Sun is bright
sun is warm
warm and light
warm of heart
heart of gold
heart is right
right is bold
right is good
good is mine
good is all
all is fine
all is done
done the deed
done is over
over no need
over your head
head for stop
head for start
start the race
start the clock
clock your days
clock your time
time to go
time to rhyme
rhyme in bed
rhyme in school
school is fun
school is cool
cool in sun
cool in moon
moon is yellow
moon over hill
hill calls hello
hill is bumpy
bumpy is road
bumpy is life
life is cold
life is living
living is bold
living is hard
hard I'm told
hard as tacks
tacks are sharp
tacks are shiny
shiny as stars
shiny and bright
bright like sun
bright and twinkly
twinkly and fun
twinkly and winkly
winkly
fun

Night came and conquered my ceiling
Head tilted back to inherit it's familiar splendour.
But she isn't there... Left my heart slightly gaping.
O twinkly one, have you seen her?

She's mysteriously veiled tonight,
Playfully on her halo, dances gentle light.
Don't give up on her, listless moongazer,
She wants to be conquered, put up a good fight.

Persistent skirmish that sets dreams and reality apart,
Eyes don't see what the heart knows so clear,
Clarity eludes when forgotten scars start to smart,
Do you know if she even realises I'm here?

She knows, and dreams of your happy eyes,
That only her will hold on their feverish gaze.
Unbroken threads of hope, your yearning to baptize
And her ice cold craters to be set ablaze.

Fire in my vessel still burns bright and strong,
Never extinguished behind the facade of my weary husk,
My flame would endure just as the wick is long,
Tell me dear star, will I see her next dusk?

When the sun's swords will seize,
slashing the sky in dazzling blue,
When the air will bring a comforting ease,
Her glistening "yes" will welcome you.

Your comforting words ring only of truth,
Winking in codes, you might be right .
Darkness had claimed and engulfed all proof,
Will you accompany me through tonight?

This piercing question you don't have to ask me,
For even though my light's billion of years away,
Twinkling in your dreams I'll always be,
The night companion, under your moon's ray.


ryn*
*Dajena M

☆”˜˜”°•.¸☆ ★ ☆¸.•°”˜˜”°•.¸☆

Stars gather in a twinkly show
     moon ascending in the dark sky,
          drowsy souls falling asleep
               in the still of night passing by.

        Drifting,
              floating,
                  peaceful dreams

               in gentle flows of height, and depth,
         myriad auroras of colors dance
a soft melody, on whispered breath.

Lingering just a moment or two
      as the world of dreams take hold,
           putting tired souls at ease
               in a soothing light of mosaic gold.

        Drifting,
              floating,
                  in songs of night

            magical melodies fill the air,
      floating upon a gentle breeze
tranquil moments, and answered prayers.

Stars gather in a twinkly show
     moon ascending in the dark sky,
          drowsy souls falling asleep
               in the still of night passing by.
~
              ☆”˜˜”°•.¸☆ ★ ☆¸.•°”˜˜”°•.¸☆

I am Comfortable
     able to ease your fears with
     a smile or a flip of my
     appropriately curly hair.

I am forgiven traffic ticket
     proper sentences and twinkly
     eyes, able to quickly ease your alarm

I am Just a Warning

I am The Exception
     elegant sentences
     king's English
     never tolerating the incorrect use of their

I am private college education
     the accessory to your culture
     the other to your subject
     always complimentary,
     but never the source of discussion

I am Beautiful
Accompanied by "What are you mixed with"
     A reflection of appropriation for my own culture
     Too White for Black,
     Too Black for White

I am inner city in the suburbs

I am Lightskinned
     the kind of Black that keeps you
     Comfortable.

Downshifting

drifting, listing to the right,

I fell on my bike the other day

flipped over the front of it actually

but kept myself in a navy crawl frog position

landed kind of on my stomach, kind of on my knees

and then a split second later my bike had finished its flip and it landed on my back.

Nothing really happened except this nice man came by— he had seen it.

I got up and was walking back and forth

and he dusted leaves off of me and felt my head in the back where the bike hit it.

I had a bump and the man was gentle, respectful.

He asked how it felt to walk and asked where all the places were that I thought I hit.

I said here here here and here especially. 

And I said, “Did you see my bike land on me?” 

He said, “The whole thing was kind of bad.” 

And I think he wanted to downplay it.

He was about my age and I wanted to say hey, I’m not really asking you out on a date but you are so kind and if there isn’t a woman in your life who

would be upset about it would you like to have a coffee with me? 

but then I thanked him instead and unexpectedly hopped on my bike and started riding away to catch up with my son. 

And the guy was saying to my back, “Really? You’re just going to ride your bike?” Like maybe I was supposed to be traumatized or something.

 But maybe he wanted me to walk with him for a minute…

The truth is I really wasn’t hurt at all except for a couple of

scrapes and big bump on my left quad muscle and bikes are second nature to me, so yeah, I’m gonna ride.

 So I rode for awhile and I felt like I had just been in a soft pillow with that dude. The feeling of being so comfortable wasn’t leaving me and I thought man, I rode away so fast, how come? He would have felt like an idiot yelling after me, I made it impossible for him. He was a shy guy anyway, I could tell. Or at least was sort of surprised by the exchange.

 I could have helped him out could have just said hey thanks are you on facebook? do you wanna do the friend thing…?

 So now I’m imagining what if I had done that and turns out he's single and we got in touch…. and then my mind goes into a happy little land of strong forearms and twinkly laughing and good food and boats and lakes and music and *** in the kitchen and laughing so hard you blow milk out of your nose.

 And THEN I remember….when you fall in love you it’s all fun and stuff but, in reality, there is a whole entire other person attached.

 And that person has all these appendages that are called family and they are a part of the package and you end up having to get along with a bunch of people you ordinarily wouldn’t say more than five words to. You have to see them at every holiday. You have to buy them presents. You have to bake stuff and decorate stuff. And besides the family, the dude himself always has issues of some sort that, no matter how much you love him, are annoying as ****. Why is that?

 And then I think, this…this… this is precisely why I ride my bike. So I can think.

Oh Compelling Magician
Why do your vibes glow?
You're tempting,
Mysterious,
But my brain is just too slow.
To keep with your illusions
And your twinkly fantasy
But I'm compelled to look in further,
To the effervescence,
Your majesty.
You have this way-
Pure,
And Indescribable.
It's magnetizing,
It's happy,
And it's quite unfathomable.
So dear, dear, magician
Please let me come close.
Tell me of your secrets,
Of the mystery of the cosmos.
I promise not to tell-
Your secret's safe with me.
And you'll have my heart forever,
Two magicians to be
Psychically, as one,
For all eternity.

Will it be shining again all blue water?
Now is up to the luck.
Far from the twilight beach the sun
jumped in the sea is out of the light out of colour.
Lest it dives out catching the moon in the dark!

Twinkly stars, the studded diamond set
up in the high sky softly whisper:
As dark descends, a new moon
can drown with blindfolded eyes
but never lose her sway!

Over the black canvas of the darkened sea
lapping up one more dwarf - a submerged sun,
the untouched moon comes out.
And by now all the half-lit light bulbs up in the sky,
the cherubic stars are mirrored upon the sea water.
Now will the moon paint its mystique blue limelight
or will toy away once again being untouched?

I told you this would last forever
But I lied
I said things will never change
But I lied
I told you you were beatiful, even though I can't explain beauty
So I lied
I told you Red was a beatiful color
but who and what describes beauty?
For they say the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
I say it's mostly directly proportional to how you feel about a person
Excuse my mathematical jargon because I'm no Mathematician
Don't they say in the Bible that King Solom wore Purple, the color of beauty, the color of wisdom
But who am I to tell it different so, I lied
I said your skin was as smooth as silk and as beautiful as vanilla but, was it?  Was it really? I know I couldn't tell the truth so, I lied

I told you your eyes are beatiful, your eyes are big, twinkly
Maybe I lied, it was just your pupil dialating when it saw my light
I told you I could give you the world,
But the world was not mine to give to begin with, but baby its what you wanted so, I lied
I also told you the sky was green, the sea was blue, and you believed every word, I'm sorry

Maybe I lie a bit too much, or maybe just enough, or maybe that's also a lie
It's mostly to protect you

Remeber that day at the park?
I held you in my arms
The world didn't seeze to exist but us
We swore to be together for life, was it a lie
You said you're mine forever and I'm yours too, or was it also a lie?
Can't keep with the lies no more

It's lie after lie because that's all what you seem to believe
Because truth to you, seems too good to be true
I remember the day you held my hand, looked me in the eye and said, "do you still love me? "
I know I used to answer that everyday with no doubt in my mind, but that day,
The answer remained the same,
As I said proudly, "I still do babe"
Guess what?...

Seven Glorious Ones,
Are searching for our Tin!
Across seven vast ages,
Though here’s where we’ll begin.
And those twinkly-ones appear,
Stare from the painted haze…
Those ‘eyes’ attract, erratic mind…
Tin settle’s on their gaze.
Run Tin! Run! Her falling velvet,
Stag-man hangs now on horizon,
Hunter’s purpose, -rage!
Mourn the loss, Oh brave Tin,
Brave hero Tin, -seven dancing on your grave.

It’s Harvard VS Yale this weekend, the vibes are just starting now. Everyone - and I mean everyone - has been asking about my game tickets, because guest tickets are $25 a pop. I’m more interested in the parties than the game, so I donated mine (Students get 1 free ticket and they can buy 2 for $15 each) to Lisa (one of my suitemates) for her family.

Lisa, Leong, Anna and I are getting ready to go down to the dining hall. Lisa asks the room, “Harry Styles’ new buzzcut - Yes, or No?”
“No,” Leong said, not looking up from her teen fashion magazine.
“Oh, no - God no,” I answered, “The worst decision of 2023.”
Anna blows a raspberry, “I think he’s trying to ditch his ‘pretty boy’ image and go hard rock.”
Lisa followed up, “And?..” “And NO, disaster NO, jump the shark NO,” Anna answered.
“I’m a NO also” Lisa admitted, and she’s a h-core Styles fan.

Later, Lisa was reclining on my bed, using every pillow I own to turn it into a chaise lounge that wouldn’t wrinkle her outfit. Her heels were on the floor and her bare feet were dangling in the air. Her toenails were a French tipped twinkly-pink.

She was slurping on a Coke-Zero - again - for a much-needed kick of caffeine before the night's events - which made me feel guilty, because she picked that up when I took her to Paris last summer. I’ve told her (a million times) how bad it is for her metabolism and endocrine system.
“How could you do this to me?” I asked, as if exasperated - which is currently our in-joke for everything.
“Now-now-now now-now,” she says, in self-defense, “what SHOULD I be drinking then?”
“H2-oh,” I say. “H20, as in water,” she sort of inquired, she then asked, “What’s the ‘2’ stand for?”
“Twenty,” I think, snarking back.
“Oh, you fancy, huh?” she laughed.
“I’m in college.” I shruggingly bragged.

I was shuffling through my closet, trying to pick out an outfit that would, at least, look ‘ok’ next to Lisa’s ‘in your face’ fun mix of pinks and purples sprinkled with neon greens.
Barbie herself could never.
I doubted I could keep with the theme.

My secret to dressing for these endless ‘theme’ parties, is to just tune out the noise and focus on your feels. If you give too much weight to how others will judge you, it’ll ruin the moment. I ended up wearing a vintage, deep blue, Betsey Johnson dress with matching tights and black ballet flats. Glittery, smokey-eye makeup and messy curls completed the 'très bien ensemble'.

I looked in the mirror, hoping for glam, and shrugged, “the scene’s going to be moody-lit anyway,” I said, as an excuse to the universe.

“You’re going to ******-der-der,” Lisa pronounced, as we gathered our bags to leave. “******-der-der?” I chuckled.
“******-der-der,” she confirmed, as if it were obvious.

h-core = *******

It’s my thang a langwitch spellproteckter go getter- sleek katrina stereowrite braid these monster tentacles aww now cute buzz pro bro-intellectual collaboration gush &fush; & fleek flecks firecompass full of grandiose art verses culture legions sing over and outty 5000 package cursive dialog primer kilameter romance make it equator atypical retro passion that ****** away cuss words p phucker! grade cheated tempo cuntgrunge klue move shadows to stand alones while in line to get in the barfuck gang outside party with smilie txt tshirt and a computer on diet coke kush telescope acid whatever like you feel like emitting or like have 9 thoughts about or like forgot about escaping like post fever social media to become a social sensation out of perception the limited yet coveted cherished harps and fairies and twinkly shimmery **** that doesnt growl or grunt huh? Speech please dont
As if i had the guts to stomp on a butterfly-award speaking dear diary fanatics central stranger than fictive red read (aloud allowed?)Which one. politically slurred thousand jury chapter grew some serious social security numbers and dyed them to prove a cutup battle wins the war
**** **** fick fock u
Mindseekers

i dream of a coven of witches quaaluding through the night to kidnap me and fly me away as an object of their seasonal *** magick ritual, to conjure a 5th dimensional being, who will possess me when the ***** & planets are aligned just right.
the cult of drunk chicks laughs on butterscotch and blood, born in the early 90s, they are mtv-obsessed, twitter/tumblr toned, disney-raised and disney-praised and trained in the ways of camping and conjuring and makeup and volleyball, or soccer, or both. they have killer legs.

& i fall asleep for 1000 years to penumbra.
the demon has my body, and he worships their legs. and they worship his wars. and his money. and his twinkly brass knuckle conference calls. they worship his ability to peel the spines from culture and countries and cook-off the clinging meat-bits left on the bone in a broth or stew or gruel of hopeful has-beens and dreamers of love.

awaken.
to the apocalypse so long and wrought and beautiful as the novels and films and serials proposed.
the bomb was loved, and the love mushroomed, and the mushrooms were plucked and ****** upon by gleeful young savages for nutritional values.
and those values grow.
and the growth is seen as succulent fruit hanging from trees in gardens in groves and the groves are in troves where they blanket and blush.
the world is made right again,
by seedlings and the green.

wind was sweeping darkness
clouds cluttered the horizon
in all directions
encircling clear, midnight sky
foreshadowing the full moon
shiny, twinkly things beamed brightly
in pollution’s absence
mulberry, guava and palm
swayed in silhouette
dancing to wind chime songs
soft clacks, tinkles and bongs
fragrant breezes carried ocean
like a sweet smelling memory
gently stirring the stillness

I am a rare breed. I'm a soft breeze in the very beginning of fall. The little orange leaf that's fallen off the branch of a forty foot tall tree. I am cardigans and ginger hair braided back with a little daisy chain tucked behind my ears. I am the smell of a new book right if the shelf of Barns And Nobel. I am the leather bound journal used for writing down the secrets God shares with His children. I am twinkly lights hung around white walls. A sweet smelling candle and warm pumpkin pie.

Moldy sprocket of time piece.
Stop watching my every crease,
As it folds into my cheeks.
Wisdom grows my crows feet.
Twinkly locket locked in.
Place based on my chest, breast plate,
Sternum pinned beside the window sill.
Watching the sun bathe.
Light.
Bring it to lips.
Hold that picture clutch it, touch it,
Smother with wishes, pictures held of
Long dark hair,
Sprinkle, glitter eyes and twilight of moon, inside,
This prize.
One small 1 inch circumscribed ebb and flow of milky skins.
As you can see in this tin man trinket,
Winks and blinks, under blankets and springs,
Of the bed setting marched upon by dark hair love speech.
To my Juliet, who never sweats, never worries, knows best,
Knows truth, no jealousy, nothing more than a friend.
Living in Austin.
Our paths never crossing,
This entire Texas will always keep her away from me;
But nothing will keep her from me like the grand canyon we've created between each other through pain submitted to.

“Christian. You should leave.”
walks away.
Ran through the hedge row, directly through head bowed,
Crushed it's leaves and vines and twigs, ten thousand mangroves didn't stop my legs.
Rammed my head into a wall with all the force to knock me out.
Collapsed my lungs.
In the middle of the night, sixth street and east.
Hated me for months. Maybe years,
Embalm some dead.

That night, she hit me with an oak board, over 70 times,
My buttocks bruised black and blue hue of the night like broken
Maxillary bone black eyes, the perfect color of sleep.

I Never Flinched A Bit.

I Hope she never reads this poem, I hope my future lover doesn't either.

It will still be just ****.

today will begin and end and not be missed
which is to say, i've been wasting time again
when i swore to hold on to each second
when i took the sun in my hands and slipped it into my pocket
the problem with carousels is that they move in a circle
twinkly circus music and fun aside
we end where we began
rising and falling
but never really progressing
i will tell you recovery isn't linear
but keep quiet the question
of possibility
listening to the twinkly circus music
rising and falling
coming back around to the beginning

When I stand before the mirror
to my horror
I find I have lost me

stares back at me
Sherlock

though I hate him
he warms up to me
takes me in his reins
morose eyes twinkly
gait sprightly

I become him
waken and in dream
memorizing his line
making his habits mine

like him I sprint
trails of footprint
and in all his fantasy

I'm no more me.

He scares
haunting in nightmares
one part
one heart
one role

He steals my soul.

there are two floors
in my house
an upstairs
and a downstairs

separated by a
gray and green
concrete stairwell
where the footsteps
echo and voices bounce
against the fluorescence

i like the stairwell
it's transient and
i spend a lot of
time just running
up and down it
down and up it

there are two floors
in my house

the upstairs doesn't have
a roof. it has a white
background and blue
skies. the carpet is the fluffy
enough to sink your toes into
the wood floors are
pale. there are parachutes
hot air balloons. birds.
paper planes. kites. all things
aerial swirling around my head

the downstairs has black
ceilings and a cold concrete
floor. it stains your feet black
and sends chills up your legs and
up your spine when the chains
and cages rattle. chains. cages
are mostly what's down there
and they rattle. they rattle a lot

the upstairs has a piano and
polariod pictures. soft blankets
sweaters and a coffee fountain
right in the middle. there are
puppies and yarn and the puppies
play in the yarn. but the yarn
never gets tangled or linty and
there's always a sunset or sunrise
a fresh start or a peaceful end
depending. hot tea twinkly lights
candles and old movies or shows
oh and a lake. my very own lake
and the colors! there is every
color imaginable upstairs

but the downstairs is very quiet
very dark. no windows or sun
and the only creatures playing
are the ones in the cages
knitting shadows into gray
monochrome striped ski masks

there are more things upstairs
things even more pleasant than i
even just described. like fish tanks
and umbrellas. bicycles and
brightly painted cows. but i often
forget the lovely tableaus up there

when the groaning and clanking
from the basement echoes up
the stairs and i creep down
to see what's happening

and the black
begins to seep
i get trapped
down there sometimes
down in the musty damp
with the ghosts and fear

and i wish i had
a yellow helium balloon
tied to my wrist
to pull me back upwards
back to my safe world
of fresh paint and denim

there are two floors
in my house
an upstairs
and a downstairs

where shall
i sleep tonight?

Drained to the point of delusion,
   She put her hand up and grasped,
  The thin, contaminated air
    Helped her lungs expand, contract

As her fatigue eyes and hands let go
Of the nothing in the palm of her hand
    Her little eyes read a small drop
A drop of precious tear made way through her pale blue face.

Her cracked voice managed to voice
   A short sentence that held what meant
"Let me go,"
  And at that very moment,
       Her twinkly blue eyes that had no spark
Closed,
Once and forever.

You will be remembered.

y.m

She is a doll,
a sparkly colorful cupcake,

her twinkly laughs carefully measured
before letting the sprinkles coat them over,

a shrill sweet voice made of syrup and chocolate

sometimes, the colors fade
for just a split second
before she once again grows sharp as a sweet icicle

so vibrant and sugary on the surface,
yet inside, so full of calories fuming in jealousy and fat