I am forged in a ceramic kiln,
and the sweltering heat embrittles me.
their withering stares set the kiln ablaze,
expecting me to stay rigid and brittle.
I attempted to constrict and be good,
but the fire slowly cracked me.  
the heat still scorches my pieces,
but each piece inches closer
to the outskirts of the kiln
so I can find the sticky glue
and put myself back together.

their fingers twist around strings
that are tethered to firm balloons.
whenever we see them,
they fly above everyone else,
their taunts trailing behind them.
but when their balloons deflate,
they crash into the rocky earth,
and their taunts are buried.
air always escapes.

ink melts through paper
during heat, cold, rain, and snow
to mark every heart.

flames raze the forest,
bringing it to its knees.
ashes line the ground,
fertilizing the charred soil.
the clouds mourn for the forest,
blessing the ground with its tears.
seeds of all sizes land,
and the sun wakes up to greet them.
a garden rises from the ashes.

the church used my burning soul to light the candles for every service / my innocence floated away with the smoke from the censer / the past and present clashed like cymbals / and it hurt my ears.
time ran down the slippery ***** of the hourglass / my vocal cords struggled to come together / oxygen left the air / and my flame was nearly extinguished.
so no / I will not give a cent / because I was the donation shared amongst everyone else / even as I burned.
no more.

He greets me with a light kiss
reminiscent of a monarch butterfly
delicately landing after a long migration.

Iced lemonade in a glass
rests on the table in front of us,
witnessing the butterflies on our faces.

Water vapor relaxes when it sees us,
and the glass leaves a culaccino
for forever and a day.

they stuff "yes, no matter what" / "you're always wrong" / "what will people say?" / into a flimsy puppet skin / rigidly moving the strings in one direction / whenever someone comes over / they mount the puppet on the wall / proudly showing off their prized creation.
but when their eyes come to a close / the puppet feels scorching strings on its shoulders / it reaches inside / gutted by what it sees / one by one / it examines each phrase / it takes everything out / replaces it with "no" / "I am not always wrong or right" / "what do I say?" / and slowly snips the strings off its shoulders / so it can walk freely.

butterfly in palm
as bright April flowers bloom -
my heart meets nature.

My fingers ached as I pried a box
from the sides of my mail slot.
I ripped it open with my bare hands,
and found a note written in cursive:
"Put both feet into the box."
I raised my eyebrows and smirked,
but I stepped into the box.
The base folded in on itself,
and my feet crashed into waves.
My lover floated with the seaweed
until he finally reached me.
His hands brushed my shoulders,
and I whispered, "I think we're lost."
My arms burned as I valiantly fought
to reach the uneven surface,
but his eyes sparkled with mischief
as he took my webbed hands,
pulling me toward the ocean floor.
Flashes of light hit my eyes.
and he led me toward the light.
My fingers brushed the floor,
then wrapped around a rough chain,
and my heart punched my chest.
Glittering diamonds surrounded
a heart of azure sapphires.
He led me back to the surface
as the heart overpowered me.
He unclasped it with ease,
placing it around my neck.
As my hand lightly rested in his,
the water droplets joined us
as we flew toward the sky
right back out of the box,
our hands still intertwined.

her heart soars straight over cloud nine
when she holds the number seven to her chest.
her fingers are adorned by five golden rings
and she trusts in the holy trinity.
she follows the partridge to the pear tree,
and her eyes bore into mine,
expecting me to follow her every step,
but I can only stand and watch.