a waste!

Gone are the days of innocence
when adulthood rears its sneaky head
manipulating everyone’s bodies
to grow older as you watch.
Loneliness is a state of being unwanted
whereas aloneness is oneness
unless it becomes insanity
unless it becomes a burden
and the hedonist demons start to play
unravel their spiked red tails
and whip your sore shins
into a sorry state of
absurd oblivion.
Unsanctioned, that’s what being alone
really means
even when surrounded by great people
it becomes a selfish need.
If it were possible
you would leave this villainous life style
and become wind or sea or sky
in order to dissipate your cells
and let caution breed kissing
your petty sorrows goodbye.

When being alone is nothing more
than a personal choice gone sour
It is conflicting as the need to stay alive
knowing you are the bad guy in the story
never to be the victor only the victim.
The one that loses at your own
cankerous game of depression.

Ha!

What does it mean to be alone at this age?
It means an infinite of possibilities
to the point that is becomes dangerous
and all the skills you’ve ever known
are useless here
in the wilderness of nightmares.
They all have beady red eyes.
They all have thick red horns.
They all want your full attention.
They all want your heart shorn.
They all want your blood and veins and skin and brains.

But be warned!

For they find you just when you’ve realized
you’re the only villain in your life
and the only hero too.
There’s ways to get out
it’s true
it’s true

but you are seduced by your
notorious negativities
that urge you to stop
before you’ve even began.
So what’s a little girl like you
supposed to do
in a feral life unplanned?

Sunny day
Sunny sway
See the green weeds thrush
hear the warblers and Chestnut
Striped Chickadees chirp.
Feel the equipped hush
of bright Spring’s push
to uncover anew, if only to know
like knew the new leaves, green
as they speak in sunlight
as it drifts, in peak, in song
so swift. Smell the hot sun
gallop, resting on blue sky
as wise as truthful lies.
Grasp shadows streaming off
gleaming off, preening off
Black-eyed Junco’s
call that echo in the in the
outside field, so yield
and breathe such nature
as it believes to crouch in,
crouch out, near road,
near sound. White budded
Baby’s Breath tickles the
green field, green earth. So
covered and fresh. Flowers
so sweet they choose to
peek out of the grass
and weeded leaf.
Sunny day
Sunny sway
Pine trees chuckle
in the blowy, breezy heat.
Never in their own defeat
but capturing carbon dioxide
(unlike wheat) letting pure
oxygen seep through thudded
bark, so brown it shells
their delicate rings. The clouds
dissipate to cornflower blue
so intoxicating it fills the
street, next door, with
glistening light or heavenly dew.

there’s something about the gentleness of reality
that makes falling for you
infuriating to the point  of mass extinction
of my greatest type of fear
calling contemplation
seeing stars align through the
spaceship’s giant hull of glass
are you my han solo counterpart
and I, princess leia, bound to
work and toil closely
in tight spaces
our vicinity getting narrower
not spacious in its
unresolved awkwardness
clenched hands and thighs
heart beats ******
pumping and secreting
a pressure sort of steam
while fixing mechanical parts
our bodies framed so close
and every minute to the hour
we somehow work together
I wonder if and when
you’ll kiss me
letting our paths converge
into some sort of cosmic wonderland
beyond every galaxy of
acute comprehension
distinctly aware of
this ****** tension.

when i think of you
i get all warm and tingly
it’s a sensation
i don’t want to part with
quite yet
and i see versions of you everywhere i go
in clouds
in comics
in places unexpected
and i wonder where that text will bring me
and i wonder if we’ll become closer as friends
and i wonder why i see your face sculpted
by mountain ranges in the distance while driving
the sun setting in its palate of periwinkle
trickling into darkness
your handsome body somehow capturing my interest
and i wonder if i can become a wild explorer
trampling through wind and soot and rain and snow
to finally discover the comrade I was looking for.

I feel terrible and terrified of the future extremely turned on and ***** with bodies changing and that still scares me and losing and gaining weight scares me and inconsistency scares me and passionate love still scares me.
I feel terrified and terrible about the future but also terrific and tormented and terrestrial and torn.

picture waves and waves

of golden condensation

swimming in this inner world

of velvet contemplation



bubbly quibbly bits

inside throwing fits

tossing and turning

continually yearning



not at all

what was expected

from you

a slurp

a gulp

a saucy stew

this tingly feeling

if only

you knew

resting gently

inside me

if only

you knew

pressing lightly

against me

if only

you knew

but who knows



maybe you do

There is a sense of danger in the depths of night,
and the stars are vessels that illuminate
the path to a new way of life.
When the call of one person solemnly speaks
visions, upheld within the trapping of beasts.
There is only thought, only stark blindness here
where coldness drips down to a vessel of fear.
And the night, full of shimmers, blinks and is struck
by the stars that contract a virtual ****.

It is not folly to be sick
bodies breaking down
stripping flesh from mind
separating the viruses and germs
from taking over
like a plague
devouring health
like a sick game
of wit.

But wit came and went
and determination stayed
like a whip breaking
receding
dissolving
into the earth
all pain vanished
the moment love came into the picture bringing a sense of sensitivity, sensibility, belonging, grace, peacefulness, and harmony. The balance of nature is to be mature not unlike like manure becoming compost for flowers.

Something like sickness
or suckness or swiftness
can only be surface material
marching forward
getting stronger every day
weakened by germs and viruses
weakened by wanting
weakened by longing
to become something greater and grander than ever imagined.

To be sick
is to surrender.

Is to lie in the wet dirt
called mud
and be covered by rain and leaves
becoming mulch for the trees.

Wet. Withered. Weak and surviving.

And once the sickness passes,
bodies grow sturdy
become thick roots
winding deeper into earth’s crust
the inner and outer layers
changing dust
into mud
into mulch
into compost
into sprouts
into plants
into gardens
into parks
there unto infinity
back into dust
and the beautiful cycle
starts

all over again.

and the seasons come and go
and the sickness comes and goes
and the flowers and fruits and vegetables grow and grow
and grow and grow and grow

into someone to be proud of.

Not sure where the family
behind us is from
but they are reciting scripture
in the mess hall cafeteria.
This lingon berry soda is almost finished and my patience is almost finish and I don’t know if I can handle what lies ahead of me and my satire stature.
It’s like I forgot how to write;
forgot how to type;
forgot how to spell and tell if I was right. It’s like I’m a meatball
floating off the plate
about to plummet
on the cold, hard ground.

It's been a while

since time has left

be blinded



Rain lightly pelting

on the stone table

outside where wet and cold

is all there is



It's been a while since

my feet felt like screaming

wanting to loop them off

cause of silent pain from

well worn broken shoes

with insides that slip

and whip blisters together



Rain lightly pelting

on my well-being

when work becomes life

and nothing else



the price to pay

for paying rent

wishing my time

was better spent

Love
a two-beat breathing
                                    Love
intertwined with a being
                                    Love
a wondrous freeing
                                    Love
you feel like fleeing
                                    Love
you need to start seeing
                                    Love
you need to believe in
                                    Love

I am so ready and waiting and
there’s a retraction point between us
where my day off stretches almost
to eternity
I am so ready to touch you and
it feels like the crest of plateau
before the initiation has even started
I am so ready to do what is necessary
to begin like there’s a chess board
and we’re checkmate
the only two pieces left and
I am researching this like crazy
like a sort of ultimate observer
so alien to the unknown future
as it pulses like neurons or electrons
in the brain creating wavelengths
of spastic contractions and
it feels like I’m stepping into
a dark chasm ready to reach inside
the crystal cave lined with diamonds
freshly squeezed from decrepit coal
now shining in their excellence.

beauty
peaceful
joy
fragile
vibrations
lifelessness
damp
comfort
­breath of relief
looking in the water to see who she really is.
Feeling the cooling of the peaceful water
to find the beauty of herself.
loving
caring
kindness
the taste of difference
look at the world in a different view.
love medicine
pleasure
soothing waters
breath of light
power.

Tender as a fallen leaf floating to the ground. The will of this universe is hidden safe and sound. Floating up in La La Land, a simple phrase is found: Te Amo



If this life wills those words into fruition, and if this body finds not what it has been looking for, but what it needs, well, wouldn't that be worth the struggle?



Can what was once a miserable world of rejection and sadness, disappointments full of callous, negative thoughts and hurtful endings, turn into something fresh and new?



Tender as the heart will let it hear my sighs, these soft moans of personal pleasure are emulating from my brain circuitry, wiring them unknown to me.



Will love try me on for size?



As long as the leaves grow brittle so when they're stepped on they create a sound so loud it cracks and all that's left is a gentle inside wash of feelings



tickling my sensors



speaking to me from the other side.

Calling my name softly

letting go of my pride…

The deepest depths cannot
hide the light
it cannot ***** it out.
The light is stronger than the darkness.
You are not alone.
I am here.
I will always be here.
Deep breaths and sound mind.
All will be alright.

And on the bough of grate arrest
Sat a lady with toweled unrest
And with it a notebook
Black as soot
Parched and swollen
Stomped, a black boot
And through the Pandemic she wrote and she wrote
About fears of her body being crushed by the throat
With it came sorrows when her family was good
Surrounded by friends online and much food
Surrounded by parents by brother the like
Still she felt trapped
Still she sought light
In a dungeon of her own making
Born of sweat, slime, and drink
Harrowed and shaking
Ghastly to think
That this isn’t the end
Nay, only beginning
Stuck in her bedroom like a warped castle hanging
Velvet ropes shuttered her eye
And garden troves shuttered her thigh
And brains pumped by news
All of the time, er, all of the time
So she shut out the world
As impeachment enclosed
Across the country
Dead justice rose
Not zombies nor corpses not copses the like
Send her the script of a worn phantom tike
She once was a child, now she airs thirty
In ere few years, will she be worthy
Of the spite and malice
Of the spit and chalice
Of the whirlwind that adulthood becomes,
Leering its awful tight grin
Pale teeth embedded into her skin
She wishes, oh she wishes she ere a child again!
How many a time now has she dreamed of escaping
Lockdown, social distancing, shelter in place, resisting
Once a grand circus, now deserted incased
Once crisis inverted, now heavens did race
The lady waited
The lady prayed
The lady wished, and hoped and brayed
The Albatross which was wrapped round her neck
Not by rope but by feathers
So weary and pecked
The actual bird wrapped its corpse round her throat
But she slayed it, sliced the dead bird clean off!
And let it sink into the dirt and decompose to rot
There goes the rhyme
Blessed and recoiled
Well in her prime
She feels so old, so boiled
But the Albatross
A great wanton flight
Unusual, still
That mates for life
And carries no strife
Still, she swung in the knife
And released its rolling sore
Now it burdens her no more
And then the lady mariner saw the light!

Fatso
You are and you aren’t
Whale
You are more than the labels they give you
Cow
It’s over now
Their insults cannot hurt you
Giant
You are not in middle school anymore
Ugly
They cannot hurt you anymore
Lard
You are a grown-*** woman
almost thirty,
unapologetically queer, hairy,
with curves and ******* and wide hips and pretty dips and
They cannot cypher their words,
syphon their insults by
relating you to a beautiful big creature
Cow, Whale, Lard, Fatso

What is a Lard but a singling
A bright beige soft nosed creature
with brownie eyes and long lashes
like a taper with a hooked nose
soft and long like an elephants
Flappy points of ears
that hear well
with tiny sharp teeth
like a land-locked manatee
or a furry caramel Beluga whale

Their insults only refer you to necessary creatures who give their life to feed you and their intellect to empower you

A Fatso is a bright blue animal that has shimmering rainbow wings (like a dragon) and thin curly white horns and milky grey eyes with a fabulous feathers and a fanned tail of royal purple that soars through the skit at light-speed and can bring the rain with its melodious cries

When they or you or they or you or
They are you you know
Insult you they are not insulting you
because a Lard and a Fatso are both such intelligent creatures
mystical and fervent
glorious and gargantuan
Large, yes
But beautiful all the same
They have sharp teeth and move through the earth or skies whenever and wherever they like
These animals have freedom
Just like how you have freedom
in how you think about yourself
which is
to think of yourself as
the sexist, prettiest, cutest
person alive
now isn’t that great?
now isn’t that grand?

You are gold plated and steel incorporated and glass blown and light shadows thrown and haggling heights and shaved delights and a hairy symphony and a harrowing city of sparkles that twinkle in the night.

You are beautiful
and might
just
save the world one day.

You are a mystical creature of the highest creed
and no one
can tell you
otherwise.

I feel like that’s the story of my life

waiting

always waiting

whether it be in lines for merch or in line for love I seem to always be waiting until I get there and the moment of torture has past and even though I’m alone in line right now pretending to text but I’m actually writing stream-of-consciousness because waiting in line alone to get autographs of merch I do not have yet is extremely excruciating but worth it in the end the waiting and hoping and wallowing is always worth it in the end because now I know how the universe works

through saying something will happen

letting that wish or hope go

flying free in the wind of reality and

just when you’ve forgotten that you’ve asked for something

it happens in real-life

it becomes your own reality

but you have to let it go

in order for it to

manifest into something tangible and magical and beautiful and raw

I feel like that’s the story of my life

waiting

always waiting

but I’ve accepted that everything great comes after everything awful and you can’t have one without the other

yin and yang

full circle round

and just when you’ve given up

it happens.

I will be okay

I will be alright

I am at peace with myself and the world around me

I feel anger but know it too shall pass

I feel lust and know that it soon shall pass

I feel love and know it will not pass because it is me and everyone else

I will be alright

I will be okay

I will walk into the unknown and find what I was looking for

I will eventually understand

I will understand

I understand

That all is well

even when it’s not

That my boundaries are lacking
and it’s hard to say no and it’s hard to tell the truth and it’s hard to let go and it’s hard to transition and it’s hard to live and love and be in love and be in love with the idea of love

I will be

I will

I

I haven’t stayed up this late since college or maybe it was sooner

I just wasn’t paying attention.

It’s 6:15 am on a Sunday morning and I saw the sunrise

covered in a white shawl
like my love life in mourning
but where people dress all in white, not in black
to celebrate.

Like how I will wear a rainbow dress or a colorful suit on my wedding day
to truly reflect
who I am
inside.

Caps Lock and Auto Correct are both a curse and a blessing; so is pulling an all-nighter.

It’s just me and the silent world, ghost birds and distant early traffic.

It’s just me and my lonely heart
empty of all the the racket.

I have given away my favorite college leather jacket
the one with the red yarn
woven on its sleeves,

but it was time
to say goodbye.

Hello adulthood
captured in lockdown
hidden under blue medical masks and KN95 and hand sanitizer and face shields and endless new cycles on TV.

It’s funny how chill the universe seems
under the guise of no sleep.

I forget how this will affect me, maybe it will tear me apart, maybe it will bring me together?

I am weak from the journey my body’s taking me on, a head spin from 1960s, 1970s and 1980s rock to late 90s and 00s emo and strange music that has no genre yet.

I found out that Tool music videos are mini horror films and I cannot stand it or sit through it.

Stanley Kubrick was my fascination last night, as was QAnon and Incel and conspiracy theories and Kdramas and Korean manga and fantasy comics including witches with their hair chopped off. That’s a wrap!

What is “emo” anyways? Emotional?

Yes, I’ve always been emotional and hyper-sensitive and an empathy and a simpatico person. Who will be my match now, after the tables have turned? After the fire has gone out? Who will light my Olympic flames once again and burn me bright?

I have no idea, but I’m ready to find out…

On a day like today
Love can really happen
Waiting for the family to get ready
It really worked out nicely today,
didn’t it? So nicely. Full of massages and good cheer. Prana sales and laughter all around. My dear friend, thanks for being in my life and teaching me so many things. My dear parents, thank you for easing me into the person I am today and thank you for being so loving and giving and open. I learn from everyone, and in turn, they learn from me. Life is beautifully grand.
On a day like today, Love can really happen. Love can blossom in ways unexpected unsurprising and flavorful in its reverence.

Before the Haircut:
nervous & terrified & excited & ready & petrified & shaky & strange & waiting & weird & overwhelmed & oddly calm & calmly exploding everywhere internally combusting

After the Haircut:
happy & cheerful & excited & terrified & satisfied & weird & raw & empty & badass & strong & zen & oddly calm & strange & silly & overwhelmed & solid & awake & aware & no longer about to combust

A little bit of hope
goes a long way.

Sometimes the process is painful.

Starts out as a dragon and turns into a jelly cake.

From hard scales to soft jello.

A little bit of hope
goes a long way.

Billie gets it.
What it means to be single.

Open, aware, and calm.
Totally okay
with being alone
and NOT in a romantic/****** relationship right now.

Being single means Freedom.

This year is coming to an end.
Still not normal,
still full of fear and anxiety yet
a little bit of hope
trickles into neon green hair and

dreams and fantasies become one
One. Two. Three.
I’m fine with being a dragon
with its wings clipped.

Or an Barn Owl whose caught in a cage. Stuck in her barn with lots of family and hay.

At least I can see; at least I can hear.
At least I can holler and swear!

I’m healthy, anxious, *****, stuck.
I’m waiting, wishing, wanting, ****.
I’m wilting, frigid, blooming, muck.
I’m growing, changing, holding luck.

A little bit of hope
goes a long way.

And Billie,
I’m counting on you…

I’m counting on you to get me through

the nights of elation and terror.

Ahead
we tread

a year turns and

I scavenge,

I survive.

head pink and shriveled
wrinkled and leathery
shrouded in a gift of brown or grey or black,

cape or black feathers

I take death through my nostrils and
blow it out
eat it up
with no scent

(I am immune to dead flesh scent and have a weak nose)

I scavenge,

I survive.

No matter the circumstances or the star of the world

I laugh at a Global Pandemic

nothing can get me through this tough skin

I have seen death in so many lifetimes

it is a cyclical cycle
passed down through thousands of generations

people
plants
animals
minerals
the earth and all it’s beauty
purging itself
of disease
through disease

Ahead we tread

wary, hearts broken
but I will always be there
with my tar black feathers
and my pink, gray, wrinkled head

wise beyond my years

I say I am immune but I am not immune to fear

that eats away inside me like nothing else

It sits

right below my diaphragm

like a tiny crystal bead or stone

hard

shiny

clear and refracted
sparkling and always embedded
beneath my rib cage

And as I fly up into the bright blue horizon
that chilly, desert wasteland I
flutter and hover
staying between heaven and hell

Living in a sort of purgatory

cleaning up messes and sweeping under the rug

Like a garbage truck
Like the Liver

I dispel rot within my industrial gut
I eat zombies for breakfast
I chomp bones to white powder in my strong black beak
I cough up bone dust like cigar smoke
I throw up green poison
I am immune to rotting flesh
I devour the end
I unleash a new beginning

I am the Vulture

Ugly, yet beautiful at the same exact time

Scary and bold, I go where no bird has ever gone before.

I am not scared of death, I eat it for breakfast.

I scavenge,

I survive.

Ahead, we tread to a new year

and I know one thing for certain.

I am surrounded by white light.
My family is surrounded by white light.
My friends are surrounded by white light.
I am lucky.
I am grateful.
I am healthy and my family is healthy.

I know one thing for certain;
we will all get through this

together.

Look at us
All on our phones
Waiting for our friends
To arrive
Look at us
Hooked up
White screen lights
Blinding us
Biding is time
Individually
Alone but together
Strangers in a pact
Waiting for our food
Our food just came
But our friend is not here yet
And our throats are parched
Waiting for water
That can only come
When two people are sitting down at one table when two people are sharing in each other’s company
Look at us
Looks at us

Bliss
Is this what bliss feels like?

A sweet sort of satisfaction
sprinkled with humility and appreciation for what is

not for what will be.

Bliss is the moment you find yourself in when you don’t question
and just absorb and act
like yourself completely and fully

you sing
your heart out
reach out and touch an arm or a leg without the other person flinching
because they are comfortable enough around you that you don’t scare them you inspire them and enlighten them and then bliss comes around when you least expect it like floating on a cerebral ceremonial fluid cloud or a mountaintop where the snow meets the sky and you are finally able to let go
and cry.

You are the moon
and they are the light

always touching
reaching
discovering
holding
loving
creating a new form of friendship
unlike anything you’ve ever had before.

Your ******* are swelled up from hormones, emotions expanded; all ****** is your crotch but you feel alive as ever drifting on this rock of a planet

bliss
is this

is this
what bliss feels like?

Can you stand it?

Accepting what is;
enjoying the journey as life unfolds;
enjoying life as the journey unfolds.
growing bigger and better
ever so slowly
into a certain kind of magic.

The kind of magic that changes, but still stays the same.

The Magic of Mountaintops.

Heart felt sincerity
at its core
is the sexiest things
since being humble
is highly overrated
in this world of ghosts.

Being kind and gracious
is an attractive attribute
so acute
in quiet moments
that it shakes the floorboards
when used properly.

Been a while
since I’ve written
a little itty bitty ditty
talking ‘bout life an
all it’s fears swirling down the drain.
Been a while
since the mermaid lady
dressed in darkish green
sat and saw me here again.
Spit! Spat!
Been a while
since I’ve typed
nonchalantly
mini tiny teeny poems
on my phonie
like a stuffed beanie babie
bustin’ it’s seams
typing away
makin’ me stay
putin’ it’s pity till three.
Spit! Spat! Splat!
Been a while
since my gullet done drink
down it’s shakin’ hatch
a slimy chocolate pepperminty
flavor favor so minty
and fresh it could’a fooled me
in bein’ thrashed an trashed
but it’s not ‘cause p!nk is playin’
and I’m just nut **** sayin’
it’s been a while…