I hadn’t any dreams
In my hands
You sometimes hold
My wishes
Fell through
Holes in my pockets

I was very much empty and I
Wanted you to know

By Arcassin Burnham


The She-angel that could make me sing out
My feelings to submission breaking
Down the walls where my heart resides,
Painting pictures in my pineal allowing
Me to give in with no sure measure of
Deceit,
She-angel listens to my words and even now it still it amazes my soul,
Jumping for joy and not in fear of being
Left behind,
Her accent gives me chills in the most
beautiful axis,
The world was never ready for you my angel,
I will walk to the ends of the earth with nothing to live for with a pockets of hopes that faded away in the fire where my trust got extinguished,
But with you my angel everything revived itself, I Thank you for that.

Don't sit there and laugh
I promise it's real
I'm nowhere near daft
But I have an appeal

Women have united
We held a caucus
It has been decided
We want deeper pockets

Not stitches of yarn
To create the illusion
Not fingertips only
Whole hand exclusion

Not pockets so small
They cause a contusion
Not 1/4 of whole
Causing wallet protrusion

I should not be coerced
To carry a purse
It's like we're accursed
pocket problems traverse

You get it right on dresses
But never on pants
I need to stress this
Dress to pant transplant!

You do it for males
All big and cozy
Put some wind in your sails
This is no time to mosey

Pocket Equality for all!
Across every brand
Divided we fall
United we stand!

She moved her hand from her pocket to his

I would greatly enjoy
Drinking a full bottle
Of blue sky, with
Cloud cubes.

And as a youngest
Quasi-only child
I have no basis
Upon which to babysit.

I keep a pocket-sized
Terrace with me
At all times
Purely for the flowers.

And it would be a
Jolly thing to have
An eight-year old
Dream come true.

On rare occasions
I wear dresses
And walk sedately
Through fields.

And once in awhile
The bird on my leg
Is a massive swallowtail
And tries to fly a feathery airplane.

When I was a kid
I spent time alone
Probably more than my fair share
But it wasn't bad at first
It was liberating.
At first, I discovered myself
I discovered the universes that existed
At the pinpoint of my imagination
A true world of wonders

I remember tiny snippets of freedom
Long walks in the park with my hands tucked into my pockets,
Or my hair getting soaked from the rain when I'd walk home

Back then "on my own" was somehing I fancied
Like a childish crush
Where I only wanted it because,
Hell.
It made me feel good
It made my heart pound
When I could spend just a second listening to my breath

But now. I've learned the consequences
The damage I've done to myself
From spending that much time
Alone.

I picked up a collection of your poetry
and it didn't take all night to read
You talk to yourself a lot.
I am now empty more so for knowing
how empty you tell yourself you are.

there is a fifteen minute cab ride
or a 45 minute bus ride
that makes the most distance of this city
but I would walk to you at any hour.
Regardless of any change
I may carry in my pockets,
there will always be an open hand
for you if you would take it

Somewhere my mother shares her bed with nobody
after being twice robbed of her covers
by the same man
she has never returned to that softness.

somewhere else my father sleeps with himself
and cries for having held on for so long

There is a grace we don't allow ourselves for letting go.
you need not be in love to hurt,
you need not forgive to be alone.

I think you are everything I reach for,
though for fear my throat is empty of your echoes
I read your poetry
and some nights I ride the bus home
in the other direction.