Pathological Liars, support buyers
Worthless medals on their chests
JP Morgan's Hand-puppet speaks:

They have you screaming, yea or nay
With their hands making your heart strings dance
As you throw your soul at the Golden Calf

Your fingers are on your phone screen
While their fingers are on the trigger
Trusting in your pin-pointed amnesia

Twenty-five times that badge takes your life
While you get 25-to-life for vending plants
Have you seen this backwards plan?

The Government among us is as skewed
As the lines in
this
poem...

Virginal white dress,
Her colorblind obsession
Breeds jealous colors.

All representations of life and death cross
To create a duel meaning
Holding the farthest folds of time together
Seam to seam.

A contradiction to being
The reality to burn through my own
My mind welded tight to refuse it.

A hole finds its way to my center
Eat away at me, will you?
My knowing and my conformity.

Take together the farthest folds of my mind
Tie them
Seam to seam.

As life is said to be too short
I cannot speak my complaints
Fore I have only experienced a fragment of 16
Cut from the whole of what I am to be.

The flower in me buds and wilts
Exposing a vibrancy of colours
But one force takes the importance of all.

Light
To signify the moment of opening my eyes
The first birth of my existence.

The fade is subdued until the light reaches its end
The end beyond death
Where the white of the lily glows bright
Because life lives beyond the physical deterioration
Commonly accepted by reason.

To break these boundaries of understanding
I stand with one foot in each ground
The light in my left side
Signifying my birth
Rebirth and rebirth.

The life constantly recycles itself in me
Coming to the surface in a new skin each time
The lily means Easter
A new beginning

Before my first fragment of living
I came to my first renewal of being
Halfway across the world
A resurrection to the arms of who I now call my family.

This sunday of Jesus' Easter
Was taken to the use of my own
This sunday
I took my first breath
As Lily.

The light opened my being to life
A new life
With each came a new contradiction.

The petals that once were lain so gently on my skin
Fell away
Laced together with fine strings of me
My growth, my knowledge, my understanding.

A continuum of time
Slowly taking its destructive path
Finding its way to my center.

The right side of me
Which I have not forgotten since spoken of
So many existences ago
Takes footing in reality.
The happenings of death
Necessary to take its toll before birth
Rebirth and rebirth
Leads the light in me to falter
To take cover amongst the shadows.

But as a renewal of life blooms the bud once wilted
These deaths call strongly to me
The lily of life
Represents equally a devotion to the departed.

Fragments of my being were experienced in deprivation
Losing the light a lily so desperately depends on
Moments taken advantage of
Where the death digs deeper into me
It closes in on my center.

Repeatedly the light recedes far enough
My left side falls weak
I grow in dependence of what little left of me stands tall
My right sides firmly planted in the grounds of death.

Seemingly an end to all I have once known
The lily drops its last petal
I close my eyes.

My center is open
Exposed
And in me
...

A new light is revealed
A new bud is in bloom
A new being of me has been born
Reborn and reborn.

The white light radiates new strength
New knowledge
New understanding.

As I am raised to stand tall
To set my left foot down
To take footing in the light
But I find balance.

I realize that I cannot stand at all
Without the right foot planted firmly in death
In what has led me
To all that I am
And am to be.

My mind expanded beyond any reason once reached
Filled with contradiction
And a new lily's light.

Finally,
I am able to see the farthest folds of my mind
To find them tied tight once again
Seam to seam.

My truth is that I teeter atop a constant precipice of blazing boldness and utter fear.

I tip toe a fine line of longing to be unapologetically passionate, raw and subversive - and comfortingly cordial, gentle and "nice."

My favorite colors are witchcraft black and angel pink.

I unabashedly groove to both bass bottomed gangster rap and dreamy, trippy synth pop - equally.

I rise each day to blaze a trail of fiery transformation - holding my flag high in the sky for all to see and follow - and end each day wanting to hide in my rabbit hole reading about herbal remedies and making tinctures and potions that the world.

My favorite flower is the optimistic tulip, but I find strength in the weeping willow.

I sing fierce songs of freedom, injustice and equality out loud, while humming soft songs of sweetness and peace and love to myself.

I'm both Dorothy and the Great and Powerful Oz.

I long to scream wisdom from the rooftops, as long as I don't hurt anyone's feelings.

I relate to the women of both Girls and Golden Girls.

I want socialism but I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do.

I get a thrill by telling arrogant people off with a witty sarcastic remark, and then feel heavy remorse because I wish I hadn't created such a divide.

I am a warrior for women’s rights, but I’ve also been a mean girl and a recovering bulimic.

I want someone to love me completely while I love them utterly, but I don’t want to be engulfed by the heady perfume and fluorescent distraction of romance.

I admire both Charles Bukowski and Simone de Beauvoir as equals.

I don’t want to care what the hell you think of me, but I want you to love and worship me just the same.

I roll my eyes when older men date much younger women, but find myself attracted to much younger dudes than myself.

I bow to the bodies of “real women” while secretly dreaming of what it must be like to be a supermodel.

I want to be adored as much as I want to be respected.

I worship the Goddess on my knees but also find Jesus to be a true prophet of love, and kind of a babe.

I’m as silly as I am intense, and I’m as insane as I am sane.

My ultimate truth is that I'm a lover and a fighter,
a saint and a *****,
an angel and a demon,
a divine spirit and a hot mess.

I envelop each contradiction passionately, balancing them equally like a tightrope walker in the wind. Frustrated and wondering how the hell I got here, but also awestruck and loving the view.

You see, I have come to learn that the sign of a true rebel is the one who wears her heart on her sleeve - while giving zero *****, sowing compassion, taking no ****, mending fences and slaying dragons.

A contradiction.
An anomaly.
Representing everything I am and everything I want to be.
My passion in the afternoon, followed by my silence in the evening.
It'd take you a lifetime to understand me.