You know how the human brain works
A smile flash along your lips
Tell me, I need to know
About my mind and why
I think about the dead sand
Blood in the river, river
Blood in the sky, you
Take me away
Show how my mind plays tricks
On my eyes and
Show me a world where I can stay
Pain too great for one more day
But if I die I think that's okay
You know more that you can say
And your own mind is a mystery
I don't understand my own skin
Can you solve the mystery
Paint the clouds bright green
After I've seen my bones
I look in the mirror and cry
Because I'm growing old
I can't conceal my sensitivity
To your tender touch
You've seen the patterns
Time has traced on my eyelids
The trails of dead dreams
You've mapped them out
And then we forgot it all at last
This one isn't my best, but it has significance for me. It's not written from my perspective
Put me on a pedestal
A soft and buttery statue I will be
And crumble so-
Rock it back and forth til my speechless lips and spheres of sight unseeing are no longer stone
But dust
For monarchs to build concrete walls of loneliness and isolation
Xaviera Allan Mar 18
If only I had a real scalpel-
Something to reconstruct my form
I'll snap on some rubber
Up to my elbow in sanitary protection
Slice my muscle away from my hip bone
Tear a clean line down to my navel
Open up my nakedness
Unwrap my skin and redistribute me
From my jaw to my shoulders
From my sternum to my pelvis
From my coccyx to my metatarsals

I lost hope a lifetime ago-
Simply an impossible fantasy
I was given a meatsuit too small
A vessel that will never adjust to reality
Up to my fingertips in warm protection
Layer after layer pretending to bulk up
Nothing hangs on my crooked frame quite right
I know what will fit
In the space between my eyes
I'm coughing on all the chemicals in here
And I was always told to go out with a bang

I need to lose this billion dollar industry-
The luxurious parasite that feasts
First on my distended abdomen
Then onto my mal-hued mind
Lastly on my desperate soul
Stab my disfigured thigh with blissful needles
Syringes to reshape this prison
Leaving scars, bruises, bruised
Better than the white mouths
That once kissed my misshapen arms
Up to the wrist in longsleeve protection

So now I'll tolerate alternate forms
Of self destruction or creation
Nonexistent torment kept under wraps
I'll settle with cutting the fingers off my gloves
Still unable to hide my hands
Xaviera Allan Mar 18
I'm no comic-book character
Gender-less action figure
No superhero or villain or neutral god
I forget about what's between my legs
Corporeal, despite my best efforts
of self-deception
I recoil at the figure in the mirror
The unrealistic reality is disproportionate
Ideal or not, chemicals make me human.
Xaviera Allan Mar 15
My trust is as delicate as tissue paper and as rare as a blood moon
And though I hesitate to admit that you have
The uncanny ability
To make my intestines quiver like a basilisk emerging from centuries of
Dreams into a dull reality where you are the only treasure
And though you have the disturbing power
To slow down my genius so greatly I am deceived into the belief
That coffee is now the only remedy to quicken my mind
So instead of numerals and reasoning
I think along the lines of your face in a quaint cafe
Designed to calm my sinister doubts
And though you have the incredible aptness
To warm my frozen heart just enough
To feel the tremors of time that pulse
In a unique frequency only I can recognize
And though I think you saw it all along
I refuse to surrender
As if pain is something I could prevent by holding joy at arms legth
But in all honesty I really do believe we're in the same happy boat doomed to capsize on some invisible glacier
And uncompleted sorrows still ravage my imagination
Xaviera Allan Mar 12
He knew how it would happen- the transition from man to beast
Is not a smooth one, it is
All of the synonyms for horrible-
It would make him a masculine creature to be observed by nice lady doctors wearing the shortest of skirts.
He saw a lion once- at a circus
And it paced back and forth demanding respect as the king of the wild
But only dogs would cower at the sight of his declawed paws and toothless maw
And the talk of the people was a more ferocious roar.
Xaviera Allan Mar 11
Spiderwebs strung between your fingers
So beautiful, like a work of poetry-
Like a piece of fine art-
Maybe you were drawn by Leonardo
Da Vinci, on everlasting papyrus.
Brought to form in the rich ink of M.C.
Escher, on creamy sheets.
Colored with the vibrant tones of Vincent
Van Gogh, on dull canvas.
You search the depths of unreality
In the mirror dimension, where you were
Fused to your skeleton-
Bone fused to muscle
And muscle fused to skin
It was the process of making a monster
Yet, you have all the glory-
The heavenly host locked up in your eyes
Stuggling in the current of your electric
Bloodstream, your body was built
Under pressure
By a thousand diamond planets
By a hundred dazzling anvils
By a dozen shining warriors
Under your soft exterior,  you harden
Inside, along your ribcage
The hands of nature have clasped you
Hold yourself upright, so that I can see
The wrinkling and twinkling
You have thus despised beneath
Long enviable lashes and dark arches
Along a mathematical curve
Lips as full as the moon tonight
I think you were made by gods
Empty dreams and foolish promises.
Next page