In my darkest dreams,
You lie there.
Awaiting me in dark hues of purples transforming into mist.
You smile, half-lipped in such a devilish way.
It leaves me in thrill.
A low animalistic cry that you’ve kept prisoner for so long.
As if I am your lunar eclipse,
And you have to have me before dawn.
In my deepest dreams,
You wait there.
Lying in dark hues of reds transforming into mist.
You reach for me;
Arms outstretched in a silent desperate plea.
I always comply.
We push and pull,
We Grapple into a tangled mess of filth and shame.
The air hangs heavy in a dark dream like this.
Sweat on my brow,
And my mouth in a shape that can only say your name.
I just started a load of laundry
In hopes that it will wash away
The discomfort around expression
From my identity.
I imagine little people
As they run up and down
My pant legs
My shirt sleeves
My bra straps
Steadily scrubbing the internal
Abuse from the fabric.
They peel off the fine layers
Of self hatred and grime
Only to leave behind a shell
For my body to fill once more.
And, with no doubt,
I will climb from bed tomorrow
To don these scraps and
They will become one with me again.
My self doubt
and insecurities will
Stain my shirt pits
and my pant cuffs.
The devil raging inside me will,
More than likely,
***** my underwear
Leaving me in my own filth
Until I find time again
To do the laundry.
Organs of dead fellows,
rings of white
the corpses of high standing felled.
And yet you think my diminishing
gives you heed to throw
me stained with waste...
Stick knives in your eyes
Fight the evil and horror that lies
Incarnate your words
Into notes that slur
Stick picks in your eyes
Your vision will blur
Your wings will clip when your love roams
You abandoned your eyes
So you will guide yourself with not what you see but with what you hear
Face your fear
To come near and touch the skin of the poor hollow shell you made drown in tears.
She’ll make you sink in the void of sorrow.
Let's see how fake you can be
Don't get me wrong
It's funny that you're trying
You're trying to be my friend
Why be my friend?
Because all yours realized that you're horrible
Oh, that *****
Oh, you didn't think I didn't know
You didn't break our friendship fully
But you can continue playing that fake innocent person
Continue thinking that we are good
Just know, we aren't
I am just showing the world
Showing the world my tolerance
My tolerance for filth.
Recently, I was given a huge challenge and I have a huge tolerance now thanks to this challenge
I first saw my grandma knitting when I was five.
Wool yarn flowing through her fingers,
As if it was a fairy tale by the brothers Grimm.
Magic was happening, giving birth to another
sweater, or another scarf, or a dress I was probably going to wear.
I first saw a fashion magazine at the age of eight.
It was full of clothes, full of bright, extravagant colours,
I was amazed by this variety of art it kept inside,
a little girl facing her nature, her passion, her desire.
I was twelve when I first visited Germany &
realised that fashion had never been this far from people.
Oaf boots and cerulean sweaters I was seeing everywhere
As a complete outsider, an offspring of another world.
It was years after that I understood.
Clothes are what we see & beauty is what we cherish,
But, if it is filth that you carry on the inside,
It can never be covered by a little black dress.
Tipton Poetry Journal
how to i remove the topper
stomped on top of my head
why do i see through
lime stained goggles
no amount of elbow grease
unscrews the top
nor clears the glass
when were these
peanut butter walls built
the thoughts like gnats and flies
pile in layers to the wall
clear away one and
another grows grotesque
like an apartment
paired with depression
all i want is a clean slate
to build a new
Tomorrow always arrives
With its splendid shine
To make hearts feel alive
Filling them with its eternal light
New days come for good hearts
For those who see the light
But not for those who steal it
As darkness is all they have
But I don't want it to arrive
For me, tomorrow can't come
To brighten my life
As of it, I am done
Tomorrow can't come for me
For my empty heart to fill
My heart is not to be here
Rather underground with the filth
Dark is what my mind is
But my soul is not
A soul is what I miss
I don't want to know where is at