pink was never my color,
and i told you this up front

but you asked me to try it on,
just for the hell of it

because when you come from birthday money
and shopping sprees, you learn to take the horrible

with the beautiful
so you zipped me up

and i stood in my stained white socks
looked at myself in the mirror

and loved every moment of the dress,
the way it hugged my waist, the embrace of the fabric

the beautiful etchings on the tags, silken against my
skin

and while black, grey and white were always comforting
pink may have been my color all along

Not very good.. I guess. But it was fun to write!

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who'd pick out a flower and pluck it:
   He'd pluck it and pin it
   And wear it a minute,
Then, finding another, would huck it.

#

Dress them fabulous!
Line their eyes black, dramatic;
Teach the young mermaids to walk in cigarettes
with eyes of starved predators (like they are)
unflinching at the flashes as they sashay
To let horny sons imagine what’s under the bespoke.
Make their tresses wet for greater effects
Let my mermaids walk with pearl-choked necks!

Cut off the ducklings! Matrons like swans
--nymphs that glide on runway as if on ice
Have the witches lust for the sea green dress
Even if it makes them look like fat caterpillars
Make them forget that they’re no longer young
And that these girls are the newest brand of beautiful.
For the sequin-scales, have the crones battle with cheques.
Let my mermaids walk with pearl-choked necks!

finger exercises from my creative writing class, partially inspired by 'The Emperor of Ice Cream'

Forget what they ALL say
Forget origin common sense and mood and fashion,
Forget the human in you and unleash your unique inner species,
Light your heart with electricity from the skies
                                       wetness from the rain
                                        rough grains from the land
                                        And BE!

Just be, become endless,
Free!
Enjoy the sunlight and forget the smoke
They got thrown in your eyes.

A man from McFarland once shitted
His pants, which were too tightly fitted:
   He popped a low squat,
   And he shitted a lot,
And it squished out his pants when they splitted.

#

Zan Balmore Jun 1

There is a fundamental hardness
In this body, strapped between my legs.
Feminine energies from within warp
The fragile bounds of reality around me.
But what right do I have with penis
To summon the mother, call myself woman?
Every right.

My peoples told a tale closer to people
Still with connection to the heavens,
Roles for everyone. Gods did not deny
Their existence over time like some do.
But I deny the gods and dogmas and
I'm disenfranchised from my tribe
As a ghost in the machine in the very
Heart of western Christianity's
Destiny.

I get hard. It's not a problem. I cup my
Breasts in silent reminder with the
Dimmest hope of finding love and family.
Just as my elders, I live and speak at fires
Now write it, too, through ill, darkness in day.
All of the time I put into trying not to die,
It fashions me.

It fashions me.

I write the same words over and over telling
Stories of sadness and anger to outcast strangers.
I traded the ease of violence for pixel and ink,
So please take the words,
Unburden me.

The End

As always, thank you all for reading, and for your continuous support through likes, loves, and shares.

I'll be taking a break from short form writing for a while to focus on developing my longer prose.

Take care of yourselves, you beautiful people. I'm sure I'll have something for you soon. Til then, you all keep writing

And I'll keep reading.

Much love,
Zan
Zan Balmore Jun 1

I sit alone
speaking of
the ocean like
I know love
when I am
unaware

and in

Truth I haven't
put my eyes
on the coastal
horizon
purple sky
but in dream

for many years

and i

am endlessly addicted
to intensity
melancholy romance
and despair

will i

I wonder
ever find
my eyes in tune
with one who
understands
I crave pain

and pull the wounds

pull open my wounds

stay embedded

under nail

.....
Zan Balmore May 28

My grandpa, he got cancer from smoking
cigarettes. I set fire to the ends of bones, too.
The only male energy in my whole life,
and the best example of what I shouldn't do.
Emotionally abused my family,
no regrets, no subtle nod, or attempt at truth.
We set aside the split hairs in sunlight,
watched them fade while listening to the empty tune
of two hearts too lost and misunderstood.
One perfect look at conviction displaced and strewn.
I'd like to think I'm resistant to death's call,
but I'm well aware how the earth hurts,
how my home land endures political turf war.
Queer cannot be an exclusive concept.
Would you like to come lie beside me on my floor?
Drift between feelings, count specks on the ceiling?
I can't seem to find purpose in living, but I love,
and love life just enough. Do you love enough to meet nighttime
and sleep til the morning? Press your forehead to mine,
tell me of your scrapes and how many times.

6

Inspired by Alkaline Trio.
Zan Balmore May 28

Let me just hit this real quick, and I've got a question to ask you.

What the hell am I doing with my life?
I've seen a quarter century
easily fly by my head, right past my eyes. Credentials fill the whole of a short list, shorthand black ink on coffee stained white napkins. Got a paycheck, pay rent, I'm okay, then. Name it, it's likely I haven't done it. The thing is, I'm short on hobbies, too. When you got holes in your pockets, watch the pennies dropping. What's a penny for a little get-high? What's a penny for the internet when I don't have a vehicle? I couldn't pay for cheap unleaded. I pay for my shows and drink the TV. Deadbolt my door and get to thinking. Maybe it's all right if I imbibe just a little more. Maybe a few short words arranged in a line, will kiss the void if written right. Correctly.

The ground
Is burned
Rolls away
Life
Is short
So blaze

.....Five or six or seven.
Zan Balmore May 26

In darkness
My apartment
Lies lonely, low
Holding me
Blinds drawn
Sweating rust
Internally
Smothered
Thick dust
In darkness
My finger
Tips trace
Outlines
Of hearts
Xbox heating
PC heating
Waste in still water
Filling room
Want receding
Need retreating
Refuse of product
Parent made

How do I wager
My heart for cash?
Money get me out,
Imagine. How do I
Live or even leave,
When the past tucks
Me in, surrounds me?

....
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