locust Jul 2017

it's three pm on a thursday. don't tell me you have anything planned other than to sit on the back porch killing flies and picking the skin off your fingers. i know it's humid and full of lime outside but sometimes it's good to have sour lungs, you know? breathe it in. come outside.

an old old lady sat beside me at the bus stop. she was making a huge black and red and green and yellow blanket & told me it was for dreams. i didn't know what she meant so i nodded and offered to pay her bus fare. she was gone before i could look up and it made me think of cyclopes and orange peels

i'll live in the ocean one day!
for now, we're in glitter and rot, covered in murals and expensive tea none of us could afford. but one day i'll be a seagull too & i won't have to worry about the ground shaking anymore

i never made a birthday wish n im kinda regretting it
Jon Po Dom Apr 2017


You can't retract those words
Like angry bees and scorpion stings
That drive a wedge,
Split the bonds that join at the hem
And sever the ties that tie
Those words don't lie

You said what you said
And pierced at the heart
Five lambs to the slaughter
By ruthless words
Sticks and stones
Surely break bones
But bones will heal
The heart will not

Am I not yours?
Do we live a lie?
You're pretending
And slowly breaking
Ligaments that join us
Bone to bone
Flesh to flesh
Though we be not yours
Yours we are

You can't retract those words
Like angry bees and scorpion stings
But the wedge is in your hands
What will you do next?

JM 4/16/17

Tyler Castro Mar 2017

Turn the lights off so that I may know you
In this safe space, I invite you to indulge in our mutual vulnerability
Feel protection in my arms as I guard your heart
As I keep it warm between our chests
Set your gaze to mine while you share with me your aspirations
I yearn to experience them through the windows to your soul
Share with me your fears so that I may put them to rest
May this bed be a holy and sacred place for us
May this bed be our confession booth free from ridicule
May this bed be a tithing basket for you to receive love with no boundaries
In this bed, allow divine pleasure to overwhelm you
Let your orgasm match the depth of your trust
Let your tears turn to sweat that trickles down the valley of your spine
Let your bodily fluids baptize you; cleanse you of any guilt
Share with me your spiritual awakening
As I receive communion with your raw, unfiltered, liquified emotion running down your body
Toss out your bible, for the only religious text I need is your diary
Allow me to tie every inch of your glorious body to a memory
I wish not to fuck, but to love
I wish to fulfill all your fetishistic urges
For I know they are tied to a psychological yearning
By the end of the night I wish to know every inch of your flesh
I want the knowledge to be accompanied by the memories that make you, you
And if I fail, there's always round two after we cuddle

Tyler Castro

Corie Eckman Jan 2017

And although I’m in this prison and you’re in that vessel,
spewing ache from your body to mine
I can’t help but to feel the poison that greets my spine each morning
and numbs my body by night until the sting makes me warm

Oh, what a trick it is to value so heavily the shell that houses a person’s soul
or how freeing it is when you puncture through my armor to allow your toxins to spread beneath my surface

This skin holds a protective barrier that shields me from the world,
yet still has no resistance to your venom

My backbone desires the soreness of your scorpion touch

Bless yourself, you ended up in my poetry.
You call them poems, after all, and I'm sure you know this is as close as you'd get to having me.
Cast away the demons you claim sleep under your bed.
You know that even after making my skin crawl that you're all in my head.

Father, son and holy ghost-
The only thing I believe in are phantoms, but you already knew that didn't you.
So what's so cathartic about the way  you cleanse me of my sins?
Do you mask mine in your own, does my purity make you feel clean?

You're the darkest night when the stars don't want to be seen.
Laying ice upon my spine you see that maybe I'm not right for your skies.
You're stitches in my side from a crack that didn't show.
You touched me to pieces but even you have to go.

Eager flesh finds ways to claw in memories when nails are stripped to the skin.
Find pieces left with torn edges like tragedies but don't let your demons in.

Weave vines through your ribs and roses through your eyes, for this life you'll have to fare.
Cemeteries feel so empty without your bones to bare.

And I beg you to bury the parts of yourself that remain unclean.
I only want your sin if its in between my sheets.

Julie Langlais May 2016

Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continue to fight.
One holds never-ending dominance
Relentlessly mocking and scolding.
The slanderous one, better known as the chief
The master, better known as my back bone.

The other wolf; the sufferer,
Facing the horror of the fire.
Like luscious, vibrant air filled with beauty and self-worth
With the intensity and beauty of a glowing golden sun,
Glittering as it beams among the surface of the waters.
The lustrous one, better known as my daydreams
The lovely one, better known as my pure naked self.

Like two scorpions in a bottle,
There was a fight between evil and good.
The winner; the one the operator chooses to feed,
The winner; a display of my blindness.
Blindness, lacking the sense of sight; sightless.
Blind to the naked beauty and worth of the lovely wolf,
The starving wolf.

Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continued to fight inside of me.
The delightful became liquified into dark raw evil,
Leaving me drowning, gasping
Gasping the slightest bit of that air of self-worth.

(C) Emily Mckusker 2016

This was written from one of my grade 11 students, who struggles with anorexia.
Her poem touched me; I had to share it with my HP friends.
She has given me permission to post it publicly.
Leila Valencia Apr 2016

Dropped like honeydew, appearing as a dark temptress
Tasted in smoke
Touched in hot burns - callous bites edged on your skin

Flames of spice, ambers, dusted vestiges of breaks in bones
Hidden in an underworld fantasy - craters of the deceased, and suffering - diver of the dark abyss sitting comfortably

Suddenly they break their thick callous skin
The scalding crack sears others' eyes
The burst! The rebirth! The transformation has commenced!
Rising higher,
To the pinnacle of life where peace and understanding sit at their bedside

The sign Scorpio has always been so intriguing to me. A quick poem if some was to have a Scorpio Sun, Venus Scorpio or 8th house somewhere in your chart.

We know there is peace
              The Scorpion's tail is down
                                How rare this occurs
~Tyler Castro

The original is posted on my Instagram account. Same username on that as on this. It is a haiku that I wrote to accompany a tribal scorpion I drew.
solEmn oaSis Nov 2015

ang yong kamandag ay matagal nang
nasa dibdib ko,di ko alintana ang mga sandali hanggang
unti-unti kang humulas bilang isang henna,,na para bang
di ko lubos namalayan bakit pa di ko ginawang totoong
tattoo ka,,nang sa gayon mapatunayan ko sayo ang iyong
imahe ang pinaka-aasam ko bilang ekspresyon kong
simbolo- na ikaw at ang pagiging magaan mo subalit
kaakit-akit ay siyang karapat-dapat
sa puso at isipan ng isang capricornian
at maghihintay ako sa iyo hanggang sa dulo ng aking pagdaraanan........

naganap na!!!
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