Modern day crusaders,
Don't use swords.
For you don't need a blade,
To follow a God and reform.

So go preform,
And understand.
There is a non-violent way,
To save the day.

Were you looking for someone to love?
Somewhere to sink your teeth?
Little strangles of baby's breath,
excited in the shadows.
An epiphany to undo?
Was I so easy?

Where I come from the dead watch over us;
we sing our names until they're one.
The women hunt with dogs and carry guns,
and the stars shimmer at night.
I forgot all this power inside me.

A shock of flatteries—
the peacock feathers of psychopaths.
Poisonous things are colorful,
flowers full of hooks, hot pearls around the neck;
love bombs of mass destruction.
We danced and danced around the shiny red button,
high on the dark, afraid to see the light.

Remember the pink rabbits,
throwing them at my feet,
their veiny little ears?
Killed what you could to frighten me!
And the honey *** of promises?
Using the bees against me.
My own ***, really?
You couldn't get the honey;
the honey was a lie.

Just because you want it doesn't make it so.
Did no one ever tell you no?
You think you hold the power
when you take the queen—
you wish... chess is a man's game.
Infinity can shift in a moment.
I have become bored of bee stings,
and violent kisses on the mouth.

Clarity is harder than denial.
I admit, it took me a while.
Fixation, denigration, isolation,
then utter destruction.
War is a breathtaking art.
I stand in awe of your strategy.
I gave you my sweet little head on a platter.
Perversions burned away the sugar and spice.

But I am not made of everything nice.
When I am myself,
I do not lie down with predators.
I'm made of mountain lions who turn and turn in circles,
churning to butter at my feet.
Where is the cream?
You're the spoiled milk, spoiled brain.
What made you so insane?

I fell for the uninvited vampire,
the blood-******* thief.
How dare you terrify me with your dogs?
I feed them honey—a gift from the bees.
Allegiances change, Shadow Man.
You can't come to my window anymore.
Now your dogs will **** for me.

Am I still pretty?

I call on my grandmothers, collecting the pooled power.
I am back, a dripping goddess with guard dogs,
not safe to touch or get too close.
A weapon of mass destruction,
I control my own atoms, a nuclear flinch.
Your cold war turns and turns, in circles at my feet.
I lick the butter from my fingers.
Do you still like me?
Am I still easy?

You are the epiphany.

Through the world's eyes, there can't be enough loving.
But have I loved enough?
When do I become done?

The moon doesn't care what I will regret.
The rain won't remember my stories.
The desert already knows all about illusion.

That I could control the rat babies being born and eaten by the cat,
Their tiny heads leftover in the grass.

That I could undo the night on the mountain,
The coyote that ran under my car, too dark to stop its body.

That I could prevent the roadrunner from picking off my hummingbirds,
One by one, like beetles on a cactus.

That I could keep the hawk and owl apart,
Afraid for the hawk, because the owl always wins.

That I could force the snow, or the winks from strangers on the trail,
Or the beating of my own heart.

That I could halt death at my door, my lovely door,
Set close by the rosemary and hummingbirds.
How could I leave the feeders empty?

I am not in control, but I am made of hope.
The over-feeling fool in the deck.
Heart-struck and blind to the dangers of the cliff.
I stand right on the craggy edge.
Oh—how stunning the view!
Destined to die for beauty once again.
This time under the big sky, stooping to kiss the rocks.
To lie down with the deer a million times.

The shooting star shot across the black sky, but I missed it.
Is that what sin is?

We fly too close to the hot sun.
Because nothing is more natural than burning up in the sands of the desert,
After a long fall.

But I cannot leave my hummingbirds.
But I cannot leave my deer.
But I cannot leave my mountain.

Who will give the hummingbirds their sugar water?
Who will mourn the packrats when I am out of sight?

But I must go when I go.
To be golden like the cottonwoods in fall.
The cottonwoods chase the waterways and that makes them holy.

Dying is the letting go of the deep breath.
Dying is falling asleep in the fog, when the cold front moves on the mountain.
Slipping into that courseless moment of oblivion and the long exhale.

And then there is a new star.
It streaks and shoots, lighting up the black sky.

I see it now.

All the stories fold into me.

I am finally full enough and I am done in the desert.

i don’t understand and i don’t think i ever will
siding with a monster that they know put me through years of hell

choosing him repeatedly
turning their fake snake backs on me
while he moves on so happily?

[deep sigh]

**** that.
and honestly?
*******, too, if you side with him
making all kinds of judgments like you’d know the type of pain i’m in

i had set plans and goals and aspirations a-plenty
long gone now, stuck in my feelings and my ways well in my twenties
my brain machine on repeat cycle for these soiled memories,
left here navigating a world where i no longer even know which me is me

“one night, that’s all it takes”
except it wasn’t; again i say for YEARS i stayed
going ‘too far a single time’ doesn’t negate his common rage

anyways
i get you love him and his music but i don’t really care
he’s a darkness lurking waiting to manipulate the air
a shadow: stalking, smothering, secret-holding, thieving(,) *******
that last one’s for me; because i hate him, if you haven’t gathered

“it happened WHEN? wow, THAT LONG AGO? just get over it”
“there’s no need to keep living in the past”
“what a crazy *****”

i’m sorry, i can’t hear you, you’ve caught me at a real bad time
i’ve gotta do something about that dang machine again
all it seems to do these days is WHINE

here’s to him:
go ahead and tell your little friends how i'm the crazy one
but don't forget to mention all the ****** up **** you've ever done
i know what you think and say about me to your new girls—
—but how about you?
can’t unleash your feelings without revealing the ***** truth

what the ******* think you’re laughing at?
let’s give you something to cry about instead
can’t remember just whose side you’re on after i flip the switch and see that red
not talking violence, sorry, i tend to get a little heated
it’s this lack of closure, justice, resolution that i’m needing

he knows exactly what he did, he just won't admit it
he doesn't seem to like that i put him in this "tough" position
kind of ironic, don't you think? given the situation

purity stained blood red
the children mask the brutal
scene through thin hope
the ruin that follows with
every rippling
explosion

it's funny to imagine, with just a lone missile of hate
from the hands of the mighty and cruel
your life can end without reason
and in vain they will deem
your life

there’s enough anger in one man
to put even the Gods to shame;
it speaks to him in
mournful moments, when -
the shadow of doubt clouds  
his acumen, and his candour
reigns far too long.

he sleeps with it;
dreams of it;
and once it has
invaded his subconscious,
he revels in it --
it makes him feel powerful,
and hungry for a scam
that disguises itself as a reward.

belittled by his own words,
he seeks refuge in others
who share his wrath -
for they are everywhere:
they help him carve his words
into a dagger of insecurity,
with which he stabs those
who tried to offer him
an antonym for violence;

the blood he draws shall
dye his conscience -
evil red.

Swaying curtain in the window,
airguns after dinner,
broken doll on the highway,

a promise is a promise.

The small winters
in the corner of her eyes,
Mom and Dad, they hold serve
in the garden, at the office,
no one is watching as she reels,

hurt whispers on.

Walking past stones and trees,
the bones of things,
coming at it all wrong,
this time she makes a promise,

under a name that hides her.

Don't you wish, sometimes, that you could turn your brain off?

Sometimes they're all at once, one after the other
Those are usually the self-deprecating ones
They're like little flecks of hot cigarette ash on my heart
on my
           mind
that don't feel all that bad.
but when its one
after another                       𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱
after another                       𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
after another                       𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴
It consumes me in flames
The scalding heat leaving my heart melted and my mind raw
Until it's nothing but ash and
nothingness.                       𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Other times, they're completely random and
really ******* atrocious.
𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.
𝘍𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.
𝘗𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.
𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.
𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴.
𝘙𝘶𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤.
𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
𝘑𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦.
𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴.
𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴,
𝘖𝘳- 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵
𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯                                
                                 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯                
              𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

It's terrifying.
Makes me think I'm going insane, or that I'm some monster
which, in transparency, isn't so unbelievable.

I truly just wish, most the time, that I could turn my brain off.