Marching through the shadows
seeking shelter; vengeance.
For ourselves; For those who have betrayed us.

Marching through the shadows
lost within the void.
Inside this swamp; Inside our souls.

Marching through the shadows
looking for the light.
Of freedom; Of Peace.

Frosted windows separate me
from the tiny fingers
pressed against the window pane.

Tendrils of smoke descending from above,
shrouding the fingers within
only visible in the glow of the flames.

What can I do but watch him die
as reality sets in, no time to play
with the person I used to be.

One by one they peel away,
leaving sweat marks on the glass,
until my inner child has gone up in flames.

Now I wake.

To find that though a dream, it was
formed from truth and reality,
the years of yesterday have taken it all away.

Trying to buy tickets to California, halfway the entrance
Black Rabbit Bone was waiting, he had to tell another story
just one more..luckily you'll get it before leaving.

Widely exposed were the shames of the boyhood
naively played were the words of our mouths
do you get it yet?

The songs change its meaning, some melodies taunted your thoughts
your favorite characters are on decay
and that seems to be ok

The shine of the lighthouse is dropping
You should cross soon
what will it be then?

Are you wearing a costume to the party?
Or will you get casual to the funeral?

Time is running, and you're the only one left.

I first felt her flow as Blue Lady tea steeped on a delicately crafted doily.

Cranberry Orange Scones paired with doll-sized cutlery.

I’d be excused.

A late bloomer,

steeping slowly from the flowering buds of my very own teapot.



Mothers, sisters, friends, daughters together

sharing a Blue winter in that tea shop.

When at fourteen, womanhood gifted

me the first of many

moments.

This would spark my wondering why women weren’t known

solely for their strength, rich in resilience,

like the blackest tea.



As Blue Lady steeped steadily from the table to the lady’s room.


Anna Blake

Small girl, my young girl;
Picturing an older copy.
A makeup wearing, boy crazed machine of intellect and grace.
A rare thought but a strong one.

Older but not old enough.
Missing bolts and screws;
Somehow still working.
I see something in a mirror that makes my organs plummet through the floor.
I'm not her.
Never have been;
Never will be.

Big girl, but not large enough.
Hair fallen out and swollen gums.
Bruised skin and flushed face.
Ripped soul but a full heart.

The mirror tells the same story,
But in a different font.
My once hollow skeleton is now filled with music and chipped paint.
I am the same damaged goods.
I am ripped skin and muffled coughs,
Cookie dough ice cream and kisses on the cheek.

I'd gotten so lost from my former-self that I didn't realize something now obvious:
I never stopped being her.
I will never stop being her.

I will never be young enough, old enough, happy enough, brave enough.
But I am me;
and I am more than enough.

I've heard it said so many times
"You have to know yourself before you get into a serious relationship"

No one ever mentions that a relationship changes you
I'm not the person I thought I knew 9 months ago but that's okay

I'm better

They should say
"You'll meet yourself in a relationship"

Here we are
We have finally made it
At this fine hour we cross over
We are no longer part of the group known as minors
Now in the state's eyes we are “adults”
But are we really ?
No, we are not.
I cannot possibly feel like an adult for I can not behave like one
People still say “hey kid”
People deny me from buying my own cigarettes
But if I'm still a kid then why am I working as hard as my parents?
Why am I living on my own in my mother's home?
Why am I allowed to enjoy other people but not enjoy a smoke once in awhile?
Why am I able to give my life for this country but not buy a drink?
If we sit here and think
About what it means to be eighteen
We soon we will see
That there really is no meaning.

Biting into the crust of an evening reminiscent of you.*

Your crown was  
immaculate, your kingdom over-
grown with red ferns and dandelions up
the side of the fence in the back
yard where I'll meet you behind
the shed, under
the shadow of daybreak

with red ferns and
dandelions. A cloak sewn
from innocence, pushing against the weeds
breaking up--through
the side of the fence in the back yard
Where I meet you.

Your voice slurred in deep tongues,
licking up the side of the fence in the back yard.
Where I met you.

Smothered in red ferns
and dandelions.
We watched them grow
up and over the side of the fence in the back yard
Where I'd met you.  
From time

to time.

I'd watch
as the sunset colored you red,
painted me yellow
until we both
blurred into the night.
Before we even had a chance to crumble into
the crisp embrace of an evening.

Firstly Hand me over to the pouring rain
Let me be soaked in that flooring pain
Be sure to let me me enjoy my goring gain

For I surely believe not in my plastic fame,but
Let me enjoy this acidic game I designed , Cos
I   know not  the rules of this drastic shame

Lastly Let me enjoy my intoxicating
Oxytocin that preserves my metamorphosis
To an ignominious state that will prevail
Through my youthful altercations.