"morphed" poems
I.
The moon sings the languid flower,
to bloom at midnight hour
Harmonious feast transpires -
luminescent choir
Petals mirror la hue de Luna,
but pale below her glow
Though the desert sweet aroma,
is fragrance plus photo
Neither causing nightly failure,
in idyllic charm
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
II.
The moon a long gone distant rock,
yet pulls on ocean tops
Cereus lures with sweetest tricks,
and stings with countless licks
Battered holy asteroid face,
woos flawless solar gaze
And even though it causes mire,
lunar eclipses fire
The cactus thrives in driest sands,
and chokes in fertile lands
Alluring lonesome wanderers,
promising mere water
The lucid beauty bewilders,
as much as it can haunt
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
III.
You, once my cereus and moon,
were drowned in my love well
Perhaps, I was this to you too,
though your hole I’d not delve
However, what was first velvet,
morphed into devil’s horns
Winter shed those thorns in my chest,
now spring gifts hope and more
The icy grips of each winter,
provides spring fuel to spark
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
IV.
Although we've gone on our own ways,
I wouldn’t change the past
For each step was necessary,
to find true love at last
We were once greater together.
I’m now greater apart.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society that deals anxiety,
Anxiety, anxiety, in this overweight society.
Today in an overweight society,
The type of society where diet pills are a normality,
Normality, Normality in an overweight society.
Today in the eyes of an underweight tragedy,
Influenced so greatly by an overweight society,
Tragedy, Tragedy, in an overweight society.
Influenced by a society of fatty foods,
Fear becoming a more common mood,
The fear of falling into the normality
The normality of this tragedy.
The overweight society.
Influence by obesity.
Striving to be what their minds see,
The minds of the children trapped,
Trapped by this overweight society.
Influenced by the skinny girls on TV
Only followed by ads showing fatty foods society demans you eat
Have a cheeseburger, upgrade to a large fry, yet still look like her, it's pounded in her mind.
Young minds believe what they see.
Morphed into the tragedy of society.
A society where eating disorders strive
A society where an 8 year old can consious you starve themselve to feel pretty.
The definition of pretty based simply on TV
Yet nobody questions this more than imperfect society.
Elementary ages childern being fed fat then forced to stand in front of a mirror.
Put a toy in poison and call it magic.
Oh yes, what a fantasy.
A fantasy forcing you into reality.
The reality becoming your worst nightmare.
The reality of your fears driven by society.
I'm overweight, yet pizza is the best choice for a happy family.
A society where mental illness strives.
Why can't people open their eyes?
Spoon feeding childern poison and expecting them to love themselves.
In school teachers force health into thier minds.
At home, parents feed them poison to save time.
Re-creating, reprogramming their fragile little minds, yet still expecting them to feel fine.
Feeling down?
Have a happy meal, gain a pound.
Overweight?
Shame, shame, you must maintain the image.
The image forced into your mind.
This was our greatest fall.
Upon dieting we call.
Skelington stave me.
Anorexia at it's finest.
Anorexia thin and spineless.
Some call you timeless.
But only recently you made your debute.
Make me feel brand new.
Reprogram my mind.
Make me feel fine.
Thank God for thinsperation.
Oh Anorexia, my new inspiration.
Make me feel pretty.
Just like the skinny girls on TV.
Loosing pounds, one by one.
Still weighed down by a ton.
The weight of pleasing it.
The nightmare society created.
Influenced by what we see.
Finally morphed into the tragedy of the normality of this weight obsessed society.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
I say;
The drifting rain dissolves sea salt
Turning tears into dangled monsoon
Under the bleak ballad of dying dawn
Where I long for heat unbroken
You say;
The drifting rain drenches my tiptoe
Witching smiles into deranged equinox
Upon the downpour of ancient daybreak
Where I pray for old snow long sunk
All was as if the days faded
And morphed into younger sunset
It was as if mercy was drained
And no one preach as desired
The downpour stench though remains constant
Of rotting perfume of the rouge graphite
You drowsily drip from dowsing fingers, they lit
Into pages of burning, dancing melodious lads
As will, you may keep those imageries for you
And give up old stories as my slumber lyre
Whether it is about the burnt down marching boy
Or the bloodstained pianist from our ancient joy
For the bleak heart aesthetic
has affected a new kind of love
And the bleak heart aesthetic
would never let you feel so certain
So please keep your drifting rain of strings
During the downpour of the deranged equinox
When the snow goes black and slowly sunk
Into pages of firespit melodious lads
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
Am I attractive, hot, or ****
Or just a forlorn idiot flexing
In order to join the *** scene?
I put a towel down
And set up a picnic
My head spins round
From the dirt they kick
On my meal
To make me feel
Scared and alone
With nowhere to roam
So I stay here laying in the sun
On the other side of a Gatling gun
I searched for a savior
Who's willing to say words
To me
For free
My search was fruitless
My eyes turned youthless
I grazed in the grass
As time quickly passed
After I finished my food
And was left there to brood
I became a floating satellite
That was accustomed to night
Because of my frights
That reflected all light
Now I see ants trying to feed on my crumbs
They must think I'm pretty desperately dumb
To not know they enforced my segregation
When I had naively sought validation
I waited there silently salivating
They responded by not validating
It's for that bitter reason
During my new season
I reflect my light on the approaching ants
So I may thwart their encroaching dance
My humble heart yearns
As I watch bugs burn
They wouldn't partake in my feast
So I morphed into a brutish beast
Now they're here to eat what's left
If they can survive my dragon's breath
They put out the fire in my heart
But ignited my mind
My useless humanity parts
As I focus on time
A time that keeps passing
While signs keep flashing
As burning bugs dying
Or sad satellites flying
My life was no peaceful picnic
After they noticed my sickness
And left me alone
For that is my home
When I don't need validation anymore
I search for love
Unfortunately I know what's in store
A picnic in the mud
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC
Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'
Ankles dry, calloused thoughts, skin peels to reveal oozing flesh. **** sinks in and swallows floating zinc; immune. Consuming ex-cadavers in mall parking lots and pushing the crippled in shopping carts, an ankle twisted, a mother swallowed monetary ***** the stock market became the shelf market, and creation wondered if we were okay with frozen pizza for dinner.
Life dragged on and on, the world swirled on twitter feeds and Facebook statuses, the streets completed laps around our better judgements and our better lives, we sank to scheduled escapism and believed that one day we would find the light despite our never left-look.
Massive intention swelled to disjointed shark search. A witch-hunt to burn unhappiness in it's own angry passion. Bones; cost efficient at the least and designed in the weirdness of erosion-return. Miniature intention swelled to grabs solidarity. A manhunt to freeze stillness in it's own endless silence.
What complete? What shatter-tastic ******
Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
He lived under his mother roof, and
every morning he gobbled down her food
until his stomach was sickly full.
He smelled like **** and cheese
sweating bits of fish and chips,
light years ago he used to be the biggest tease.
He spent most of the time on the couch
day in, day out.
he morphed into such a grouch.
Gravity was strong with his mass,
his huge *** made a huge stamp
day after day watching the same crap.
Countless hours watching TV,
reality shows, **** and glee
************ his only ecstasy.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 1:59 AM UTC
An abstract gait
Surrounded by coils of binary and luminescence.
Suave, purple suits clasping to morphed skin.
Electrical vibes, transistors atomically sized.
Brain dives, the concept of thought diluted.
She can only wish it was palpable.
In a mirror mirage,
Static fumbles,
Repos the limelight.
Cyberpunk gen, neo-noir,
A relevant memento.
Deciphering the metaphysical is
Unattainable.
***** it all,
Maneuver the landscape.
Might as well enjoy the sights
In the nick of a quivering snap.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
I peruse exhibits through the modern art museum
Nails hammered into wood
And trash strewn on the floor
I couldn't help thinking
What the **** is this ****
These can't be the champions of modern art
Moonlight and Arrival morphed my empathy and perspective
The theater is fine
Music is there for those inclined to discover it
So what about visual art?
I know a few things for certain
Nails hammered into wood never changed my perspective
Nor does seeing a garbage can in a museum affect my empathy
Trash is not art
Trash is trash
Waste meant to be thrown in the proper receptacles
So as not to obstruct our view of true beauty
I will concede that
Beauty can be found in everything
Depending on analyzation variation
But those that live an examined life
Constantly see silver linings and sour grapes
Experiencing comfort in tundras to the point of banality
Those visions are much more interesting
in their organic state anyway
As opposed to an interpersonal expression of the seemingly obvious
So what to hang in an art gallery?
I have my own opinions
At this point in time
No visuals elicit more emotions
Than dank memes
When I'm consuming art
Questions are innate in my consumption
Is this a vessel for empathy?
Is this examining the human condition?
Dank memes meet those criteria
Satirizing the powerful
Highlighting emotions and virtues in ourselves
That we're either proud or ashamed of
Memes share a common thread with poetry
In the sense that everybody can create memes
Or be a poet
I get the impression that
Universality of art diminishes it's importance
In the minds of patrons
There's an element of truth to that
But what makes art special is quality
And what makes art truly special is high quality
And that's what belongs in museums
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
i kept my hatches battened but that
didn't stop your love from barreling toward me
like a runaway freight train with faulty breaks.
and god almighty, did we crash.
you came to a screeching halt at my doorstep
and i didn't know what else to do but let you in.
you looked so cold. we did not start with a spark but a full-on fire.
i told myself i wouldn't fall, instead i jumped.
our sinking frames somehow morphed into life preservers,
and we managed to keep each other's heads above the waves.
we had seemingly saved one another.
you tossed your pills, i flushed my razors, and for a while that was enough.
but we learned the hard way that even the deepest love
can only keep the storm clouds in your mind at bay for so long.
eventually our cracks began to show.
missed calls and silent hours built houses of cards
that were blown down by too many miles.
we hardly ever smiled anymore.
my hands were sieves and yours were sand.
i want to break the hands of the clock
that cursed us with this bad timing.
i have mourned all the hours i won't ever have with you.
i have felt the thunder that rumbles in my lungs
when i reminisce about the memories we'll never make.
the moment i realized i would never wake up beside you
an atom bomb went off in the center of my chest.
but the radiation is what's killing me.
the life is being drained from me here in the wake,
in the ache of your absence. but i won't beg.
i will live out the remainder of my days
tormented by wondering if maybe in another world
our love is perfect and neither of us bleed.
- m.f.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
Do you remember Red Ribbons
And the fear the world felt inside
Could AIDS be transferred through vision
Was the air contagious outside
Some said the government made it
Others thought it was god's design
AIDS had infected our spirits
Was the air contagious outside
Was AIDS transmitted by touching
"Don't touch him he's gay and you'll die"
Repugnant minds were erupting
Was the air contagious outside
Do you remember Red Ribbons
Was the air contagious outside
I started wearing Red Ribbons
After hearing my friends tragic tales
Of the worst gifts they'd been given
Entombed in a black mourning veil
Our grandmothers they were best friends
You told me, my god I went stale
Sick with anguish for your grave end
Entombed in a black mourning veil
Once surrounded by many, now few
Your frame morphed from buxom to frail
Love you Joy, I bid you adieu
Entombed in a black mourning veil
I started wearing Red Ribbons
Entombed in a black mourning veil
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
When I opened my eyes I sat in this body.
The wind ran through thick black hair.
Grass surrendered under my heels.
I didn't hate myself then, or yet, or ever.
Even now, when I part the clouds and look down down,
squinting into the tops of trees that were in my yard.
In the last home I knew, gentle hands fed me food.
We joked and my eyes smoldered for their pictures.
Why did they always take so many pictures?
You probably think I'm angry I had to leave like this.
That with one terrified bullet from two firmly planted hands,
my might and power and God given beauty did not move.
I remember that moment. The air was swept from my lungs,
through my lips, and two angels descended on my animal form.
My soul wound around one of their slender gray fingers,
while the other angel folded up my skin into a cavernous pocket.
We ascended into lush tropical rich radiant paradise--who knew?
Animals are allowed here.
Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I could have morphed into human form in the right moment.
When I became human, they became animal.
You see, an animal is that which is unpredictable and wild;
terribly aggressive.
But people were scared. Now they have more reason to lock up
their kids behind bright little screens as they push them in secure strollers.
"Look at this game. Isn't it fun? Mommy's here. You're in a belt. You are
safe."
I just heard a sob from below. As I think these thoughts, I can sense
she is crying and missing me, missing a creature she never knew.
She sees God in me. She sees God in everything around her.
To shoot me was to shoot her spirit in the chest, to watch the blood
form in pools while people watched and put away their cell phones
and pushed their strollers to the next set of bars. On to more eyes that hide their secrets from the humans.
[in memory of Harambe the Gorilla]
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
when i was a little girl -
i believed my daddy was the smartest man in the world.
he knew everything. everything.
if i had a question, daddy had an answer, and a good one.
always.
his degree was in biology,
but he preached from a pulpit every sunday.
his friends, colleagues, congregation, all knew him as Pastor Brett.
to me he was just daddy -
and he was the smartest man in the world.
on days when i couldn't understand my own head,
(which were, and still are, very often)
and got frustrated with myself to the point of tears,
he would kiss my cheeks and promise me i wasn't stupid.
and coming from him, the smartest man i knew, that meant the world.
as years passed and i grew, my naivety remained with me,
and so i thought i was too smart to fall into life's traps.
i fell. i fell fast. i fell hard. i fell often. and i shattered.
each time, the smartest man in the world picked up my pieces
and reassured me i was still welcome in his home.
he never loved me any less, much to my bewilderment.
however, as my faults increased in frequency and severity,
he picked up my pieces now with weathered hands and weary eyes.
his smile was weaker, and a deep pain stirred in the chocolate irises behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
my deception morphed into vines that constricted and twisted and choked out the truth.
he poured out his love onto an underserving me, and said that God would still forgive.
but i, daughter of the smartest man in the world, am a fool.
and by my own two hands, i continued to sink.
he leaves me to pick up my own pieces now, not loving me any less,
but too weak, too exasperated, too heartbroken to do it himself as he always had.
he is done. he loves me and i know it. he shows it. but he is done.
my tears bore him. my half-true stories and pitiful excuses move in one ear and out the other.
he is stone-faced, no longer shocked by my confessions so i leave them unspoken.
his kisses, sear my flesh. his love burns because i know i don't deserve a single shred of it.
i wish he hated me. i wish we could fight. that would make things easier, right?
but he won't. he just won't. he loves me so much and i can't stand it.
but he is done. i broke my father, and his heart, for nothing.
he asked me why i do the things i do,
why i don't just stop it. why i keep on hurting him and my mother.
i didn't have an answer. all i had to offer the smartest man in the world,
was a dry mouth and empty hands.
m.f.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
I've recently put on some weight
after being 95 pounds and twiggy for years.
I hate myself for the weight.
I see the past me and not even recognize myself.
I feel like I weigh too much to be beautiful, that the clothes I love to wear were made for 95 pound me.
I've morphed into someone I do not know yet.
My chest too big
My stomach the shape of a cereal box instead of an hourglass
My big hip-dips
My scars and my stretch mark.
I'm not beautiful to the modeling agencies
Or the people that run the tv.
I do not see people that look like present me,
only ones that look like past me.
I'm healthier now and happier,
but I cannot help but envy the skeleton,
The lost me.
The sad me.
The past me.
I hate that I envy her.
I wish I could accept the new me,
The alive me.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 11:14 AM UTC
I grew up in a country
now I live in a business.
America has been stolen
and morphed into
a fascist Disneyland.
Our women are told
if they don't look
25 when they are 60
they don't exist.
Our children are taught
not to ask questions
or defend themselves.
Our young people
are commanded to go
to college, get on
the endless treadmill
of the American Nightmare
or they are failures.
We warehouse our parents
at great expense
so we don't have to face
the reality of death.
Our men sell themselves
for money and power
they can't take with them.
Courage, thrift, honor,
all replaced with greed,
the last recognized virtue.
The only remedy is to say no.
Try to remember what is important:
protect your loved ones,
love your friends,
reject the latest and greatest;
turn off your TV.
You won't change America,
that is lost for good.
But you might change yourself
which is much more important.
The rich will stay rich,
the powerful will keep their power,
the business will keep on chugging,
but you will be yourself,
a sane person in a country gone mad.
~mce
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Awakening upon a smooth textural cotton
Soaking energy within without knowing what had happened so often
As if I've woken from a coffin
Or if I've birthed from the planets
Or if I was earthed from the heavens
None the less, I am here
Between the astral plane?
Steaming from in to sane?
Perhaps both
Perhaps only a mere perception do I hope
I have been awoke
A purpose or so
Reaching a new surface I have known
Condensed energy through palm
So energized, though remarkably calm
Moving once
Steady, so beautiful
Psalms
Awakening eye, I have begun
Gazing, focusing towards condensed matter I have made and strung
Cotton morphed to ground
A land has been found
No past, nor future, a mere stitch of multiverse this is
Reflection of the third eye
Two beings I see between the land and sky
A man and plant
A peace
A piece
A kind
Moving towards a journey through strength, but although hate
They can't see
Though I
As I am the man and the plant
One, indeed
Just as Yin and Yang
A bane is a glory
A glory is a bane
A unique spectrum, I live
I am the different multiverse
All are different universes into multiverse
Perhaps, I am the multiverse as I am numerous unto one
The man
The plant
One soul
Two shells
As both collide, meets a view of Heaven, Reincarnation, and Hell
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
***Ensnared in
the crystallization
of web's
intimidating deception,
superficial spider
met its
duplicitous match,
whence the improvised
contortionist morphed
forth from its chrysalis,
spun midst grandeur
in triumphant
survival of flight's
sheer inception***
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
Zinging the zen-zone I was in
A zany request zig-zagged my way.
Princess Zinnia from the Zuider-Zee
Required a zippy line or two
To paint the zeitgeist of our times.
With the strength of a Zamboni-
With the power of a Zeus-
And an uncommon zeal I set out
To zap the doubt that slowed me.
With the flair of a Florenz Ziegfeld
And his zoftig choir of beauties,
I morphed into a zealot
Gamboling in the zephyrs
That wafted in from Zurich and Zaire,
Not to mention Zanzibar.
I felt like a Zacharias
When my zealous work went bust.
The writing turned into a zonk-
The accolades were zilch.
I felt like I’d been zippered up
Like a zebra in a zoo.
I lost my zest for going on
And slopped around in old Zoris,
Listening to zydeco’s beat
And feeling like a zit.
But then the Zodiac-
My zinging-singing sign
Came to my rescue
And I was marching off to Zion.
I was one wowie-zowie-zucchini
As I zipped across the pages
And zoomed from one idea
To an even zippier one.
So here, Sunprincess, is your verse
I’ve used up every letter zee
And gone from very bad to worse
But of this challenge, I am free.
ljm
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
*Once a beautiful princess with a Zest for life
and a love for tasty Zingers
morphed
into a Zebra butterfly
Whenever she was enjoying her tasty Zingers
She was always on cloud nine
and so blissfully happy and alive
So one sweet summer's day
she was Zipping along on a Zephyr's breeze
Pleasantly enjoying life with a smile
When suddenly she came upon a garden,
an enchanting garden of Zinnias
Beauties, blooming colours of Zeal
And then suddenly he flew Zoom, Zoom
Zing, Zing faster than a Zenith light
A dragonfly, "ahh a god" she thought
And she worshipped him, he was her god
he was the Zeus of her garden
He could go from Zero to sixty in a Zecond
She was so ecstatically happy in her garden
she had honestly believed she had expired
and went to her very own sweet Heaven
When actually she was only dreamin'
sometimes she falls asleep unexpectedly
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz*
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
You probably figured it out already.
He is undoubtedly Mr God morphed.
T ruculent
R UDE
O verweeningly prideful
L aughable little
L ame liar.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
Here now by many paths convoluted,
Ever trying the thoughts new, acted on.
Heeding just,streams conscious flowing,
Changed and morphed in an instant blinking.
Hair long,then shaved, now streaked orange grey
Suits to jeans,tore them,robes spiritual,now **** pray!
Was straight,turned metro,for all open,but curious still,
Body clean,got pierced, now adorning pasts tattooed!
Gurus, philosophies many, still a fool ever journeying.
Heard Bach,reggaed to Marley,wood-stocked,now fused.
Loved intense,let go easy,Kama sutras experimented on.
Traveled afar,lived as a local,now a foreigner everywhere,
Hip-pied from smoke to grass,yoga to parties raved hard.
Against wars, sat in for peace elusive,fought all,now stoic,
Never shocked or surprised,took all as came,now strong.
The set mind,everchanging,the physical a compliment cosy,
Unrecognizable now,existing totally, being happy, normally?
Many shout, freak! I smile,walk on to my home in Bohemia!
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
I GAVE THIS LITTLE CREATURE IN MY BATHROOM
THAT SITS THERE
EVERY DAY
EVERY NIGHT
ON THE TILES
A NAME-
KAFKA
YES, LIKE THE
FAMOUS WRITER
AND I WAS WONDERING
IF MY KAFKA ALSO
MORPHED INTO
THIS CREATURE?
IT’S HARD TO SAY HOW HE LOOKS LIKE
DON’T WANT TO COME UP REALLY CLOSE
I BET HE IS UGLY
MAYBE THAT’S WHY
BUT EVERYTIME I GO TO THE BATHROOM
I SMILE
I SEE KAFKA
AND I SMILE
STILL THERE!
GOOD MORNING KAFKA!
GOOD EVENING KAFKA!
ONE DAY HE WAS GONE
AND I LOOKED EVERYWHERE POSSIBLE
NO SIGN OF KAFKA
I GAVE THIS CREATURE A NAME
AND NOW I MISS IT!
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 6:32 AM UTC
Happy thoughts shape shifting into illusions of monsters.
Metamorphosis.
A caterpillar to a butterfly.
That's the final phase of that lonely caterpillar.
War of the mind.
I'm morphing into a hideous demon.
The face melting into a pile of mush.
Broken limbs, torn flesh,
skin oozing to the floor.
That is what WE want...
A man made metamorphosis.
Now the limbs can be reconstructed into the proper shape.
Molding, bandaging, painting.
Perfect eyebrows,
luscious lips,
rosy cheeks,
smile plastered on.
It all looks real.
No raised eyebrows even with all the head turning,.
Neck breaking.
The unimaginable has been deemed the reality.
We are not what we eat.
If we were we would be perfect.
Eating the perfect politicians in their perfectly pressed suits.
Eating the American Dream.
The marriage. The happy home with 2.5 kids ad a golden retriever named Annie.
We are broken now.
All of these falsities have morphed into something terrible.
Reality.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
i don't know how
"i don't feel like crap when i'm with you."
morphed into
"i love you"
but i'm glad it did, and i'm glad
that you said
it back.
you said it back.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
Melting flesh falling into place.
Calling out different words.
Two minds, two different eyes.
I see you differently.
How you changed your heart towards my soul.
How you changed your attitude towards this seemingly always happy home.
You were worried and you kept your mouth shut.
You pat my back gently and asked me if I was okay.
When I was okay, you shot bullets at me.
Are you scared of caring?
Scared of showing the soft kind heart within?
I know it because when you morphed, your heart shone through the tissues of your body....I saw it.
It was beautiful...
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC