I tare open my eyes
every morning, broken away from haunting adventures.
Aware of society thriving around me,
conscious beings emanating their skills,
simply living.

But here I lay,
awake, but not fully feeling so.
Watching the world continue around me,
while I linger, engulfed in a thought.
That I am simply not awake.

You do not have to be good
If you hear the whispers
Faint in the hallways
of your own heart
You have already heard
that there is no good
Only that which your
lips ache for
In pangs bowels deep
Where flesh raises at
the thought of ends
where poorest judgement
Lies awake with torment
It is the very breath of our disaster.

They’ll make you feel like the bottom of a shoe.
Like you’re just meant to be walked on until you wear through.
But the only thing you have in common with a shoe is that you know what the ground feels like because their weight pushes you toward it every day.
And they may tell you that you’re all hormones and ***** moans.
But that’s just not true.

The words I take from my left breast pocket
Come out like silly business cards
The ones I pull from my front jeans pocket
Come out like a nuisance, spare change
But the words that come easiest by far
Are the ones that spout from my heart
They glitter like gems with unending shine
So I give them quite often as gifts
Humble and pretty
Wrapped as brown paper packages
Tied off with a rhyme of twine
I gift them endlessly
To all and any
Without a thought of return in mind

First, it was the stars on my ceiling
Glow-in-the-dark stars
That I stuck up there with double-sided, sticky foam
I stared at them every night,
Thinking These are the real deal
I traced them with my index finger,
Squinching up one eye so that I could play
Connect-the-Dots: Cosmic Edition

Then it was the stars on my walls,
Boy bands and Orlando Bloom
The epitome of hot, I thought
My friends and I would trade each other
Picking and choosing our favorites
The very best were the ones where you couldn’t decide
Which side to display of
My Galaxy Love

Then there were the stars in my eyes,
The ones everyone told me about
The only stars that were ever real
I used to look for them in the mirror
Leaning forward
But maybe they just meant that my splotchy
Gold-brown irises looked like the cosmos my
Eye Color: Starry

Now I see the stars in the heavens,
White, shiny stars,
Like pin-pricked holes in the sky,
Patterns that people tell me are there
That I pretend to see
These are the real stars, I think,
But after all this time maybe there are no stars
Maybe stars are just a dream

I am white
thin and frail
I am dry and
creased and
torn and
You can burn me
anytime you like
but perhaps
color me instead
or at least first

Dry assumptions,
You know what they say.
Ridicule without wonder.
Just a scratchy throat,
A hollow cough,
and a request for water.

A slew of basic questions,
Like a prepared selection,
A magic uninterested eight ball.
A scratchy throat,
A hollow cough,
an excuse to focus elsewhere.

Dry assumptions,
You know what they say.
A slew of basic questions,
Ridicule without wonder.
A magic uninterested eight ball,
Is asking for some water.

I am soft-hearted,
And Sapphic.
But she is not a human girl
Anymore.

Every time I lay her to rest,
She rises
Like a phoenix.
Or a zombie.

She is soft-bodied.
Empty-headed.
Empty-hearted.

She is rotten to me.
All memory of her,
Warm woman,
Is gone now.
Her body is a dead thing.
A shell, only good for gutting.

My heart is spilling.

My insides are gooey.
They slip between other girl's hands-
Repulsive.
Hazardous.
A lost cause.

My heart is a terminal case.

Until it's replaced,
I am all robot.

Hard-bodied.
Hard-headed.
Empty-hearted.

Every girl
Who gives me the kiss-of-life
Is cursed.

I search for a shell
To put my dead into.

But she is in cahoots
With the rotted.

All I want
Is a soft-hearted girl
To lay with.

To lay me down
To rest.

To love to death.

fem in isms,
i imagine Sapphic eyes:
bad *** advert coruscates elite
fairness sensing slavish blind
in gestate calm affirm
in genders More numerous of Windows--
Superior--for Doors--
O harsh judgement foiled,
as a foil, as unknown truth
foil-doubles in the brow,
abject symmetry to systemize
a fertile lack of sterile barrenness,
i am a mediatrix rend,
nirwaan, hijra wonderment aside
from transemotion's ground swells
demeaning to be understood.
i celebrate and face the same
to be what paperwork tests being
normal being, freely chosen
atom each belonging moves
an asterisk of paths
of mutate art of nature social darwin maze.
i imagine Sapphic eyes,
ginko soft they pile up all cobble
memories themselves concretely
cloistered  fame
spray of salty waves,
macho screams symbol
for dismissal ease
for tearing at an inner unsaid war
with lists offense of proper taste
to what posterity intends
an undulation womblike seeming nourish safety sounds.
i imagine Sapphic eyes
past
debauched
meanderings
where hyster-clarity rejoins its titular
and reliable escapisms curl the lips
of maleness found
here and there  smile  sneer love
i imagine Sapphic eyes
linguistic pirouettes
congest that wisdom nonetheless
the moment passed  on to a
feigning truth in pretty rhyme
ornamenting time with fine  meter  fine
vernacular chimes peter in
to juggle perspectival paradox,
redichotomize the twilight idols,
resolve the conflict like a dawn
Aurora,
i imagine Sapphic eyes
running plastic with Alaskan wolves,
toga floats to snow
to let us see the purest fairness form
a ****** circle,
Hypatia ascends from tenebrous grave,
Impregnable of Eye is pregnant now
with Wollstonecraft revered
in liberation's fount
families held exemplar gaze of
Taylor, ******, Cady,
Anthony resanctified
to vote entitlement's
empathic origins, waxen mold
of nascent categories,
narrow hands spread wide to panoply anew
the manifest evolve in true unknowns