Who cries for the little children
When pain and hurt fall upon
The little hearts of purest love
From the hands of the cruel and sick

Who cries for the little children
Locked up and fed a fist
Thrown around the floor like dust
No meals or drink no more

Who cries for the little children
When their voices are so mute
The only thing they know right now
Is life must be extinct

So let them fall into the arms
Of hearts that truly love
In sleep forever they rest now
And tears shall fall no more

She's gone

And all the years
of holding in
Of denying  my truth
in order to protect her
from-

     the truth ..

Of the horrors that she has done
Of the horrors
they both have done.

They are both gone now
No longer inhabitants
of this earth
No longer here
to bring the risk
of making little
what it was
that was not so very little

Even if they owned it
who could find the words?
There are not words
to describe the horrors

Are there left  enough years
to make up for the ones
the locusts have eaten?


    There  are no words
    to ever be able  to describe

    just  how  much  
    the locusts have eaten

I struggle with my heart.
It’s so bruised. I’m still healing.
It feels tender to the touch.
When anyone gets close
a guard rises up out of my mind
to close off access.

Through the shield she peers out,
desiring love, to press against
another’s beating heart.
But she still bleeds sometimes,
the wounds don’t heal
like they do in the physical.
I don’t know how to close
the lacerations,
and so they remain open.

I look into myself,
and cry into my broken heart.
The astral tears are bitter
and cause the heart to ache.
Perhaps all that can be done
is to hold my broken pieces together,
and let time pass,
recreating me again and again.
Create so many new layers of me
that my heart is intact once again.
Day by day, choosing to be whole
will manifest a whole new being.

Eyes are all puffy
Hair is disheveled
Tears in gelato
Make it much sweeter

The heart thumps loudly
Each cell 100 pounds
The distance from you
Increases the force

When I lie awake
And wish for you near
You are closer than
If I see you daily

Yearning for the zenith
Brings so much pleasure
What is left to want
When the end does come?

there's a few ways it manifests
just in every way
                                    some small tinge of preference
      erupts into a spiraling sink drain

dragging me into the dirt
                                                        of my own self worth

broken down by my fascinations until
                                       a new picture emerges

a different perspective
                                                           maybe this time better?

                            almost always worse




because I'll never deserve it