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Cecelia Francis Aug 2015
Flatterer (n).

Bits of silver whispered
from a well-polished tongue;

a certain flexing of fondness
Cecelia Francis Aug 2015
Embouchure (n).

A certain lemon-*******
puckering of the lips pressed
against a moistened surface;

a sure fire way of producing
some string of singing sounds
from some dictionary terms.... might get back to these
Cecelia Francis Aug 2015
Cheap (adj).

How your mother thinks
you look in that outfit
Cecelia Francis Aug 2015
Bananas (n).

The things with a curve,
a little thick and firm and squishy;
durable outer cover for protection
november Jul 2014
make peace with the pieces

read fingers like pages.
print your ideals on karma.
forget the sound of loss.
pray your presence into being.
carry your struggles on wind.

a hollow silence eerie.
the common constant
concerned only with thought.
mind mouthing reasons,
behind the affront
of being heard.

head heavy & compressed,
there is lead between my ears.
eyelids stapled to the floor.
amassed angst,
my gravity consumes me.
currently going through a major transition in the little life that appears a colossal mess to me. these were among the first words to listen.
I wonder if when Thomas Jefferson scrawled out the Declaration he could see the world that I have come to know.

I wonder if he would understand the nation that would blossom from under his inflammatory words.

Would he know that the world would never be so simple as black and white if only because a racial lawsuit might come from it?

Would he see the world burn up in a digital fire that no nostalgia would ever be able to quench?

Would he know the society that would simultaneously spew rantings of "You're special" and "You are never going to be right enough to live here"?

How about that war that taught the people that it's okay to hate those who fight so that you can love another day?

Or even the world that has severed so deeply within its own walls that you can only hold on to you hearts and hope that might not be severed too?

I wonder what this man could have been declaring so seriously that he would send men to war for it, just to have the papers he and his dear friends were writing on be the shield that politicians might use to prevent their fallout.

Freedom is not objective. And Subjectively speaking, this freedom we've been given comes with about ten thousand terms and conditions that none of us are going to read anyway because this is Amurica and we don't do that here.

— The End —