Mary, Mary
Quite contrary
Egressed from the East Indies
A lost child
Grief is a long hallway
With sketches of pain
Adorning the walls
Hope is a drawer
With a hidden key

Bottled-up
Mary Lennox
Jumps rope
Out in the cold
Hopscotching
And exploring
Follows the red robin
Enters the garden
Long forsaken
Befriending life within
Evoking life without
With the one exception
Of herself

Mary had a little plan
"Might I have a bit of earth?"
To plant
And to chant
To sow
And to grow
To return a loved one
To both father and son
To open the secret garden again
And feel the inner workings
Of her heart begin

For years, you've asked questions
you can never seem to find the answer to.
"How do I make someone love me?"
"How do I know if my feelings are true?"
So tonight, I have a secret I'd like to share with you.
It's something not a lot of people know or know how to do.
The secret? Be you.
I know vulnerability is scary.
But true love gets its strength from the heart.
And if you can find the courage to be proud of who you are, you may not find love immediately, but it's a **** good place to start.

i’ve become star-flooded.
my mouth’s overrun with sunk stars,
stars studding my cupid’s bow hollows,
dripping onto my hands and the high pile carpet.
their waxy-hot gloss is scalding and sharp,
white rust still engulfing my tongue in unpolished
supernovas and sparks
sparking metal-doused cinder and oxygen darkness.
i’ve become star-glutted,
my star-clotted lungs are heavy,
stars twine through my breathing like the sweat of a
cigarette-blotted miasma,
eroding the chasms, the veins of my shivering fingertips stretching
tips reaching for stars, for star-bellied galaxies,  
fingertips stretching towards cavities, onyx skies flashing,
for stars with their clashing and golden-scorched glow,
for a star-buried secret
i lost long ago.

She dances
moonsoaked and citrine
with pale paper skin,
smooth palms open toward the sky
and from her desert-kissed lips
spill wildflower prayers.

She knows she is but
 a fleeting impression 
against the canvas of the night
so she betrays all her silver secrets
to the all too eager wind
who whisks them away
to some dusky autumnal den.

The roses are blooming and cloying
The vase on the counter is new
I find it acutely annoying
That one of your rugs is askew.
I know from your eyes you’re enjoying
The very same wine I can’t stand.
I spend the entire night toying
With the ring sitting on my left hand.

You say, “Is there anything sweeter
Than kissing a lover goodbye?”
The creak of the puttering heater
Absolves me the need to reply.
You make a drunk toast to St. Peter,
To reaching his heavenly vault.
I wonder how badly you treat her;
I wonder how much is my fault.

The night has grown frigid and waning,
I stare out the windows and smoke.
You yawn and begin your complaining
On how she is running you broke.
Outside, it is sullen and raining,
I’m heavy with secrets I keep.
I know there’s no point in remaining.
When I leave, you’re already asleep.

Abstract extremities
Indirect, flawed with hidden meaning
The author is dead
That's what they said
She's put away,
Still screaming
To this day

as we escaped reality
within boundless lands

where the golem lives!
where the golem lives!

as we tried to make it
finally finna don't fake it

and as we entered our land
secretly; always warm

where the golem lives!
where the golem lives!

an infinite loophole
children adults and groups

it had never been too late
we had never gone that far

where the golem lives!
where the golem lives!
where the golem lives!
where the golem lives!