Penetrate me tight-fitting and penetrate me pinned down
The lycanthropic creature you ******
This is la vie en Venus’ flytrap

When you poke me, ****** moans
And though I squeeze my vaginas
I taste la vie en Venus’ flytrap

When you ***** me abutting your *****
I’m inside a hobnobbing alien
A metagalaxy where Venus’ flytraps win a beauty contest

And when you *******, cyclopses moo from upstairs
Heterosexual homophones seem to pervert ***** Adams Glorias

Splash out your cream and gumption to me
And ***** lust loosely wash
La vie en Venus’ flytrap

It was an autumn day; a fresh aroma the air.
Breathing in deeply, I was trapped in a snare.
How was I loured into this dangerous trap,
I just was not looking or even aware.
There was a sweet sticky dew tasting like mead,
This honey nectar turned my head to greed.
Losing control I was going out of my mind,
In a strange flower bed, I left my world behind.
Now wondering in a deep psychedelic dream,
I am floating eagerly down a rainbow stream.
Tender fresh flesh standing bold and proud,
Attracting prey with her bright coloured shroud.
Giving in freely, about to be devoured.    
My censors telling me I was being deflowered.
There were silky soft hairs all over my skin,
Is a shocking end about to begin?
If no one had noticed I was ensnared in this place,
It may have all ended in humiliation and disgrace.
Now in so deep I have lost all self control,
It was as if a demon had stolen my soul.
Just then a watchful serpent raised its head,
Looking straight at me it hissed and said.
“I can see you; you have had your fun,
Now it is time to pay, or get out and run”.
Shocked out of the dream, I saw my plight,
What he said was true, I made my flight.
Lucky to escape, my advice is here,
If you see a Venus Flytrap,
STAY CLEAR.

Misty little corner
In a blue Room
Calls out to the mourner
Immersed in doom.

Grey furniture makes
Greyer memories
Faults, taunts and insipid
Fallacies.

Blue is the colour of the eye
It's inside is filled with a neon so fly.
The pink tree of life ******
Venus flytrap dissolves in juices.

The eye looks, the eye appalls.
The eye resigns, the eye dissolves.

The pink trap reopens again.
Lust curls into the corner in vain.
The misty blue corner like a white canvas,
Fills with all its colours again.

Pink is the monster,
Blue is the perpetrator,
Green is the debilitator.

And I, the wild colourless mind,
Sits by the wall and conjures this mishap.
All dreams are flies,
And I, the Venus flytrap.

it drains from me like blood
like sacred hyms of love
through torments of your mercy
here do i rise above

what is all that which turns
Gods into but men
treacherous pangs of loss
with streams on cheeks again

as if a walk in park
innocent satin dreams
yet fallen to abyss
on edge of time it seems

for when you jail me in
between the heaves of storm
in jaws of clueless beauty
trapped i shall transform

------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------------------

moments all spent in eyes
in arms of soverign lap
guiltlessly i'll fall for you
to cunning venus flytrap

The yellow aura
spiraled my night elf hunter avatar
as the DUN-DUMM
of false accommplishment
incited my addiction to
instant gratification.

I had just Leveled up.

The quest giver
gave me a choice

****** boots
Or
a less ****** Dagger

I took the ****** boots
because
**** the system
they looked cooler.

I was going to stomp cave spiders anyway,
what's the point of relinquishing
looking **** fine.
for an extra Attack Point?

****** Boots.

****** boots ALL Day long.

A naked human avatar
dances
facing a naked gnome
Named: "Buzz Lightyear"
He is Also dancing,
at crotch height.

This is Typical starting zone
foolery

I stayed up
watching Toonami all night
Naruto, Bleech, Inuyasha.
I could tell the sun came up
not because there was a window in my Kitchen,
there wasn't.

Tom and Jerry came on.
everyone knows
when Tom and Jerry came on
you were no longer pulling an
"all nighter."
You're pulling a
"Drink enough Soda
to get through the rest
of the day-er"

My entire diet
these past two days
has consisted of Gushers & Vault
because
Clearly Coca-Cola is superior
to Pepsi.

Therefore, Vault
was superior to Mountain Dew.
Which is the typical choice drink
of my internet brethren.

I don't know why I dyed my hair black nobody online could see it
But it made me feel
more
like my Night Elf Avatar

I wanted long white hair
I realized that's impossible
in 6th grade
So I Bought & Settled for Black
At least I could be like
"L" from death note,
Long sleeve white shirt, jeans
with no shoes.

I could also be
any other black-haired charecter
From any other angsty Anime
Because of course I loved angsty Anime
Because I held my cell phone like "L"
From Death Note.

I always dreamed
of this singing venus fly trap.

A Fuzzy Memory with a lost Origin
I realized seven years later
the Singing venus flytrap in my head
was AUDREY 2
from Little Shop Of Horrors.

Netflix reunited us in College
Audrey 2 finally Serenaded Me.
I listened with Voyeuristic Intentions
As memory saprilings grew
into the full songs
relieving the void in my soul
Lingering for a Man to be attacked
by a singing venus fly trap
in his own kitchen.

But only once,
Because I firmly beleived
movies should only be seen once
until I stopped
dyeing my hair black.
Despite watching Space jam
more times than any kid born in 1995 Should have
but still
all the kids born in 1995
watched space jam
more than any of them should have
because they were born in 1995.

Apparently
when I first saw little shop of horrors
it aired just before osmosis jones.

I love osmosis jones
almost as much as I love
Buzz lightyear, of Star Command

Buzz lightyears robot companion XR
reminded me of Cyberchase
and to this day Cyberchase
is the best show to watch
when you have no idea
who Gilbert Godfrey is.

Zoombinis is better
than oregon trail.
and also better
than Tom and Jerry.
but not better
than leveling my night elf Hunter.
Named:
"FEED ME A PIZZA!"

I think I spent more time
getting my Zoombinis
to look just right
then I Spent deciding
what outfit to wear

Routine
Black striped Hoodie
Unwashed and worn every day
Grey skulls all over it, because
of course it had grey skulls all over it.
Black pants.
Black socks
No actually, THESE black socks.
Okay, got gushers
and my Coca-Cola.

I now take as much time
to choose my outfit as
designing the perfect Zoombini.
however I have yet to replace
my legs
With
a skateboard.

I think that every grade before sixth grade is fourth grade
and 6th grade is basically 7th grade
which is to say my memory skips them both
to remember ending eighth grade

I miss being cool on the Internet
Whilst lame and forgotten in real life.

like black sock
wasn't quite as good
as that other Black sock.

I wanna go back.
To the seperation
Of who we pretend to be
Vs. who we actually are.
To be dramatic again.
incomparable.

An ideal self on the internet
Who is obviouslly not the real you
is decades more comforting
than Some Characatureized
Facebook Profile.

Today I was offered a choice

Work A minimum wage job
or
continue my useless college degree.

I decided to write a poem, because
**** the system.
If I am to Decide where to respawn from
Let it be poetry.

There is no spiraling Yellow aura
or DUN-DUMM

Sometimes there is snapping though.
Or a lost memory
of A singing venus Fly Trap.

I am a pretend person.
An avatar
just now, I have skin.
You can touch me
I breath without a Macro
or even pressing any keys.

I cannot bring myself to
Watch Space Jam again.
I can Identify Gilbert Godfrey's voice.
I will buy my children zoombinis
And it will collect dust
When all they want
Is to watch the fifth Toy Story movie
Way more than any kid born in 2020 should.
And all the kids born in 2020
Will Watch the fifth Toy Story Movie
Way more than they should
because they
will have been born
in 2020.

And I will rant
about the Missing LGM
and Warp Darkmatter
betraying Buzz Lightyear
By joining Evil Emperor Zurg
So Buzz was forced
to get three new Partners
Princess Mira Nova
Audrey 2
and Osmosis Jones.
because I will have Forgotten
Booster & XR.
Because Booster and XR
Never made a ******* Facebook Profile.

Nobody exists anymore.
We are all represented by our avatars
holding ourselfs up to the standards
of our photoshopped reflections

Being disappointed and overwhelmed

I Take pills to forget that I am
Acting Like myself
but can't find any evidence of Existing.
Besides these memories
of who i used to be.

I want my internet persona
to be nothing like me
So that I may focus on myself
in the real world coherently.

I want thick black lines
dividing mental Venn diagrams

I want Tom and Jerry
To signal me
That it is morning, again.

I want brass knuckles
to sport between back allies and gleam in the street light
a neon sign that says all boogie monsters beware
I want weapons to flash in the sight of men
while they try to peek up my skirt.
Let all boys know I'll shoot a pistol
before letting them near my ***** line.
Do all the things action movies told me to
in order to stay alive.
But my first abuser wasn't a shadow in the alley,
or a bruised and sweating testosterone filled brute.

She was a tiny, silly bird
that lit up a room with the colour of her feathers,
And a bubbling laughter like morning song.
She was a little girl
a damsel in distress
you'd want to cup your fingers around
to shield and protect.

But one night,
her songs spilled over her lips,
distorted through ***** filled breath.
Her thin limbs became persistent and demanding
in the face of an electrified buzz.
She was presented to me like a flower.

But when the truth came to her the next day
And it was forced into her mind
The petals didn't unfurl
The curled inward and shut
any intimate details snapped between the teeth
of the Venus flytrap.

Her guilt dissolved
Somehow putting me at fault
How dare I frame the gentle martyr.
What a mistake, that I made,
trying to force the blame
on a little girl, certainly not capable of ****** assault.

Why would anyone believe that
this pretty queer activist would try to **** this boy.
Not listen to the 'no',
in between insistence of her enthusiastic noise.

Why listen to petty rumors of her past
When she's offering you wide blue eyes,
freckles spread across her skin like stars in the sky,
and a giggle inviting you in between pink glossed lips?
Why bother paying attention to how touchy
she gets with alcohol
When shes telling you
you're the fairest of them all.
After all, she is not what the big bad wolf looks like.

She truly believes in her innocence,
She may even bring it up between drinks and activism.
Ignore the people she has pushed the boundaries of,
Ignore more than six people she's pushed under the rug,
The victims at parties who's mouths she's sewn shut.

All the ignorant she has under her thumb,
with all the people in the camp of:
"We like Moira, so she would never -
even though we weren't there,
and you're not the first to come forward."

I learned the hard way
that rapists aren't just sleezy men at bars.
They're girls with sweet smiles
that slip into your friend circle.

But they're also that guy
in the corner of a room at a dorm party.
Inviting you back to his room for a blunt
and doesn't expect you to leave til morning.

People who have respected my pronouns have ****** me over.
People I sleep in beds with.
People who assure their friends they'd never push for consent.
I still see the mutual friends we have on facebook.
Unapologetically smiling back at me from the computer screen.

They don't ask for details
as to keep their conscious clean.
They shy from those assaulter's shame
Because bliss is ignorance.
And because rapists can be hard to hate.

I know that it's tempting to ignore
an invasive touch for a pretty face.
But it feels like a kick to the stomach
hearing my best friend will be
sleeping at her boyfriends place
With my ****** abuser the next room over.

I don't know why people
don't see my story as legitimate
It was that boy's shoulder I first cried on
and now they're soon to be roommates.

Do people wish that badly to believe in fairy tales?
That the bad guys are always obvious and ugly
and easy to despise.
The heroes are always the beautiful ones
who never dare lie?
No, they're the people who make their way
into your lives.
The people you like
The people who get close.
Who hear you cry.

I want to defend myself from those villains
but I don't have the benefit of x-ray vision.
I can't see through their trust-worthy mask.
I don't need knives and guns and broken glass,
Just friends who have my back.

Take no ****.
And be there for me,
Listen and believe
when people speak up
about *** crimes in emergencies.
**** is not a joke.

It isn't a mistake made by accident.
It's a conscious choice to ignore someones voice,
And decide your ****** desires,
are more important than someone's ****** autonomy.

Twice now I've been violated
By supposed friends trying to take my off my clothes,
and not listening to my 'no's.
Twice now I've seen people stand by them
and try to silence the truth,
Cover up all the abuse,
but make no excuse:

There's a wolf amongst your flock
A thorny rose in your garden.
And uprooting me for dealing with that *****
Instead of nipping that problem in the bud
Is not going to keep you safe from harm.
It may put your mind at ease
But only temporarily.
It does no good just to silence the alarm.

I swear I-I never wanted to trap a butterfly

It's all my fault
shards of ceramic scattered in disarray
It's so surreal
scattered soil, cautious footsteps
an unsettling sight, distorted situation
The roots' exposed

I have no right to cry
After all
I broke your heart
didn't I?

I tried to get past the past, but
all I know is loss
all I do is grieve
All I hear is ambient noise
Ringing through my head
all I know is violence
all I do is parkour

And avoid the feeling

Checked out
found the exit
and chose
To grieve you today
Cause I can't bare the thought of losing you sometime down the road
When you hate me
And regret me
and we'll be screaming about all your wasted time

I can't be what you want me to be
And I know I'm not what you need
I don't know the person in your head
But I know it's a concept I can't complete
And you can't handle the person I am

I swear I never, I never wanted to trap a butterfly

Please, believe me
I swear it wasn't my intention
I didn't mean anything by it
I only wanted to escape
For a moment
See all the colors before I go blind
No worries, no responsibilities
Fill my lungs at the top of the world

Running through
crowded places
And you grab my hand
before
I
get
hit
by
speeding
cars

I don't understand
how did you get me laughing

It must've been the caffeine
For a moment
the geranium almost thrived

Now I'm too old to be
Drinking alone at noon
Pretty pink drinks
As pretty as Dianthus in spring  
Is that what you meant
When you were explaining your feelings?

Well, the bartender is adorable
But I can't bare to look at brown eyes full of pity
Like they can see right through me

I swear I-I never, I never wanted to trap a butterfly

So I leave
And
Speeding
cars
are
honking
loud and angry
almost hit me
Hilarious
If only
then I could
finally escape
and I can
finally feel...
Nevermind
It doesn't matter

Poison slips into the cracks and crevices
Under the skin
Down the throat
Into the lungs
Behind the ribs
Irreversible structural damage
nectar of dissolution
Dissolve the heart

You know who you are

I swear I never wanted to **** a butterfly

Venus flytrap

You hit. A flopped an fit lien to then bgs. .,. S€€


You knew. That wingding sis my tots fav font you know this




,,.h so you're is Tia dim a frog

And this frig lies till I lie in ab oboe






I'm a g I'm. P and and op g




So I'd you want to fight me I just might ***, Yee

I caught a fruit fly
In my DIY flytrap
It’s circling around
Taking its last lap

I should feel proud
My effort succeeded
I mostly feel sad
My effort was needed

I caught a fruit fly
You can see it right there
Oh it’s looking at us
That hardly seems fair

Death is taking too long
I should release it outside
I wish this was over
My guilt can’t abide

No doubt it’s for the best
Health and safety are first
No more flies in my kitchen
Flies are the worst

Except I’m watching it die
Or waiting, anyhow
Yes, that sounds terrible
So who’s the worst now?

It’s walking on the glass
The creepy fly show
Why am I feeling so bad
Wait- where’d that fly go?!

I’m making a new flytrap
With plenty of tape
A flytrap so secure
No more flies can escape

NCL 2019

I never realized the stickiness of apathy
The creeping, oozing film it left
One day I found myself
Trapped
Stuck like fly in honey
Without will to struggle
Lackadaisical and lost
Staring at a sun that would surely fry me

It was only stalking predator
That sent me straining against my bonds
Desperate, suddenly, to be anywhere
Anywhere
Anywhere but here
The threat to my serenity
Made my captivity real

He would swallow everything I was
So I fought to care for freedom
Fought to care for
Myself
Bat my tacky wings
Until I whole-body Band-aid ripped myself
Away

He would swallow everything I was
Do not follow me
I commanded
Do not follow me
Do not follow
*I am my own

.
                                   V
                          e      e n       e
                        n       u s          n
                       u          V            u
                       s        e     n         s
                       V        u    s         V
                        e        V  e         e
                          n      n u        n
                              u    •       u
                                     S

She can feel
The thought
Blooming within her
Flowering mind
That will never wilt,
Dew of life
On her
Crown of petals
Hiding the thorns
Within her soul,
She'll spill nectar
Hungry hummingbirds
Static watchers
Of this beauty,
Releasing sweet
Her aroma
Upon the breeze,
But careful you
Lest her truth be
She's a Venus flytrap
Ready to ensnare you,
Handle with care...
© okpoet

A firetruck races past the isolate Blue Fox and infinity. Dulcimer clatters fading brickwork on the cross markets and churches where blind men are the imagining heaven. Luminescent Volcanic leaves heated from sunfire beautiful in the Spring choke lanes which are battered by abstract cavern homes. What happened to the Orient Harpsichord Serenity? Where does the Blue Fox go? Incense Markets Sauna with Smoke are busy in Denpasar while I'm here at a North American shopping mall where Ivory Columns cradled in violet fauna do wait sturdy and enchanted in rows.
Here I'm waiting by the leather clay shade bench in silent meditation breathing community whispers and listening clear to water pour from the lionhead fountain. Parrots caw atop a wide gated ceiling facing Empyreus.

There is a fire in America. The Blue Fox is hidden beneath firs and palms bathing in humidity. The Blue Fox is writing prophecies of economic collapse and rampant pointless murders making the newspapers. Ash storms blazing while banana painted trucks row on row attend to Victorian wood panels cooling to onyx powder in too short a time. There is no room for learning when The End Times go too quickly.
I'm listening to Bob Dylan scream instrumental prayer on harmonica rough against my ears. The Blue Fox treads February Beaches a few hundred miles from Australia and whistling the words of flowers in his head. He chews on wheatgrass jangling change in his fur pockets like those cartoons. He is the vision of Bohemia, he is an active star dazzled in this beguiled galaxy, yet in his spine he carries the turmoil doppleganger kept by all and known by none.
The firetrucks are doing all they can to quell the lung-poison vase boiling an apartment dancing inside but it continues to grow in its enraged fury.

There's a fire in America boys and girls, come around and see.
Canoes of memorial gold row through oppression and genocide, the Inuits and First Peoples of ancient years are wondering too where the blue fox went when agony cries the air. Stories of wisdom replaced with stories of war. Balaclavas labyrinthine through  exotic Bazaars thick with music and plants hanging off fishhooks and brass coat hangers while I write and dream of such Valhallas in my shopping mall on a quiet afternoon.
Bill is playing the banjo with faded paint and a single broken string, there he is on Yates! Cowboy hat made of charcoal velvet holding a meager collection of change.  
Stephen Schizophrenia is lying on his back watching aluminum kingdoms hover on by expanding nimbus clouds. He has eleven dollars to his name along with a damaged half torn belt with his initials engraved on the buckle  He taps his feet to Edith Piaf howling "La Vie En Rose" while an Airplane collides with his sacred personal aluminum palace, suddenly he can't block out the repressed memories he's fought decades to hide deep and dark in his bleak jazz enthralled brains.

Maybe we're all supposed to fall apart. Maybe we're designed to hurt and cause hurt. Where is that ****** Blue Fox? He's ebullient, thoughts fragmented in sharp bliss glass cutting him through while he rolls around the sands catching Buddha particles in his paws digging holes on Kuta Beach to his Idyllic land where happiness is forever and therefore false.

The Blue Fox falls in love overwhelming with everybody and every soul. So many souls by the billions every place! Even the tyrants. Even the demons. Even the necrophiliac scoring an OD'd brunette at twenty six from Anaheim who collapsed flatlined by prescriptions on a 3rd floor Complex.
He adores the narcissist who loves everybody as fully as The Blue Fox as long as they are herself. She is the harmonic untainted flytrap unaware of its own venomous nature but jealous of Summer and jealous of those whose names are heralded through generation to generation.
He adores The addict who is hollow of everything but the ****** sizzling under his patchy skin while he sinks from divinity swelling through his heart. He smiles while the remaining light dies inside him, left with only the regret remedies of suicide.
He adores The artist who fled to the big City and became nothing but watered down pigment after the Capitalists tossed him off the nearest skyscraper shouting pretentious metaphors.

The Blue Fox loves them all! He has no concept of the corrupt, or the lazy, or the greedy and needy and crazy and forgotten. They are all equal to him! The Blue Fox is knelt on paisley carpet smooth and spectacular! His regular India ashram, uplifting his body and his mind. The blue fox knows no doubt. Or anxiety, frailty or tears. He has no impulse or desire. The Blue Fox is joy in form and breathing spectrums of color mixing to combinations we cannot perceive.

There is a fire in america. It rages on unstoppable. It engulfs countries thousands of miles and histories away. It swallows the morning, noon and night. It protrudes disease in its wake. It heats up the ozone layer allowing radiation to make us more than cancer the zodiac. It causes our terror. It blots out our ardor. It havocs our heroes. Nothing is clean anymore. There is a fire in America.

And America is the world!  I'm watching out the front doors of this shopping mall where an elderly man trips at the food court escalator and becomes more renowned with every lethal collision down the tiles of freedom. Paramedics arrive shortly after and attend to another scalded by that same fire.
Up and up it goes!

Adios England's Venus flytrap
May you ever overflow inside our rectums
You were the ornament that inserted itself
Where spunks were pelted to pieces
You ******* in the open air to our promontory
And you squirted to those inside *******
Now you reciprocate to Abraham's *****
And the black holes crack spew out your barber's pole

And it seems to me you tasted your *****
Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea
Never drooping with knobs on the cherry lips
When the ooze congeal within
And your smells will always regurgitate here
Along England's juiciest blast—offs
Your cigarette lighter's exploded spew out long before
Your whiff ever go the whole hog

Voluptuousness we've jiggled
These frenzied wombs of time needing your clenched fist
This lava lamp we'll always get pregnant
For our breed's fair—haired brats
And even though we have a finger in
The clean breast seduces us to moistness
All our foghorns cannot ****
The ecstasy you stimulated us throughout the age groups

Like a Venus flytrap she enticed beauty
Captivated upon its purity it feed the
Mind malnourished of thoughts inside.

Absorbed its essence upon her own Decaying
Moments now nourished, withered moment
Now replenished, but still It dies.

Mrs withering was deaths other hand
Now all purified with her gaze. She was
The hand where beauty came to die.

You were the Venus flytrap enticing me in,
and once you'd imprisoned me; everybody knew it would begin.
I was only a flower with petals so withered,
I'd die at the hands of you, everybody figured.

The Venus flytrap
Is sleepily green,
A spot on the map.

i’m a flytrap in Saran Wrap
Definition clingy
shouldn’t be satisfied to be qualified
as the gum that’s stuck to your shoe

This anxiety could be all from nowhere
It might not be real
But honestly and actually
it’s just how i feel

Tell me what's wrong
Tell me why you give me these nervous glances in the hallways
Cross your arms and look away.
Are you worried?
Unsure of how to talk to me?
Well, my skinny jeans and sweater classmate
I am happy to chat.
I am apt to say hello to you.....
But I guess I'm worried too.
Do you have hard feelings because of the Venus flytrap I pulled us into
The scary thread I wove with the needle labelled SUICIDE?
Do not worry, for that tapestry has long been torn in half.
I'd just like to be friendly.

Don't ever tell me that
I need a man to ground me,
To stable me, to protect me,
To reign me in;
A man to be the bit in my mouth,
The collar at my throat,
The bars of a cage
Like I'm some wild animal.
If I did need a man,
I don't need to feel
The weight of his control
Crushing down on my ribs,
The incessant ticking of his
Calculator mind
Playing overhead like muzak.

For the love of all good,
Do not suffer me
The cautionary tales told from a lover's lips.
They slither down my throat
With their false slimy sweetness,
"I tell you this for your own good,
Baby, I promise, I love you."
But their faces twist with the words
And their hands clench,
And you know they're really just
Waiting for you to shut the hell up,
You're making a scene.

You can't pair a poet
With a grounded man,
The same way you can't pair
A lily with a flytrap,
A rhinoceros with a lapdog.
I was not meant for the life
Of a housekeeper,
Bound hands and feet
To the homestead,
My sole purpose in life
To cook and clean,
To serve and produce
Squealing piglets succeeding
In his pigheaded line.
I need more than that, so
Don't try to force feed me my "man,"
Mr. Sensibility, Mr. Every Woman's Dream,
Mr. Right,
I don't want him.

Give me a man who writes,
Ballads and sonnets and epics
With words handcrafted
By decadent Grecian gods,
Who spends his nights bent
Over an antiquated typewriter,
Rushing to get the mid-dream thought
Down on paper.
A man who paints his soul,
Turns a blank canvas
Into an emotion,
Raw and real and ravaging,
Who will wait patiently
While his model fidgets
Just so he can get
The ***** of her neck just right.
A man who plays music
Sweet and soft and slow
Serenading me to sleep
When the night is cold,
Who hears songs in
The rustle of rabbit's feet
And the whisper of slumbering breath.

I don't want a man to hold me down,
To show me how to act.
I want a man to create with,
To fight with and play with,
A man who loves with encouragement,
And not reprimand.
I am not a mistake to be corrected,
And I don't need a man
That will convince me otherwise.

A poem
it will escape as a bird
your next notes painted on photographs
of mint velvet

and mine

mine

will do as it pleasez
no rules dangling charmingly
upon my ankle
icing up my tattoo

a Hindu ****
who believes in *****
but not in mankind
not himself

it dies ashed
stuck to a flytrap
diving the room into
dark and light
red and green
cold and hot
but cut slice the floor with your foot
as you're reading backwards
into a pool of ink
that droughts
and ... nothing

was/is left!


.. that is,
nothing--
but my hula wrists
twists and beats
waves

Light is both small particles and waves.
So it is

that
I AM.

Fascinating,
adapting to survive in nutrient-poor soil,
By any means necessary,
even if the method seems harsh—
it's natural, it's inevitable.

Consuming over-populated insects,
masquerading as "butterflies," unapologetic—
careless minds, thoughtless words,
misusing your name,
feeling foolish, wilting,
self-dissolving.

It wasn’t your fault.
Some plants need different pots to grow—
deeper roots, stronger hands.
Do you see it now?
It was only survival.
I’ve got you now.

A marvel of evolution,
you grew in unique and creative ways.
Many won’t appreciate you,
but I do.
I’ve got you now.

They were never butterflies—
only illusionists,
fooling you, using you.

Venus – goddess,
Fly – rise high, embrace your
Trap – not you, never you,
not by their hands.

I’ve got you.
I've got you now.
Venus, Fly, Trap.

I got you

Venus Flytrap

Earth sweats— man in heat,
Caught by third degree planet,
  .  .  .  Hot Venus flytrap.

I mean, like, veg, you couldn’t expect me to eat
A fellow vegetable, a kindred soul
One in spirit with me, with woody cells
Made in the image of the Great Carrot

The animals don’t feel pain like we do
They have no sense of being, they have no soul
And humans need to be farm-raised in pens
And really, veg, they’re happier that way

I’m studied in all such matters agrarian
And, yum! I love me a tasty vegetarian!

I spray my regrets I spit out in a flask
So I can let them out later
When I get across this Finish Line  
People tend to stare from afar.
It's okay everyone does.
They use their instruments
Trying to decipher who I am.
The only thing they know
Is that we are all on the same starting point.
On this starting line
Waiting for this race to end our racing minds
And before the warning shot starts

I see you.
You start asking me these questions,
Who are you?
What are you?
When did you cross my mind?
Where have you been all my life
Why have I not seen you before?

Oddly enough the last time someone has asked me
These types of questions
Was when someone like you asked
Who do you think you are?
What are you still doing here?
When did you get here?
Where were you?
Why couldn't you be more like him?
Him
Him  

That hymn echos in my ears
To remind me of my daily dosage of bleach
To make my insides feel clean.
So I apologize when I see your beautiful face
And your beautiful Venus flytrap eyes
That lead me into another path just like this one.

The only thing I will tell you is that,
You have to start to run,
Away.
Through these empty streets.
Away from my mind
As my corrupt thoughts
Possess you like these glass bottles
That I hide messages of dark thoughts in
To find out that you should have never said Hello to me.

So turn the other way,
Run
it's okay.
Everyone else does too.

Two keys have two keepers
To a secret part of me
That they can unlock at their will
Even if I plead

One key is black onyx
But it glitters like gold
It's twisted like a tree root
Like a flytrap it unfolds

The other is sterling silver
Its handle's simple and straight
I feel its heat in my palm
As it calms my anxious state

The black key unlocks
My darkest mind and limbs
My body becomes alien
Overcome by its whims

The silver key unlocks
My soul's warmth and love
Emotion runs too wildly
In a safety undreamed of

Two keys have two keepers
To a secret part of me
But to find a keeper with the master
Is what I must try to believe

the audacity of him, to think he created you.

they take the credit for billions of women, and we let them.


observe, the kind of girl who puts perfume on the backs of her knees-

she’ll be down on them soon, might as well decorate

the debauched air with lavender, coriander, her disgraced musk-

she is the model for a woman’s paradox.

“cross your legs at the ankles, say please and thank you, remember your place-

*****.”

see? how ladylike, that gorgeous face. a photo-finish face.

try to finish on her face.

a photo-finish face, take a photo when you finish on her face.

take a photo while she tries to blink you out of her eyes.

admire how tightly her lips are pressed together, she will not speak until spoken to.

unzip her teeth, open her mouth-

she will remain silent. all you were doing was opening another hole.


these girls are foldable, flexible, fuckable

they are stored inside suit pockets of

businessmen in the business of selling madonnas and Magdalenes

trading our innocence like stock options

each curve and soft voice, dumbed-down giggles and blank eyes as selling points

put together each little girl, she will be a new share in his corporation.


why do you let yourself believe that you should smile pretty

when auctioned off,

why should you be sold?

we allow men to rent us, borrow,

they shower us with trinkets,

things that are not truly ours. they feed us glitter until we become

as insubstantial as sparkles,

they tell you we are beautiful when we are owned.


stop having *** only in the dark

because you are worried that, like him,

the light will not touch you with love,

and you avoid fluorescent bulbs- do not risk cheapening the look of your skin.

chemical glows can be unflattering, you will wash out, the lines of your body will be harsh

you are reminded that your skin is full of chemicals too,

you worry that you will taste like acid and that he will spit you out.

you worry that he will see your naked body glow, and that he will not love you for it

so you close curtains. stack blankets. hide from scrutiny.

pull up your skirt-

“do what you came for and leave, please.”

apologize as soon as you say it.


it is out of line for you to make requests.

knowing that, step out of line.

refract, be prismatic

allow yourself to be illuminated,

reflect, do not feel guilty if you bleach his sight

if you are too much for him, do not reduce your brilliance

reflect.


what makes you think that you could possibly be

deflowered? who put this vicious vocabulary around your virginity?

boys are not lawnmowers, boys are not shears

you’re floral with or without them.

you do not have to grow in someone else’s garden

you can stretch your roots through miles of earth

you do not have to offer up your entirety to his touch.

you do not have to twist toward his artificial sunlight to flourish

you do not have to sit alone and anxiously polish your petals

you do not have to cry because your stem is blotched

remember your power- the ones who do not handle with care

are not your concern anymore- allow them

to be speared and suspended on your thorns.

display them like trophies

like they tried to display you

remember the venus flytrap is named for the goddess of love

and it eats its victims alive.