There is a spider in the corner of my room,
and I’m deathly scared of spiders.
But I won’t **** her,
because aren’t spiders deathly afraid of humans too?
They should.
We ****** them, choke them, torture them to death.
We scream and break their eardrums at the mere sight of them,
we insult them.

I would.
If I was a spider, I’d be deathly scared of humans.
But no spiders **** humans and all humans **** spiders.
(Still, spiders are the monsters in every tale)
Why do we try to make everything we’re afraid of
disappear?,
instead of learning to cope
with the fear.

There is a spider in the corner of my room,
and I’m deathly scared of spiders,
but I won’t **** her.

She didn’t choose to be born that way.

The sea rolls his waves
Smoothly to the shore;
From the dunes  
Shrubs of prickly juniper
Scrutinize the horizon.
Burning summer but
Cool winds softly whisper
moments of eternity.

Two seagulls head for the moon,
Hoping to dive into pristine waters
In this declining afternoon.

patchwork girl dreaming
piecing together the scraps of silk
frayed ribbons of broiderie anglais
the tears of velvet darker than midnight
squares of sackcloth hessian made to scrape
against skin both thick and paperthin

patchwork girl sewn together
with a golden thread and a needle finer than hate
embroidered edges with floss spun by spiders
from clouds of dreams, flower thoughts, starwonders
and fragile pockets of maybe hidden beneath morning dew
stitches all lose, then too pulled too tight

she is together
she is all fallen apart
the soft shape of a doll
the tender shape of a girl

hold her, not an armful of scraps
     but something precious, one of a kind
          couture

“namaste” she says- as he holds a gun
her words a whisper, to cold blue eyes
but his hand shakes- she has almost won.

the sand is dry and the sky is only sun
it’s quiet – the wind begins its sighs
“namaste” she says – as he holds a gun.

the woman is hidden in black, like nun
the bodies pile ‘round her – rotting – covered in flies
but his hand shakes – she has almost won.

her beautiful onyx hair, forced into a bun
his composure falters, his eyes turn soft, ruining his disguise
“namaste” she says- as he holds a gun.

he curses the sky and sinks to the ground hoping to be numb
he’s become a monster- a killer- one who terrifies
but his hand shakes – she has almost won.

she stands up, gets ready to run
but then puts out her hand- to somehow
sympathize

“namaste” she says- as he holds a gun
but his hand shakes- she has almost won.

You waited for the storm in my eyes to pass
and wreck someone else’s home for a change
you waited
ever so patiently
until it became a routine chore
but if you had looked up for more than a second
you would have realised that
Winter raised me
**I am the storm.

What is it like to break off bonds with the toxic people in my life?*
I don’t have all the answers
but I will tell you the truth:
it is like breaking your own heart
and mending it all at the same time

I screamed at my mother
until my voice hurt 
I knew I was crazy
but I was so scared
she looked at me 
like I was
her cup of coffee 
that had spilled
I’m afraid
I can get in trouble 
for being afraid
following the dog days 
when you dogged me 
in all ways 
nothing kept me grounded
I forgot about the earth
heart was electrified
need for sleep unrecognized
I walked towards 
who I left for you 
hoping that if 
I slept with him 
you'd hear about it 
you’d be jealous
when you called me
button 
you were really saying 
you couldn’t join two parts 
without my help
now you can only
text me when 
you’re alone 
unlike when
you needed me 
to keep your hole 
from tearing
apart