the dreams fall from the sky,
into the children’s hands
a small child reaches her open and filthy palms to the sky,
a girl sets aside her books,
cradles a spider web of rain droplets
tucking in her heart,
the deepest corners of her brain, they’re one in the same.

love is so good when love is young
she knows this herself,
a sweet taste so different to the fires she knew
snatched away from her by her own hands
her own hands -broken as a scholar’s, as a child’s,
but never as the youth
never broken as a youth.

she breathes life into her spiderweb,
wrapped around her back
lacing itself around her
up her neck and behind her eyes
with each stroke of her pencil
each late night
each missed night
she sets her web free and begins to climb it as it grows inside her.

all her laughs,
shared with her spiders,
are we spiders or are we girls?
making our own webs, climbing them
-we look like girls
we look like girls as we wield our weapons,
watch our love die.
we are red widows,
hands dripping with blood.

Spider on the wall in a shower stall
Immobilized

Skeleton to the end, a somber mule
Beast of burden

Each successive time I claim
I'm in a balanced state

Surprise!
Psychoses.

What do I feel, if I even feel at all?
I'm ashamed and quite frankly, I'm confused.

No longer would I want to question
what is already known to be true. . .
yet where is thy confirmation?
'tis an ode past due

there are glimpses
of which I can't quite catch
where I linger
and now find
caught in this beautiful,  
intricately woven web of loneliness—

m̷y̷s̷e̷l̷f̷

What Does He Do but spin me up with sunshine?
batting away
the Bad Boys
with a broom
because Beautiful
Bashful Women
should not belong
where they´re Blushed
-Black and blue-
Beaten through
and through
-then Blessed
to do it again.
Sally says she loves him
Steven says me too
stupid Sally
Silly Sally
said this much too soon
sliding down a spiders nest
down its slippery silk
Dark and Warm a home away
Staying ¨safe¨ where sally´s used to
try hard
not to
focus on that
Black and Blue Blushed face

I’ve made friends
with the half-dead
spider
in my bathroom;

we watch each other’s
attempts at crawling
every morning-

him, in any
general direction,
and me,
to ease my stomach
into the toilet bowl.

he cheers for me
as I retch
and retch
and throw up
a little
stomach bile,

spit,
wipe my mouth,
thank my audience;

he’s my
best friend,
but he
doesn’t drink
unfortunately.

Spider weaves a net,
Bumblebee waits till finished;
Karma’s thread decides!