Here in the morning gloaming
burning
my skin flaming
as I imagine red kisses
from smouldering lips!

How easily
in anticipation
you make me whimper
before with pleasure
making me simper -
each kiss
another hot coal
placed on my rawness
with searing softness.

I know the smell of everyone I've ever loved
wanted
hated
lusted
snorted like a dying drug addicts last meal

My first smelt of deities
a mens deodorant for a boy
who didn't know what he
wanted, but he knew what
he should.
He was sharp, uncertain, his
natural scent masked by an
advert.

My second smelt of fields
the earth was his roll-on
and though he'd mask it in
the oils of men, I knew he
smell of a hearth, hormones
and her heart on his sleeve.
His scent was primal and I
bathed in it's rawness.

My third smells of fire
whatever he's burning,
midnight oil, stress,
nicotine, I can sense it
soaked into his skin with
sweat. Encased in fire,
I suffocate on air nowadays.
He reeks of home, lust, longing

and hope.

I mashup me, myself, and thee: Part II

Excerpts from my poems about poets, poetry and the process of composition. In chronological order, from the earliest to the most recent.
---------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­----


The three poems went about their business,
Bringing heaven to earth,
FYI, even Angels can't be everywhere, so,
God invented poems to do his ***** work,
Cleansing souls.

They rode in~out of town on a prankster wave,
A cheering throng was not around,
But a singular poet saw, recorded the vision,
And thus, this nameless poet,
Below unmasked, unsealed,
Cleansed one more soul,
And that soul, this soul, as required,
Paid it forward.
~
Nothing produced from this place
where routine means the gorge tastes bile,
When surcease is welcome relief,
Where dancing on ice in bare feet
Is step one to ripping your chest open by your own hands,
The toxins thus released rejuvenated by salted air,
Can be finally be transcribed onto paper
And realized.

Warn them once and then begin, you,
Get serious, delve, with hurricane unambiguity,
to torrential words upon the unsuspecting,
let them taste the rawness, only the truth provides,
let them know salt tears so briney,
They will flee this place, n'er to return.
~
One day she intro'd me as her fav poet,
To which I acknowledged by addressing her as
My number one fan,
Which seems to have stuck,
so I acknowledge her as such,
And always add a polite, respectful, winking,
Yes ma'am!
~
Like this new day,
there are always
new poems

Like last night's sunset,
day's efforts reviewed,
a special light,
a yellowed marker,
highlighting a few deserving

Take them home,
kiss them goodnight,
rest them in the poetry file
that is no file,
but a large fabric box where
sewing tools once stored

How appropriate and
how happy that makes me.
~
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:

I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet

Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******!

Yo! Yo!

Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!

Yo! Yo!

Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!

I am a ****** poet.

The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,

My drug of choice.
~
Have you noticed here

Each poet declaims his fellow
The better one, his teacher,
From whom they shall learn and gather up
Inspiration

Gonna run for Congress,
My first bill, Poetry-care,
Will make it a requirement that
All citizens must contribute,
Exchange once a day
To this peaceful place,
Even just a syllable, a single letter,

K?
~
Literally my eyes see words awaiting coordinating,
Poems flying by, needing plucking,
How a child eats his morning cereal,
His rituals informing, of the man yet to be,
How our bodies lay, hair unbrushed,
Tying us into a conjoined knot...

No matter that plain words are my ordinary tools,
With them I shall scribe the small,
Cherish the little, grab the middle,
Simplicity my golden rule,
Write they say, about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?
~
The ice of poetry,
glassine smooth
but
charged hardness,
hits you, ****** you,
unexpected snowball in the face,

the fire of poetry,
cherished phrase, a patois,
comfort food when
whole winter skies
swallow you bleak

mutual contradictions of poetry
savaging the soothed ego,
revealing the raging id

what's in a word anyway?
~
Please Pop, pick wise,
the life and lies, the faces and disguises,
I will need employ to achieve success
in the eyes of my reading beholders,
who own the liens on my soul
because of the promises I believed,
when you sang me
glowing lullabies of my future days,
how everyone would love my stories,
my poems, someday...
~
Place your ****** hands upon thy chest.
Let them melt thru and come to rest,
Inside, the battle ongoing, under thy breast.
Watch, eyes open, knowing, fearful.
Swiftly, with no hesitation, from within,
Rip open your body, exhaling the best,
And the worst of what you got.

The cool air rushes in,
Stirring the inside stew of:
Infected grime, shameful desires,
Secrets that should not have been exposed,
The ***** stuff that you alone know exists.

Contact with the atmosphere makes
Self-pity dies, blue blood turn red,
The TNT tightness explodes,
Ashamed, you have only one escape hatch.

Now, you are ready to write.
~
My life is on the boring side,
So welcome gents to look inside,
The surfed sites, the emails, hardly slimy,
But stay the fk away from my poetry!

Tis obvious from your midnight editing,
That my wordily, working body has been discretely
Simonized,
My data,
Googlized,
My poems,
Scrutinized,
A comma, a colon, a verb, out of place, capsized,
Little threads kept in door jambs, their alteration,
Your snooping presence, a confirming revelation
~
Where I write, here, all comes so easy,
Every glance a poem formed,
Every phrase a title to a poem served,
Every conversation overheard and those wind-lifted brought,
A seed, a germ, a word~worm hooked to the pole crook of
My finger saying, see man, time to get more ink and paper,
Go and catch us a few poems for dinner

The snapper weakfish word colors are
Running past my-by the thousands,
We will need a basket to catch but a fraction
Of what you see, more than more enough to share,
Only Happy Poems for all

It is this rhyming way I view the wold,
That is my freedom, is my-present essence,
How the poems come, how thy flow,
Peaking, I cannot berate, rarely eat,
Sleep a thing of the past (as you be aware, beware)
There is poetry in simply everything.
~
But if my aura be a comfort insufficient,
Let this surprise poetic gift awaiting your arrival,
Give you rest, from crying surcease!

For when the who, the why of me interrogatory posed,
Describe me in a brevity I ne'er possessed, say:
He was just a poet, and I,
Just, his lover, number one fan.

This truth eternal, never to change.
~
But I am open to learning, the arduous task
Of raising a teenage daughter,
After I have my head examined

Though I am just a bunch of eclectic electrons,
I got powers a few, like making life's happiness
Hearted happier, encouraging your forays into
You-know-what,
And when tables turn, a hasty retreat you beat,
For imaginary cappuccinos and poems we will meet,
Comparing notes on who felt lousier when...

But what I can do 100% is assure you
There is no lone nor lonely daughter extant,
Your voice not just clear but soft-edged,
For I have poetically adopted you,
Here and now, assuming you sign on the
.............................................................­line
~
Take these words at plain face,
and look not askance
at this fair warning,
for I am but a tragic,
empty vessel for you to fill,
you are the raconteur,
me, just a  
poet poseur extraordinaire,
street urchin, word merchant,
all my verbally, wordly goods expropriated
from the wind,  where your scattered thoughts
lie about, carelessly,
unattended
~
Guiltless in life, we but survived,
Hurting no one, no thing,
Yet, here we lie, ignored, unattended,
Yet, you fail again to see our connection?
You do not recognize us?

We are the shells, the husks of you,
Your poems unread, you labors unpreserved,
All wasted, for unless they are read, they die,
As you will too.
Some fast, by water, some slower, time-eroded,
All, ended, by drowning in the Sea of Who Cares!
~
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?

The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!

It is so easy to feel ******,
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.

Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day.
~
once upon a time,
a traffic light rainbow,
stopped n' go, was a word design,
demarcated visions of spun sugar,
bodegas sold me
magic beans by the pound,
masterminded into cups of delight,
treasury's bounty overflowed,
now, dregs drain, sink stained,
as are my writing utensils,
my ink stained, us-less, fingers

come visit me, unknown stranger,
let us exchange fluidity, barbs,
a contest of kissing, eye lashing
wit ands shared vision stashing,
and together, once more,
write with our feet,
while holding hands,
becoming once more
poets of the street.

Only, come quickly.
~

But reading thy cries, an exercise,
Teeth-gnashing frustration.
It brings no relief.

So sad girl,
Write till you are righted,
May be it will snow on July 4th,
And tho unnatural,
So is thy grief.

Nonetheless, write me write me all about it,
Right us,
For tho snow falls, its loveliness,
Makes the heart rise up in gladness!
~
She brings me coffee in bed.
I propose a violin accompaniment.
Some babka, with nice-crumbly-in-bed
Streusel topping,
A concerto we could make!

Her derision snorted so loud,
The mollusks on the beach
From their shells come out.

"Good luck with that,
Put that fantasy on
Your **** poetry site,
Cause that is the closest you will ever get!"
~
For she will be my heroine for all time,

These words to expand with rhyme and verse,
T'is a welcome task, one familiar, but anew,
Each dawn each dusk, a daily trust, a love poem diurnal-birthed,
As if god created the world, but left upon completion,
With a grievous thirst, a new notion, he did burst.

He created the Eighth Day, for celebration of his
Most cherished invention, the idea of love.
This is where, the secret writ Eleventh Commandment occurs,
Love thy Poetry Gods, Honor them with daily verbs.
~
Officer...you should see me gut a

Poem,

Slice its belly open,
Sometimes straight, sometimes Askew,
Feed the gulls them
****** insides on the dock, by-moonlight,
Can ya cut me some slack?

Mmm, I see here in your license,
You are a disabled guy,
A **** poet ******,
Who often does his best work
Legally all alone in the HOV lane,
So I'm gonna let you off this time
Just with a warning!
~
We can share words, we can grant tiny easements,
We can weep with you unseen tears,
We can etsy you little homemade gifts
Like this.

That you can take and keep, and break out in time of need knowing full well that these words will not spoil nor rancid turn, cannot be out grown,, or torn, or rent asunder in anyway for once they are shared
They are irrevocable.
~
When you write,
It as if you write upon our
One skin,
For I am your tablet,
Your sole/sol/soul composition.

So stop kissing me
and
Write upon us.
~
This will not be the hardest poem I e're wrote,
But if there is no inspiration
For you to smote,
And armpits refuse to provide perspiration,
To source juices for a new creation,
Try this trick,
I promise you
No one will lick your ice cream cone,
Nor mistake you for Leonard Cohen,
But when you are done,
You will be High Priest of
Hello Poetry for the rest of the day!
~
You think you can write?
Then employ  a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
And write four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and
you twice as much, and shout

Hallelujah
*******.

Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it. Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)
~
Had myself forgot,
That a poem needs a
Frame of jungle gym sounds,
An aural aura resonance unbound.
Purposed to make the heart lift
Your ears say:

Say what!

It needs a tune,
An internal music,
It needs a lilt!
A cadence, that both
Marches and swings,
Even when'd urgent dirge
grief pours forth.
~
This Sabbath day you fog-hide
Your gift of bay and beach
So quiet implore, beseech,
Keep the sailors safe,
And your poets saved.

I ask much.
But I ask for all of us,
There are so many such
That are booster-chair needy
That I am succumbed, overwhelmed,
Enormity fearsome needs help even from a deity.

Small words, big hopes.

If you cannot grant it,
Won't wait for intervention,
Do it myself, answer prayers one and all,
Best I can, starting now with this
Po-hymn.
~
I used to sleep
With pen and paper on my nighttime table.
Nowadays, my iPad tablet rests upon my chest,
Not only does it keep me warn,
It takes my poems from within, Fresh Direct,^
Edits, credits, and delivers them to your door,
While I'm still sleeping.

Which is why they come at all hours.
It is also why they call them,
Love's Labour's Lost saving devices.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
**So I spend my cold, hard time
laying down cold hard verse,
Can't stop, cause it's my daddy's dying curse.

I am both: Addict and dealer, a ****** poet ******.

.
The burden I bear is more heavy than lead.
The physical weight is a thing that I share,
but the loss that I feel will not leave my head.
Why did you have to die? Why is death so unfair?

I am close to you now. Yes, touching my hair
the flag with its lions of gold and of red
that wraps round your coffin. I know you are there.
The burden I bear is more heavy than lead.

My comrades move with me in slow, solemn tread.
Our eyes are all fixed in an unseeing stare.
Our shoulders support you in your oaken bed.
The physical weight is a thing that I share.

As I feel the world watching I try not to care.
My deepest emotions are best left unsaid.
Let others show grief like a garment they wear,
but the loss that I feel will not leave my head.

The flowers they leave like a carpet are spread,
In the books of remembrance they have written, 'Somewhere
a star is extinguished because you are dead.
Why did you have to die? Why is death so unfair? '

The tears that we weep will soon grow more rare,
the rawness of grief turn to memory instead.
But deep in our hearts you will always be there,
and I ask, will I ever be able to shed
the burden I bear?
.

Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.

Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.

The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.

Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.

Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.

Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.

Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.

And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.

Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.

I love you
dow
       w
           n
to your jagged,
         dark edges
culling smoke
               and twisting tides
                  your steaming heart
              that pulses, in my hands
          as you give it-
and the pungent tears
when they fall
         from your eyes
I lick up your pain
to soothe it smooth
its rawness catching
       velvet ripples of skin
I pull a blanket
of mahogany wine
over your soul
          lacerations
that seep out
              from the layers within

and in that tender of
nightfall's darkest foliage
I long to calm
your monsters' clawing
as they gnaw at you from
                  the inside out

I crave to fill
the hollowed-out longing
my own hungers writhing
      in obscene
                      devout

For I am all that is sacred and wild
the spark has been lit
from my innermost rooms
I dance to the drums of
the woman as child
her mystical ways chanting
rhythms in runes

Demons might dance
as you gaze in reflection
in the mirror of time,
of unfiltered space
      but I adore all your sides,
          your imperfections
discern the divine
in the planes of your face
You are my galaxy
              of dark matter
bringing out my
           own looking glass
                         of vantablack
in a feral crown of obsidian
                             and onyx
as you reach me deep,
there's no going back

For when you love me like that,
plant your tameless,
                            hot seed
it blossoms within me
a tightly-wrapped tourniquet
               for when I bleed
and if my guts
should spill upon
               the  floor
you will remind me,
in glowing of pores
           of who I am
and how I am whole
a lovelight lit in the
storm of my soul
I will push down deeper
until I feel those roots
that connect me to
my center
  to my
succulent fruit
So slice me open.
     Pull me apart.
Let the juice run down
to heal
     your
jagged-edged
               heart

I used to hate your healthy avocados...until I had one
Not that your coffee tasted superior to my tea
But what's taste when you season mine with gun powder?
Yes, In case you did not detect
There is a lot of hate in this one
Call me aggressive and spiteful
Whilst holding your rifle
They say hate begets hate begets hate begets hate
So for you to understand
I put aside my ignorance and try to walk in your shoes

OK, let's start:

A lot of trees
Beautiful sky, delightful breeze
A rich land where tenants are a many and they shun the proprietor
I know I promised to be nice
But let's face it for that white picket fence, someone had to pay the price.

Start again:

Sunny coasts
Bacon, eggs on toast
Walk the dog in the park, life is not all that hectic here.
To make it clear, running out of coffee is my basic fear.

Flat stomachs
In fact, six packs!
Cupboard full of knick-knacks
and plenty of time to kick back and relax
Never-ending supply of niceties

Calm waters
Long walks along the harbor
and perhaps a tall pint of lager at the pub

Throw some juicy ones on the barbie mate!
Who cares if 6.2 mil in Somalia are starving mate?
You say to me:
"survival of the fittest, Darwin mate"
"It's so difficult to fit in" I say; so tiring MATE
Did I say that right?
I'm Mohammad, as James in a play called "Aussie Catch Up"
and I don't know how to play that part

What else can I say? they gave me a voice (although in English)
between the self deprecating migrant and the middle eastern rag head, the gave me a choice

And by the way my boss tried to anglicize my name
Said Sebastian had a nice ‘ring’ to it
Well go ahead, march to your colonial tune and have me sing to it

Oh healthy avocados, you're too ripe for my liking
Maybe I'm just used to a bit of rawness in my diet
To be honest
I have a heavy heart, a dark one
Maybe to reconcile, you should take a step
a very very very very very very long one

Why do I struggle in bed?
I feel like my body wants to jump out of my skin.
Why do we think about things?
That makes our brain wants to jump out of our heads.
Lost in my thoughts, all of my patience          and waiting
and waiting for you to come in.
I don’t want to be here, not even hell could create a cage that can hold all my sins.
Why do I struggle in bed?
By the way how my covers look, seems I was dancing instead.

All of these strings,
Abandoning me.
        Tucked away, stored
         Creating new ways they can trigger me.
                Into thinking
                    I’m  breaking
           And yet create tangles inside of me.
Why do I struggle in bed?
     Why must you make nightmares out of rawness and sweat?
         Everynight I wake up, it’s like my body is soaked.
                           Drenched.
Why do I...why do I... keep having nightmares in bed?

and today
on this day of
your birth
I am ******
down into
the rhythms
of all that
we have been
until this moment
the biting rawness
             of new ebbs
the saddened veins
that vibrate
like used, worn
           guitar strings
the curve of
your fingers
that once played
            upon my skin
your weighted down aura
that I can no longer penetrate
and buoy up
and here I stand
all glowing light spirals
my head whirring
in mystic opulence
my gaze pulled to
the reverence of stars
my purity of river
in a swoosh
around my waist
that gurgling clarity
of liquid
pooling me in sacred
                            cleansing
that I must now take into
another rush
of estuary
and as I raise my arms
to the heavens
I almost fade
into the floodlights
                            of time
and my tears
push through
my skin
like the clear
jewels
of
salvation

at the point of entry (explicit)

it does not strike me strange
at the point of entry
when the heightened senses and the dark subconscious merge

when the lust and the sweat intersect
with ego desire and self is everlasting everything
that the ***** words secretion is sticky on my tongue

when I pant poems born in rawness and tears
on this the last day of the year
and eyes closed see visions extraordinaire
and the Maker whispers in both ears see!

it is the see of what is me,
it is the point of entry and departure,
one and the same,
conception an immaculate mess,
the emptying and the fulfilling, when unkempt promises
are born free flowing and semi-truths transform into
actualities unforeseen and my child cells of new poems
are injected, stored, awaiting the birthright
and the death of publication,
my moment of privileged perfection passes
and frowns and smiles are
one and the same, silken thread wove open and shut

the precision precious circumcising of flesh and soul departing

the utter collapse from within, the drowning in the amniotic,
rebirthing rebutting my denying that I have no more to give

I believe I belong to you for it is what the desire firing cylinders
say repeatedly in the union of the up and the down cycle:

come, come inside me,
I am the pleasure
you are the treasure
in one cup measured
conjoined container
when the point of entry is the point of departure
and with eyes closed from satisfaction and prayer
I see everything all at the same time, uttering:

I am undone utterly and the difference between
the end and the beginning can be seen only
at the millisecond long seven decade coming
point of entry

12/31/17 5:38am dawn dying and new day mourning

i've got rawness in me

     (in my fingers even)

i've got it in me (i've
got it in you) i've got
rawness in each knee
pressed 'gainst the
smooth roughing
linoleum i've got my
knees against it
rubbing(but i don't
notice nearly) i merely
notice your skirt's hem
'gainst my neck
                            '
                              ­、

                        '


                                  ­、






                   '

I was born with a heart full of blood and stars.
I was born brave.

When they laid me on my mother’s chest
I stared into her eyes as if I’d known her always.
When she gave me to my father to hold,
he wouldn’t put me down. Just rocked me
through that hospital night of beeping
and chaos and latex gloves snapped
onto capable hands, staring at me
like I was something confusingly
wondrous.

My grandpa first met me after my mother and I
trudged off an airplane into the bustle
of thousands
and when he got a good look at me,
smiling hugely, he said
my god, she’s otherworldly.
No one can compare an infant to
the mystical
but I was round and rosy and
January and furrowed-brow and
decisive, determined, dauntless,
and I think I kind of believe him.

I was what they call a late-bloomer,
a warrior of the quiet kind
who picked tiny strawberries from the neighbor’s
yard and ate them on the driveway
amid battalions of rainbow chalk, who
wore her fairy wings and flower chains
long after other kids gave up make-believe
for video games.
I was an arrow of a child,
headed perpetually for rawness of spirit
and purity of truth,
and when circle after circle of friends
closed on me
my heart ran salty scarlet rivers through my chest.
When they said I was too sensitive, too odd,
I bawled into my mattress
with a richness of despair and yes,
I wished I was not who I was.
I was different, and that scared the other children.
I was kind.

So I grew up. Slowly.
My drawers filled with poems I fought to birth,
waiting in the darkness for them like an animal.
I did stupid things and I did lovely things. My bones
ached me to a new height.

They say the day you get your period is the day you
become a woman, but the day I became a woman
was in the middle of August on the living room couch
when my father stopped loving my mother and started
loving someone else.
I did bleed, but it wasn’t the right kind.
It wasn’t fertility or practicing walking around
with a pad between my legs, awkward,
awed at myself. It wasn’t that kind at all.

There are many ways to grow up. I grew up
because of my dad whistling on mornings after
*** with my best friends’ mom,
because of him showering
to go out and my mother retching into the bathroom sink,
because of the mutilation of family.
But I didn’t grow up dim.
I grew up steely and flagrant and voluminous,
unfolding in all directions
because I, runner in the woods,
I, poet,
I, last one picked for the team,
I, oddball,
I, exhalation of light,
I, otherworldly,
am not stem, nor stamen,
nor petal.

I am the blossom.
Blood and stars.
Brave.

An everyday masquerade
Where each person dons
A different façade,
Yet are all the same
Because it's all
A feigned version
Of the real,
True being inside.

A sea of faces,
Pressuring you,
To be alike;
You have to be
One of a kind,
Yet those who are
Are outcasted in
Everyday life.

So all wear the
Same mask,
Masking the flaws,
The rawness of it all;
Because of the
Social biases.
A place where
No one can be their
Honest self is
"Society".

A society,
Which in definition
Is a community
Of peoples,
Is no longer so.
There are only
One type of person,
Which all souls
Take host in.

In a cosmopolitan world where
Yeezy reigns supreme on our
Speakers, loathed for loving
Genius-acknowledging, we

Have set a standard of beauty
So surreptitious, soulless—
Unattainable in this number-
Crunching world so pre-

Occupied with symmetry and
Egotism—structure—black and
White dominated by rawness and
Robotics: steampunk screams echo-
Ing from the rooftops of skyscrapers

As lightning continues to strike the highest point.

Sleep is timed to the minute,
my breaths let out lazy smoke
icicles make goose bumps into paragraphs
books written on my arms through yellow mist
bare feet in the morning on my rooftops
counting international planes in the sky.

My migrant bones take to the sky,
each moderate minute
that passes by on my rooftops,
increases the rawness of smoke
like lung-fulls of lemon mist
spewing a nebula of paragraphs.

In the murk of paragraphs
red papery ashes explode into the sky
leaving a cloud of syllable mist.
The last fragile minute
reduces my shivers to smoke,
a winter shell of shoulders on rooftops.

Double exposed film across rooftops
turn silhouettes into paragraphs,
a congregation of vapours and smoke
speaking soliloquies into the sky.
I am minute,
dissipating into canary mist.

Billows of ocean mist
make my fingers melancholy on rooftops
where a tidal minute
freezes salty foam paragraphs
a vacation from the sky,
my mossy perch and violet smoke.

Heliotropic smoke
spirals against dense mist;
fine rain blinding the sky
soaking lemonade rooftops.
My bed of paragraphs
curls into an illegible minute.

The lilac smoke in my eyes is almost minute.
A mustard mist wrinkles the paragraphs,
like the purple sky dropping over the rooftops.

What blaze of fury has brought such decay?
Translucent hearts are all the color this picture
of hate. Can you see the broken ones? Can you
smell the hopelessness they wear like some
expensive perfume? Watch them cower and scamper
through bushes. Hiding their scorched skin like it's
something obscene. Watch as they scatter like marbles
from a child's circle. Building fire from scraps of oh-so
precious wood. Their smoke clouds the almost
non-existent breeze. What would their ancestors say?
Would they blush at the ***** rawness of this world?
Would they gasp at the events that brought us here?
Does it even matter? In the end the grass
is gone. The trees have died and the flowers have
fallen. Tell me what is sacred about this.

Where is the god you prayed to?

Many speak of love in spring of their lives but I felt the winter deep set in my bones when I was young. A stone cold dessert of bone and ash the pieces of my life irrevocably torn from me before you had found me in my hollowed out hell. You were the first light I could see through the fog.  Behind the curtain of our ***** faith we hid our bodies in each other. And all that was ash was suddenly silk and satin.
It was a a failed baptism to be born into this world stuck beneath the surface drowning in a guilt not my own and a shame in my heart. Never before had I felt air like you breathed into me in that book store corner our faces flushed and barley touched.
I am sure I was to be pulled into the drink if not for your love. Your kindness and rawness shown back at me in that fire you carried in your hair and your eyes. At just 16 and now at 28 you have been gone longer then I ever knew you and yet the memories feel longer still. I still see movement behind that veil but you are not behind it and I am haunted by that shadow. I still feel the heat of your fire, but it is the shadow of a forever fading warmth to never truly leave and let me chill and  yet to never find the breadth to allow me true comfort. I fear I am to become a wraith in your absence although I walk forever in the sun you showed. Over the hunch of the earth I have traveled now, seeking my comfort. Seeking your fire again and if I am to become a wraith, of ash with only the memory of fire to torment me until my end I will be grateful it was your fire. And when I fade even as a wraith into the cusp of the world and the void takes my memory of you I will find you again in that place. Never have I been so sure that I lost the love of my life. I have returned to winter knowing warmth and am more and less for it.
And I wouldn’t trade it for gold.
I love you. And I always will.

A ***** drills inside my core
It nags, graps, pans, the hands
They knot in spins and twists

My crux left at the river side
Breathing,gasping fast, faster
Body out in the open rawness

Persisting resistance of the force
An outward shield winning
Winged left,right, up, down

Another day, a greater pace
A passive taste, ranting in haste
In bricks *****, all I taste is hate

All walking in dead silence
Heads shouting with dreams
A roll of sweet and sour sate

Echoes of taxes and budgets
How will they evolve us?
Snatching more from pockets

The rockets burst to mock us
Pulling our all to fund them
Nuclear bombs creating tombs

Distribution of lies and wars
Missiles disposing as lyrics
An objectification of reason

Figure brushes on magazines
Incisions of bits and **** hoots
To boost of the hot posed ***

No truth is scaffolded as real
A psychological brainwash
Pollutes and limits indefinately

I will never be
ensconced in
charming lace
valentine
            hearts
candypink encased
You will not see me
withering away
back of hand
          upon brow
in fainting stance
in a flowing silk dress
swinging on a
           perfect bough
For I am a river
wild and true
sometimes quiet
sometimes
roaring and
             soaring in
shimmering hues:
Blues and greens
mixed with shades
           of earth, of fire
bespeaking emotions
in tones of desire
My river can get messy
can flood over too fast
because my heartstrings
                       get pulled
by the strength of
                        the blast
It can bring up
colored stones
in its undertow
fish and otters
spinning
in voodoo
          overflow

As the colors rise up
in this heated coolness,
                          this deluge
the influx overwhelms me
with a power so huge
and then I need
     some metallics,
flecks of silver and gold
to soothe
passion's piquancy
                when it gets
                   particularly bold
                      Specked within rocks
                    to ground me, keep
               my feet on the soil
             prevent my heart
          from slipping
       down into
     a choking,
         hot oil

Bronze minerals reflect
peaks of sadness,
     searing pain
        from rawness of hurt
          with no one to blame
             Yes, it can be a balm
                         and also a burn
to be so linked
by spirit-threads
to another, in emotions
that churn
just on the brink
but never truly there
to experience the
         fullness of rush
ripe culmination
abundant and lush

and that's when the
river turns
into molten
              lava...
and I must dig
deep under
layers of ancient strata
seeking relief
in coolness of earth
as my spirit
             again undergoes
              a kind of rebirth
For when we
grow to love
strange things
happen, indeed
       In the core of
my essence
you are the root
of my
        seed

There’s a difference between calling a girl fit and hot and calling her pretty and beautiful
When you call me beautiful I imagine you noticing the way my hair falls from the clip over time
I imagine you noticing the way my giggle sounds and the way my smile lights you up
When you call me pretty I imagine you noticing the complexities of my eyes, the way my freckles come out in the sun and and depth of my dimples
Pretty is noticing the way my legs are sculpted when I walk ahead of you and the way my nose flares when I genuinely laugh

Fit is the body two ***** and a waist
A pair of lips you can only imagine what they do
Hot is the low cut top exposing my cleavage and my ability to open my legs for you
Fit is a one night stand word or the words of a man in a club hoping that that night you are feeling especially vulnerable and insecure

Beautiful is the text she gets when she lies in bed at 11pm asking if she wants to go on a walk
And although she professes to him excuses when she walks out the door of a lack of make up and three jumpers to keep out the cold and her insecurities encapsulated by her self destructive smile and her hair pushed behind her ear
You lift her face and examine that untouched smile
The rawness of her appearance and the purity of her eyes
That is beautiful
And you call it so

When fit is the way a body looks and how much makeup can look like none
Pretty is the way she smiles when she sees you and the way she feels looked upon.

As I visualized people in my mind, and wondered,"Who are you?"
I felt a real person within my existence. I felt like a real person even if only for a moment, I felt like one of the others, one of the ones I imagine.
Yet, it's fleeting, it only comes when I feel the deepest sadness, when the rawness of this perception throws me into the ground, gets dirt in my eye.

She is in so much pain, and I can't do a **** thing because I am not real.

Many masks
Many names,
Misinterpreted
Misunderstood
By choice...

Mask over mask
Bereft of skin
Dare not reveal
What is underneath...

Masquerade
the only way
I dare
I live...

Rawness, nakedness
Unplastered walls.
Debris, wreckage,
where's my mask

Who are you,
who makes me wonder,
who makes me ponder.
Something I never asked before...

**Who am I

With a raw heart I swing the monkey bars of life. Day by Day.
I pray weak prayers for warm rays of hope to thaw these parts of me.
Make the picture pleasing again.
Swing by swing, He breathes into my spirit,
"feel the rawness"
"taste with thanksgiving"
"listen to the life"
"behold the blessing"
Point, Press, Focus
at once, the swings are of less significance.
When the Lord is at the center of my viewfinder
Weakness was the answer to my prayers
Coldness becomes a picture of beauty.

There is a love, deeply embedded  into

fear's reverence.. and what we fear most,
is the threat of annihilation..  yet,  is not
that, which is within the deep hooks  of
annihilation's looming leer, that which
is also the very seeds sown-- giving way
to the very firstfruits of Life-Anew..
within itself?

So then, is not death's very fear,  
in itself,  a conceding to the inevitability
of Love's unfolding conquer?
The condemnation-shadow, so unfairly
placed into you,  at such a tender
young age, has run amok for so many
unrestrained years  within your beautiful
spirit, and body..  is no longer
    an end-all..
    or catch-all,
But is now, but a spring-board;   albeit,
fear-driven.. into that (finally, Beautiful-one)
which brings Life.. directly out of death--
Not with the annihilation  of the very  Death..
(which gave you Magic) but through its own,
very power to draw us towards Love,
through its own, very fear (respect)  of that Love..
does not then, death.. through Love,  become upheld?

So how then can the condemnation within you, be bad
except that it be allowed to,  for life.. keep you
hidden in shadow? Is not then  Love's Light, the
very thing that creates Shadow's, shadow, therefore
exposing Shadow's nature by bringing forth,
its own shadow..  leaving the vulnerable rawness of
condemnation, exposed..
Hence, the horrendous sting of Love's truth.. yet also,
through the Faith-increasing training of experience  alone,
is the strengthening into resilience  the beautiful, war-torn
Spirit  that has become able to begin  to finally.. take in, Love.
This is where you are now at, beautiful girl. While under
condemnation's death-hold, you have hated me for so long
that the love.. mixed with fear.. became its own  natural
concession into Life, itself-- giving way to the Magical
falling-off  of the scales that have covered those beautiful
eyes of yours for so long

Bring your Death, beautiful-one. Through your Faith,  it is
established..  and then made, Complete. The giftedness, borne
from the deep, catacombs of Death's Unholy Hold, come forth
in fullness.. into fruition.. as you pass from Death, into Life--
right here.. in the land of the Living.
The Death you have known, does not fall off at the gate
as you pass through it.. but instead, through the newness
of your beautiful eye's, Life View..  Death's previous Unholiness
  becomes instantly, Holy.

I am in love with the death that is in you. From its hold,
were born every Magical gift that I love so much, in you..
and  while in your presence..  will forever
take my breath away.

Welcome to my life, Beautiful one.