Everyone wants a definition.
I don’t care for those things.
I reserve them for dictionaries,
and associate them with uptight individuals who live life undecorated.

We’re conditioned to crave that black and white—
everything simply categorized;

“A place for everything and everything in its place.”

I hate that.
I really, really do.
But I like you.

& listen, I can do without the definitions—
But opinions—those I want.
The individualized answers expressed in a non-textbook-fashion.

As in, “What are your thoughts on Sunday mornings?”
You know, when we hold each other for as long as we like,
and drift in and out of sleep well into the late afternoon.

An opinion.
As in, “I can’t stand the thought of being a part of someone’s collection.”
And I know that’s not a question.
But I can bet on this: You have something to say about that.

An opinion.
As in, “I would totally lay claim to you if I could.”
But you’re not into being claimed—
And I’m not into chasing things that don’t want to be caught.
I was never was a very effective huntress—
Unless, of course, it’s for typos or a triple word score.

I’m not reaching in the dark.
I’m not holding my breath.
But
If you want my opinion—

Fewer things feel worse than this.

our will is pure
but the past
we can't endure
and i am left guessing
which way we'll go
as the christmas tree we bought together
stands still
on your living room floor
undecorated
saying it all

I’m afraid I have more tears
Than words nowadays
And I’m afraid they would rather
Drown you than lift you up
To where you belong

You were truly everything I had
And as I can no longer find comfort
In your eyes, your smile, your voice
I found love in your absence
In the mindless suffering and pain
The devouring cloud of fear and desire
Dragging me deep into the night

They are my greed
Wanting to feel your love
And not just know it, sense it
And wish it

They are my shame
For I was not made to be loved
My only privilege was to give you
Unconditional love

Even that, I can only show you in words
So petty, simple, undecorated
And pebbles to the gold

My words were never glamorous enough
For your beauty
And tender enough for your soul
But they are did not come from within me
I did not create them
They are the flesh of me I tear apart to show you
The emptiness inside
And to fill your scars

I hope you don't need them
Yet so afraid that you don't
Because they are already broken
And have nowhere to go

I can't bear to be the dust in the wind
Floating away from you
But as my tears and fear takes over me
That's where my words will go

I can’t desire standing next to you
Or let my tears stain your soul
So I kept myself between you and the flow
But soon, over me, the water will go

And darkness will be all I know.


If only I was forgotten before
I was known.

If only, into this life,
I was never borne.

Angelic in stature, you're not a master,
You're not my master.
You're my equality spread like butter and jalapeño jam on a toast made to years of success.
Don't forget. It's not what you wished for,
It's not that you wished.

The fact remains that wherever the current decides to line itself and hang wet clothing is a decision made by beautiful coincidence,
So the legless can swim and the legged can spin in parking lot circles, it's the middle of the night and this is how you met her.

Can I pull a fast one? Well you cant pull a slow one, you can only carry it.
So yes, pull a fast one so the decision to put it behind you won't haunt me for the rest of life,
Because I don't want to say I almost did it,
I wanna say I did. I wanna say we loved each other madly in the corner of our parents lives so everyone left that part of the room undecorated, because the posters are ours.

The fact remains that wherever you decided to footstep the Earth is a decision made by beautiful coincidence and the world is friendlier then it seems, there is no need to impose.

Leave yourself to dry along the line set by the current,
We can wait because eternity enjoys itself in fooling us,
Shepherding the cants and wonts into oops I dids,
we believe, we believe, we believe.

The wild grass lives only for your sight

For your unreserved love and care

For the shadows in your every step

For the light in the black of your eyes


The ripples in the lake live only for your dreams

Your life tumultuous and bare

For the wrinkles in your soul

And the weariness in your countenance


The old dog at the old place live only for your loneliness

For your tears

For your cry in the silence

As it licks away the bitterness in your existence


Yet, you love not them-

They are always there,

Simple, undecorated,

Pebbles to the gold-

But wilder, greater aspirations


With the mountains in your eyes,

You won’t see the dandelions

Will they still be there

Without your sunshine, earth and rain

That showed me my place

And taught me what it is to be alive


With the waves in your eyes

You won’t see the ripples of a single stone

Will they still be there

The seedlings growing within

The fish swimming in between

That showed me I was not empty

As you lit up the world within me


With every being in your eyes

You won’t see the old dog howling in pain

Will it still be there

The life within its loyal eyes

The laughter running free and wild

The shelter, The love, and every breath

That showed me my purpose of being

As you led me down the path I’d never stray


You will not know

You will not see


Yet, I’m certain

When you return

Danced your dance

And weary of pleasing those that will love you

Your beauty, timely, sparingly, and conditionally


They will still be there

Waiting for your return


For, even when you were chasing everything

Because you thought that they had nothing

You were, are, and will always be

Their everything.

She would tell me
about this
young black horse
&
how he used to run
through the forests
finding spots to bury
the perception of infinite love.

My adventures towards it saddened

She would then also tell me
about how he died of a
lung cancer &
that the perception of
infinite love was still alive,
unburied, undecorated
as it is, as it was.

My adventures towards it sweetened.


- Samar Charulingah Godfrey

i.

in the clay bed
of my son's brain
where abides
pillow

the print
of my thumb:

     flower, lie down.

ii.

to the maid
sleeping
in the foreign
house

of his
undecorated
death:

dream
of my attic
blind
wife, and what
she might
there

recover.

I do not want something sweet.
Not just any flower, not just any thorn;
I want things no one can give me,
Not out of love or admiration,
Let alone traded carelessly with cold fingertips!
I ask for easy victories and braided bread,
For cinnamon and oranges;
A piece of fruit, my purple name
Carved bruise-cruel into the flesh.
I want it written in birthday cards
that it grew on the tree that way,
That memories of my eyes and smile
Burned warm within the splitting cells!
And at this late juncture? I barely care if it’s true.

Now, I’m afraid of death.
Was never afraid before, but
Learned the metal taste by comparison with
Honeyed, watery accomplishments, and
Realized I couldn’t bear to die
Like stars died before we charted the sky,
Some soft-bodied nothing passed over, unfossilized…

Grasping wretch, ugly stilt-legged and waving, begging,
Signaling for statues, hallowed trees, and candied fruits…
Well, what can you ask for?
Nothing if, without spoils,
You retire quietly to premature old age,
Some undecorated Cincinnatus wrapping up, for good, in bed.

hopping dance
in a chained circle
we are robe together
fasten in an aurora chants
our lion clings as coins sound
the hopping dance of a bird
wears our heart in dewy sweat
dross of invocation rains
wizardry of mere gods invoking elements
suddenly it ceases
as void magic sparks light
moments of momentary weakness
rushes with joy
my life ceases to breathe
our life regain rebirth
into the hollow path
of unending road
i was the victim of undecorated dance hall
we are the victim of un-videoed dance step
lonely I stared at the moon
then I pregnant the elements to bear a shape
which only we understand the ways of God

Written by
Martin Ijir

lost inside a vision,
trapped inside a touch,
crushed red velvet dreams,
white fleece trim is just too much.

overloaded sensations,
softness on my skin,
this naughty little elf,
has aroused my sin.

hats cotton ball tassel,
dragged all over me,
has me excited,
I think that she can see.

her fingers roam around,
my undecorated tree,
silky soft touches,
almost set me free.

her gifts are all wrapped up,
but I'm about to see to that,
throw her to the bed,
and put on her red hat.

pulling on a string,
the robe opens wide,
a gorgeous Christmas dream,
had been trapped inside.

I feast on her cookies,
and drink up all her milk,
and give her a present ...
deep inside her silk!

wake up Christmas morning,
bodies tangled in red fleece,
her hat still on my head,
she asks for another present, please.

She is like a Christmas tree

Tall and wide

Prickly, trying to show strength

Her inside sticky and soft

Her aroma captivates the room

When decorated and dressed

She is fully herself

Plug her in and let her shine

But be careful of the light

Leave it too long and it will dry her

And she will wilt

Eventually her time will come

No matter how you care for her

She will be undecorated

Brought to the sidewalk

Left to decompose and be reborn.