RH Fists 21h
cant                                                             ­   FIND

the                                                    ­              WORDS
to say
                              and explain                                fluttering heart
                     goes nothing
i love you
you are so                           not sure if it        
                                                      ­                                    fucking you
                                                             ­                             fucking me
enter location                                                NOW

Falling apart isn't easy to do,
on the bathroom floor in a puddle
of tears and sweat. Remembering
a time when things seemed simple, a
time before someone smashed
through the car window of the minimum
wage worker, living in her car, at six a.m.
and took the tokens of her life
away, to be under loved.

The unraveling was gradual:
Graduating from school and watching
her own brain start to melt away,
dripping out here and there,
on the couch, the bed, the floor,
all over the apartment but rarely
outside. Splattered on the walls
rather than scratching a way out. It's fine,
the mind just makes a mess of things.
My feet of sheetrock
knees and bones
stick and stone

Thighs of mica
calf of plaster
flint skin

I chuckle gleefully in buns of steel
and fiercely beat a sediment chest
with the face of a mesa and obsidian ribs
I see through tides of frozen lids
Being white...is now a sin to society.

I was nothing but a plain canvass. Hanging in the wall, the consummate design of purity. One day, I threw a dot in the middle of my frame to see how life is like. Then all of the sudden, I became the attention of most paintings. I was art. I was meaningful. The thought of my imperfection is art. But not all commits to that sense of style, and they judged me. They smudged me with colors I'm unfamiliar with. Their hands changed me in terms of tragedy, just like themselves. My innocence became abstract with different intentions. The white no longer defined me, but the sins they made me do provide.
trf Jul 11
sleeping tears awoke to crimson crust & apple red veins,
eyes peering through the dizzying fog to find a faucet
& drizzle rain like nectar down the peach pit's core,
along rugged edges & oval pores,
imperfect patterns & lightning blinks
reminds the second sadness to cry once again.

the swipe of crust is rusting
like a smoker's yellowing finger tips
gathering paint on callouses
& cracked lips

mirrored reflections shadow gaze,
squinting to locate bronze crow's feet
of a man, mid thirties,
lying for what/to wait
dying to wait/for what
I wrote this poem on the back of my most recent 36x48 painting. Abstract-fully Delicious, yet sad and viscous
Tanya Louise Jul 10
thoughts in endless swirling
like a storm
and un-rhythmic beats of my chest
distract me
i should be listening
but my head is lost
far, far gone
deep, deep it's sunk
maybe its your stupid smile
or you uneven words
i should be listening
but the sparks are distracting
they'll surely be a second date
In urgent call.
The door opens by elegant wrist.
Her lashes close.
Soft beads of water fresh out the shower.
Made glorious, covering me.
Her scent the tip of my nose.
Every wrong made right.
Sweetened cocoa butter, the hint of mango.
Artesian painting reflects us.
Offering safe passage from tongue to lips.
Open, the taste of delicate skin.
The fragrance of all I'd need.
Seasoned by discovery.
The rediscovery of thought.
The towel drops.
Every breath a caress from which we grew.
A flower in bloom, ripe in unification.
Well soaked in eternal ache.
The artesian painting retouched by desire.
Consistently in the utmost obligation.
The passage of me to you
In ultimate reference.
I am not sure of the source.
With great modesty out the window.
I am a great believer and hold this to be true.
All things in heart are true.
A curious emotion.
Passionate in photography.

The literature of perfect emotion.

The exact existence of perfected mess. 

I imagine the most beautiful sight.

Cinematic in nature.

The things that appear exactly how they are.

Existing because our belief is they do.

In truth we are fragile.

Oblivious to the chaos that moves scene by scene.

We are in love pretending not to see how beautiful the mess we create.

How completely compulsive we are.

Ignoring that we've lost control,

Sooner or later,

We notice it's manifestation.

And I can see how beautiful you are.

In perfect justice,

I am mindful that I want to strip you down
III Jul 9
If I imagine rain
     A downpour dampening
This melancholy mess
Matted and mistaken,
     Strung from strings
Uncertain and chimes
    Brass and scratched,
Headlights screeching
Unforgiving into the swift
    Grasp of dusk
    Over cornfields serenaded
By a cacophony of
     Twitching twigs
     Broken and rattling
Against my ribs beginning to hollow,

If the rain
Could caress my worries
And cauterize my concerns,
I'd wade in the
Static of storm clouds
     And cheer to the
     Clap of atmospheres
          Cracking, crackling
               Chaotic sheets
Of tips and taps,
And oceans down the
     Windows and a song
     Crafted on the roof
That protects me
Unrightfully so,
As I need to be soaked,
I need to wash away
In a flood of bubbling
Rain and splash
     Against the abstraction
     Of these thoughts,
Baking in the sun
Like tea that has only
     Begun to brown.
Before I knew it I ate half the bag.
Fifty pounds deliciously resting the bottom of my stomach.
I regret nothing.
Weighing my stomach with my hands.
I tried to save some.
Each piece more than the last.
Resting on the coffee table of her heart.
I didn't expect to eat as much as I did.
A decision made in haste,
I smiled.
Easily reaching into my own bag.
Replacing what I ate with that of my own.
Her pieces taste far better than mine.
Knowing that they belonged to her.
My heart rejoiced in knowing this.
My taste buds on the other hand longed for more.
Savoring the taste.
Ready to reach again.
Her heart, the sweetest candy I know
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