I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.

I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.

A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.

But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful

byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.

But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.

Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.

And like that she became wet.
******* before she bathed in the storm.
Umbrella left home, by the door.
She wanted to be cleansed.
Clothes thrown to the side.
Where's the fun in being dry.
To rush every moment that craves to be moist.
Splashing in puddle after puddle.
The Infatuation of being free.
The depth of being caught in a portrait just before it drys.
Covered in layer after layer of heavy blue.
A foam of white.
A kiss that quenches every thirst.
Our lips the brush that sops the wetness.
Forever more.
To purposely be caught without an umbrella

I scream to the stars above
"What do you want from me?!"
The wind picks up
Stealing what little breath I hold
Sleeping flowers awaken,
only to find that rain season has just begun
The rain comes from my eyes
I curse your moonbeam eyes
That once danced in front of mine
And in comes the sun
Burning where you once held me
And suddenly... peace.

Anew  by…Jessie


Dawn of day’s…future days; the sun has shown
Emerge… shake off what scab still remains and wipe the sleep from your eyes
Stand tall; allow the encrusted quagmire to flake from your body
Resurrect; cleanse yourself in the acceptance of a rejuvenated self
Drink from the cup of prospect; fill your belly with optimism
Clothe yourself in skin more fitting, one that dose not reflect the scars of battles past
Stand out from the shadows, walk into the light, and immerse yourself in what is today
Yesterday was yesterday and is forgotten; tomorrow is waiting to be written
Breath in the possibilities, ink the quill and begin to write

There was a pool.
A deep pool of watery emotion.
I must keep my head above water to survive.
For years that's what I've done.

Circumstances drew my being into the deep unknown.
As long as I may keep my head above water, surely I will sustain life.
The water seemed black,
Tarnished
The darkness trickling from every pore of my body.

I was slumped in a whirlpool laden with dismay.
On a mission to seek safety, I constantly held my head above water.
There came a time where I felt as though I no longer had the strength to stay safe.
My energy was becoming exhausted
I felt a weight dragging me under, prompting me to sink.
All I could see was the darkness.

I felt the misery penetrate my inner being as my lips took one last breath before relinquishing myself to immorality.
I pierced my eyes closed, as tight as I could as an attempt to keep the unlit from entering my perception.

Although plagued by fear of this darkness and essentially the unknown, I knew I had to fight.
And by fight I mean surrender, for fighting is all I have ever done.

Opening my eyes I felt the battle be drawn from my psyche.
I let go of the connection.
The preexisting negative prejudice and judgement floated to nothingness.
By taking away the battle, so to was the darkness and associated distress.

The whirlpool of water which I always believed to be darkness suddenly appeared as still, pure, clean, and clear water which flowed through my every pore.
Dignity returned.
Happiness too.
There was now only light overflowing my inner self.
Cleansed and free, I finally found safety.

Concept:
youlovemeback.

The ingredients of cleanse
make their way
to your house.

There is

a

strobe,
two stones portioned off
a Ziggurat,
a present thing —
like wheels,
a teardrop,
nail clippings.

My father
would trim his nails
and bury them —
as seeds.

Stared
at that ***
all days and evenings.
Monsoons and
summer heat echoed.
Time circled back and forth.

Sometimes,

I would gargle
father’s beer and
spit into the ***.
Maybe it needed
Acrid, it needed
Strong. It needed
Disgusting,
Toxic. It wanted

wrong.

I turn 22.
The ***
Disappears. My father
too. Militants
took him away,
or so the chatter goes.
He wore Chinos, sun-dried
eyes, a hat.
Mice ate
the matchsticks
used for kindling.
The Queen Termite
Gave birth to more
hungry little ones
under the sink.
Dark, musty,
collapsing.
Memory, time,
fingertips. Thyme
rhymes

with mime,

I copy my father.
Trims nails.
Plants.
Waters.

Concept:
trytounderstand

This was only the nourish
he could give. It was
a copy of the nourish
his father could give —
Or so

The chatter goes.

Gather the stones.
Get the strobe.
Pound the nail clippings
and

an enzyme flows
Through, like tape recorders whirring
as they wind back to
play recorded confessions
one more time.

Free baptismals
at the church service
for hurried teens.
Free shirts for
the Insufficient.
Free lessons for
the young boy
who can’t read women.

Free at long, long last.

Concept:
fixtheheart