We are all so very fragile.
Our sun kissed porcelain faces
are freckled with Achilles heel fault lines and chipped paint.
Shining through to our nervous nervous system and our tendency to over think things.
We hide so much inside of us.
Behind dance less masquerades
Our bodies held together only by cages of ivory bones
cages that cradle the thin winged heart beats of our chest
nervous moths stumbling around inside
knocking books off of shelves and
eating the sweaters that we use to keep our hearts from freezing over.

The autumn wind is cold like sad glaciers
and it's easy to break down at times like these.
Our bones ache and shriek like boiling tea kettles.
Making it hard not to shatter.

We are all so fragile.
Burnt out light bulb fragile.
Frozen lake fragile.
Defibrillated heartbeat fragile.
We are broken branch fragile
chronic alcoholics sobriety fragile.
The middles school girls reaction to the word “fat” fragile
We are the kind of fragile that set off big bangs.
We are, paranoid breakable.
And its got to the point where
we have begun taping up our light leak vulnerabilities
with perceptions of perfection and thoughts of rejection
spending our time in dark rooms as our minds just keep reeling
and trying to shut off feelings and unwind
but we have been over exposed to such ****.
To slides and slides of negative negatives

we used to burst apart with so much light.

but the sun isn't shining honest, the night sky is black
and its raining in all the wrong ways.
We're out of season.
sewing up the holes in our personality
with floods of insecurities and droughts of identity.
damning what matters.

****, its hard to know what matters.

But I am still trying to figure that one out
And the moths are still here
as the pendulum clocks keep ticking
eating the sweaters that we used
to keep our hearts from freezing over.

But we are freezing to the core.
The atoms inside of us splinting into half lives;
we haven't even lived half of our lives
yet we feel so ancient.
The dust piles growing on our slanted bookshelves shoulders
Our bright idea light bulbs flickering,
getting covered up by snowdrifts.

We are gas giants wrapping ourselves into open space darkness
hiding from the bright side of the moon.
Like a black cat superstition we are running from our own precondition
of lying about being ourselves
We pull dark black-hole hoods over our eyes
wincing at the light trails of shooting stars
though we, too, want to be brilliant.
We try to orbit the sun hoping that humanity is a symphony;
that being popular and having the most friends is what matters.
and we can be where the grass is always greener by fitting in and by being mirrors
Even though not being yourself is nauseating.

We can be nauseating, we can be mirrors.

Because we are scared that if we don't
hide who we really are
we may end up like Pluto.
Ostracized for existing.
floating around in space having stare downs with wormholes
A shivering rock entity with a complete loss of identity.

We already are so lost.
Our souls waning and waxing
Rocking back and forth
on wood beams and porches.
like an ADD moonbeam rocking chair.

But now its time to stop in one place and readjust our backbones.

Because I know that we are fragile, I know that.
I know that its hard filling in the cracks that have found their way down our back-stabbed spines
we all have our histories with being dropped and rejected.
But we weren't made to be cardboard box people,
packing tape and labels wrapped in all of the wrong places.
we are boxes full of wormholes into other dimensions
we are full of life and blood and bones,
full of oceans and stardust and daggers
There is so much more to us than our brown paper complexions.
So climb out of those kangaroo pouch caves that you have called home for the last few years
There's no need hiding anymore.
You can be safe in your own skin.
You can climb the Himalayas and scream out as many lightning rods as you want
we will all be listening as you burst apart into thunder claps.
As you bleed yourself into infinity

So, dim the lights

Throw your self at the world
and crash like waves into existence
you are perfect when you are yourself.
Grab that porcelain off of your face
and let your smile super nova fracture into a cosmic grin of constellations.

People will look up to you and be inspired.
A cardboard box rookie sprawled out in the stars.
Lighting up all of our faces with E.T. fingertips.
No longer hiding being reflective eclipses
There's only one person who can tell you who you are.
Only you can speak for yourself.

I know that your fragile
I know that.

We all are..,

I wonder if you're in his arms right now
And it makes me
Sick.
It's been nearly a year
And it hasn't gotten easier.
It hasn't gotten easier.
It hasn't gotten easier.
It always did wreck me, that I could wake up in the middle of the night
And wonder if you were in bed with him
Right then.
It always destroyed me
Because I never got that.
I never shared that with you.

You...
You were the only person
I ever wanted to sleep with.
And yet
You weren't the first.
You weren't the first.
You weren't the first.
Because you left.

The night it happened
I never told you I cried
Because you weren't the first.
(I wonder if I will cry
Every time.)
I wanted you to think
That I didn't care, that I could do what you did.
But inside
I never felt a thing but empty
And I will always be devastated that
You weren't the first.

And maybe
Maybe you won't be anything
At all,
Maybe I will never be that close to you
Ever.
And that's why nights like this
When I sit alone and wonder
If you are with him
Right
Now
Crush me just like always.
And inside I can feel my bones crack and splinter
Until I'm a pile of twigs and dust
And I change the channel on the television instead
Of splinting them back together.
Because I sort of want to stay crushed.
Because you are still
The only person
I want to be that close to,
The only person
I want to have
All of me.
My skin belongs to you
And to this day whenever anyone else touches me
Part of me secretly wants to push them away.
And I know I will have to live with that
Through your love affairs
Your marriages
Your children
Your divorces
Your choices
Your life.
I will have to live somehow
With that beating right next to my heart
Knocking it out of time, hitting it like a punching bag.

Tomorrow I will notch my chin higher.
Tomorrow I will smile.
Tomorrow I will be strong.
But tonight?
Tonight I don't want to pretend
I'm okay with it.
And no matter how high I turn the volume on the tv,
No matter what I read or listen to or draw or write,
I know that I will not be able to drive from my mind
The skewering thought
That maybe tonight
You are in bed
With him.

As glided from separate parts of the Earth into a sea of splinting wood works to build an exceptional story of "yearned for" glamour. We are as one through spirits. As the morning glory of singing chirps fulfill our drums with the booms and baps that awaken us, a smell is rising in our minds.
Of eggs and crackles of bacon.
As younger cookie cutter forms of us, we never knew of our imminent and "promised" future us. Not knowing anything past of what we hoped the year's end would bring. We were of laughter echoed through, what we didnt know, a false home. Only false to those who gave us light. But truth to you and I because our laughter covered the impurity.
As exact opposites of black and white. Or light and dark. We had nothing to tie us but the blood that ran through our veins.
We were destined to be joined by incestuous paths and I remember, as of yesterday, the day you were born. The proud emotion that ran through me, I didnt quite understand at that age but it's an emotion I will never forget. You were my little sister.
The scar above your left eyebrow from falling and busting your head. Or the only time you made my nose bleed. The nights of dancing to the soundtrack Valley Girl. The performances we'd put on. The decorating and fighting of the Christmas tree, which you always won. (It's because you were younger.) Or our snowball fights, the cooking of hot dogs on the wood stove when the power went out. The forts! The most aweeeeeesome forts!
The humorous antics of picking on you, punching you, but first to stand in our two lady army are tiny memories of which I wish we had more. Of which I recall upon when I text you and tell you I miss you.  
As times have moved along with the changing of seasons our lives have drifted. We  the meaning of strangers. I find myself tearing in your absence and wishing we were more than just the same blood in our veins.
I wish we were best friends.
As pages turn in our chapters of dawdling stories, ocean erased footprints, and regrets we say we "dont" regret, we are growing further. Distancing the strain that pulls us together, they werent the only things to divorce.

Time for some self-service surgery!
Another bottle in lobotomy,
Splinting back broken dreams
With time-battered memory
And just enough whiskey

There's supposed to be a difference
In Breathing, and Being Alive;
But for the life of me,
I can't remember why.
I
  Can't
     Remember,
         Why?

There is
no dark.
Nor light.

Just me.

Feeling.

Filled.
Empty.
Refilled.
Empty again.

**** it.
I am not a bottle!
Here,
watch me
splinting
a dumb heart.

There.
No dark.
Nor light.

Nouvelles erótica

Usted desea una nouvelle
donde yo tomo el papel
de amante insaciable;
Que rompa sus cables,
Que hable con sus señales,
apagando sus raudales deseos
a base de besos con sabor a cerezo.
Astillar nuestros cuerpos
hasta que encontrar aliento,
mientras se esfuma la bruma
y mis miedos en su boca se
convierten en blanca espuma.

Usted me toma como núbil pupila,
Toma mi cintura como si supiera mi holgura,
Enjambra mi apetito y ultraja mis sentidos.
Me hace sentir mujer,
embriagándome en ese placer
de ser tomada por un hombre
que sabe la morfología de la pasión,
y no pide permisos y ni perdón,
y sin gentileza alguna toma posesión mis temblorosas piernas,
haciendo de ellas lo que usted quiera,
doblegando mi cabeza, la acerca y la aleja como desea, imponiendo su firmeza hasta estallar de conmoción.

Toma mi cuello como si del fuera su dueño,
Su boca insensata alborota mis plazas,
Su lengua canora le canta a mis magnolias,
Por primera vez sutilmente me abriga la aurora,
me abarca el ardor y en usted me acomodo
- como lo hace el sereno en la alborada.
Grito y clamo saber su nombre
mientras los soplos de su respiración
se descargan sobre mi cuerpo,
que busca encontrar alivio en su perdición.

Usted es mi desdoro,
Y no me importa tener honra
si habita su lengua en mi boca
Y me lleve a esos espacios
donde mi cuerpo revive en sus brazos.
********************­***
****************­*******You want a soap opera
where I take the role
of an insatiable lover;
That rips apart your shackles,
that speaks to your gestures,
that dims down your abundant desires
with cherry-flavored filled kisses…  
Splinting our bodies until
you find encouragement,
while the haze disappears and
my fears in your mouth become ivory spume.

You take me as a young novice,
Taking my waist as if I knowing my depth,
Widening my appetite and insulting my senses.
You make me feel like a woman,
Inebriating me in that insoluble pleasure
Of being made love to by a man who
knows the morphology of passion.
Who does not ask for permission
and, or forgiveness,
unkindly taking possession of my trembling legs,
controlling them as you wish,
manipulating my head, pulling closer
and then apart, while imposing
your firmness as you burst with excitement.

You take my neck as if you’re its owner,
your reckless mouth flusters my organism
as your harmonious tongue sings to my magnolias.
I am delicately shielded into the aurora,
Covered in heat and I nestle in your aroma
Wail to know your name
Whilst your breath discharges in my burrows
And I finally find relief in your perdition.

You are my dishonor,
I care not for morality
if your tongue resides within me
- taking me to those places
where my body is revived in your imposing essence.  

©LeydisProse
9/26/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse//

I have to teach at 6am tomorrow and it's 9:50pm today. My hands are throbbing from birth defects and surgeries and I'm not sure why I seem to think that the exact motion of typing which is my top agitator will somehow be cathartic.


They say don't fight the splint.  My OT says

Don't
FIGHT
the Splint.

Splinting is not enough, you must rest. You must accept the shape and stillness to have any hope in healing. Every fight - the muscle spasms, the tendons tear, the inflammation swells. And it will never stop hurting.

And of course I think of you.