I tricked myself into thinking
you were sunlight
and i was a flower.
I drank in your rays
until they seeped through my pores.
You turned into night
and i gazed up at you
But you are not a star
and this world is not a garden
and i am a human soul
who needs more than warmth at night
and i do not need validation
you do not keep me alive.
it took too long to know this
but i am not a flower
and you are not my sun.
you don't decide when i get loved

The moth with newspaper wings sat under the arrow lungs of the eyeless
blood dripped falcon, more whole than the super-glued roman sculpture.

Next door a 50’s con held up church with a roulette table in the kitchen,
and boarded up the massage parlor
downstairs.

The eye of the man was a centrifuge of ducks, mallard and hen, spiraling
outward into evaporated roach-ground
asphalt.

Next door, slits in the picket fence displayed perfectly formed **** & broach,
empty shoes made of feet below, blending
fields.

The marble foundation formed from twine lollipops and fuzzy candy tabs,
ice-etched to the frequency of splintered seashell
angels.

Next door through the forest of knives a spaceship bearing gargoyles peaked
bodies through collages of faces in technicolor sepia
mitosis.

The heiress molted into tiled pieces, her own dog and sunhat caught in blizzard
cuneiform, kaliedescoping again to fractalled inchworms cemented in motion.

A trip to the inchworms outdoors
Let's look at the big , puffy clouds
It's a cat, it's a dog, it's a bird
It's my grandiose illusion
Yea, I agree maybe it's absurd
It's been a long offbeat trip
Socializing and trying to feel adequate

I keep on fighting, holding on tight
Looking for life's purpose
But I can't help to think I'm battling a curse
I say it's all in my mind
My thoughts are my energy
Quickly feelings change
Colors become vivid and intense
People seem happy and chipper
Yet the cycling is never ending
Winter, spring, summer, fall
Until I am barely able to walk
My body slumps into a crawl
The tears in my eyes
The tightness in my chest
I knew this was going to happen
I could have only guessed

But it's ok, the days will get bright again
And the sun will shine again
Knowing that I keep my spirits high
I have conquered so many demons and won
My life is far from being done
I will succeed
I am a fighter, I have fought this far
I will not surrender
Mental illness.. I Declare War !!!!!!

You have ice in your veins.

You are the same
As the world is
When I wake up at 2:35 AM on a week night
And there's clumps of snow dropping from the pink-violet night sky,
And then sticking to the cold, unfeeling ground.

You are the same
Because you make me feel the same way.

Watching a blizzard's slow and gentle beginning at odd hours in the morning,
Is one of my favorite feelings.
I feel calm.
I feel content.
I feel, finally, at peace.

I'm not sure
If I've ever known peace
Anywhere
Aside from watching snow fall to the earth at 2:35 AM
And aside from the rare moments your laugh touches my heart,
Or your smile greets my soul,
And washes her clean.

You have ice in your veins.

You are all too familiar with the tranquil melancholy
That comes along with
Snowy winters.

You are familiar
With the peaceful, but lonesome, silence.

You are comfortable in it,
For it is your home.
For your walls
Are built from ice,
And no summer has ever been hot enough to melt them,
At least not for long.

You are the snowy winter.

But I am the pink summer.

I am the peak
Of colorful and pesky
Wildflowers.
I am the sunset
At nine o'clock at night.
I am the breath of sweet, fresh air
That stirs all your hormones together,
Making you feel warm and happy and excited and giddy and alive
But most of all
Free.

I am the smell of gasoline
And charcoal.
I am sunshine storms
And the warm rain they bring.
I am bonfires
And bugspray
And camping trips
And awkward-but-memorable-outdoor-***
In a teeny little tent,
That almost always ends in giggle fits,
And feeling so entirely, and finally, whole.

I am heat exhaustion
And hurricanes
And itty-bitty green inchworms venturing away from their
Leafy trees
For the very first time.

I am passion.
I am feeling something with your whole heart.
I am bravery.
Meaning, I am being absolutely terrified, but doing the thing anyway.
I am feeling so much of one emotion at a time that it is the only thing you can feel.
I am the butterflies in your stomach,
If they were ever there at all.

I am warm
And free
And wild
And loving
And always, always there.
In some way,
Even if just a memory.

I am always fleeting.

I am summer.

You are winter.

You are hot apple cider,
And cocoa with too-big-marshmallows,
And flannel pajamas
And surprises
And christmas tree ornaments that I love for no other reason other than that I love them and I always have and always will.

You are cold winds
And painful, but important, memories.

You are the feeling of stability.
You are finally having some type of normalcy,
Away from the chaos.

We are polar opposites.
So much so,
That it makes us the same.

I know why summer is your favorite season.

But did I ever tell you how much I love winter?

A comic opera with an unlikely plot
Starts out like a dead weight
Ends in thin air
Peaceful and a little psychedelic
As though nothing had ever happened

The tale reads like a primer on love:
He returns to the women on the porch
A dagger between his legs
One thought colliding with the next
“So much for a safe word, my sister’s coming over”  

He has an idea that more is at stake
Saw the fires of eternal damnation burning
“Sons of *******, international ******,
One day I’ll crush them”
And the deep river runs on

The fatal tarnish of the everyday had driven her
Like a disease from the city
A charismatic and secure young player
She claimed to be a psychic
Who could find any missing child

She stiffened for a moment, then went on talking
Sometimes lush and moody, sometimes sharp and witty
Touching on inchworms and electrons
And the dramas and rivalries they bring with them
As though nothing had ever happened

There was a secret sidewalk
In my hometown
That we walked every day
Coming home from school
Despite the shroud of hanging inchworms
That veiled the path
Through our little wilderness.
I went back last year
To find a row
Of swimming pools.