Don't be
A mole.

I hate moles.

They burrow
And
Scavenge
And
Live in the
Dark.

Thats just
What you did
To my heart.

You burrowed
Deep,
Down to the center.

You set up camp.
And I didn't know
You were a mole.
I thought maybe you were
A
Straw,
To ****
Bad things
Out.
So I kept you warm
And waited calmly for the
Bad stuff to
Dissapear.

But I realized
That
You were a
Magnifying glass,
To emphasise
My flaws

And you were
A
Seam-ripper
To
Pull the patches
From where
I had already healed,
To make the scabs
Bleed
Again.

And I thought you were
A
Jigsaw
And you were broken
So I could fix you
And put you
Together.

Like a
Vase,
Easily
B
r
o
k
e
n.

And
Then
You left me.

Like a
Tooth
Full of
Cav it ies.

That
Space
Next
To
My heart

No longer full.
And you
Didn't depend on me,
No longer a tapeworm.

I miss you.
Like
You
Were
Mine.

But you were
Never
Mine.

I couldn't help but feeling alone within the crowd
Even when the lights went out I didn't feel too proud
Even when you kissed me, and in turn I kissed you too
I felt quite forgotten and this feeling wasn't new
I forgot to mention that my heart was full of wax
I thought that you could melt it but you stopped it in its tracks
Maybe if I wasn’t just a figure on display
Maybe it would help to find some happiness one day
I can't change the message, I can only change the words
I can't be a tiger if I’m just a mockingbird
You stared into my eyes, but these orbs could not foresee
That all they'd get was sorrow as you walked away from me
Since I’m just a petal on a rose to tear apart
Maybe if you find it you'll no longer need my heart
What will it become without the one to keep it beating
Sacrifice the love and when the love comes back its bleeding

I live alone
in a room
my only friend
a rock plant.

A vase made of sighs,
converts **** non-audible AIs
to an unknown hymn,
replaces a half broken arm.

or was that a dream
during a harvest time?
or was that a gift
from a dear one?

I live alone
beside a window under skies
in a vase
made of colorful spots
my only friend
a girl
meditates in the room somewhere.

She, my sole flower
is a shape of a pink heart.
Her subtle transparent edge
glows my petal of gleam,
filters a beam,
and makes a rainbow kite.

My leaves, center her single dream,
carry a code of a parabolic green.

At dawn, she sings a love song,
invites all the blues of skies.
At dusk, she migrates them towards tones of nights.
A dot sinks within the brightests of stars
and finally
into my heart of hearts.

She collects then pure droplets
from a precipitating river - crossing unknown realms
in which of each
every season
a silver moon blossoms
to reflect a blue-green star,
she ultimately waits for:

‘That one!’ she shouts
deepening her pinks,
beating rapidly,
shaking my photosynthetic organs
‘There... we come from!
from the dancing, shapeshifter one!’


She, my only friend is a dreamer for none.
A dream of dreams about an unknown realm.
A girl with big words,
‘Someday’ she says ‘Someday,
when we be one as a timeless time but
I hold a key of Now from you for now
as much as I am of you,
Love will be a technology then for all - as is
then we be of love and One’.

‘but for now’ I say ‘for now’
‘at least, be my only one’
and I dream…
dream about a shape of the moment of that very someday
when she finally understands
and ‘yes that blessed someday’ I say,
and as usual nod and tune my stem.

You can control love,
as you type.
You can change the style,
which evokes feeling.
Script — curvy lines,
fitting for passion.
Sans Serif — Strong,
but friendly.
Grunge — Anger or,
vengeful.
Serif — Elegant,
and structured.
This four letter word —
is a shapeshifter.
Shifting styles, weights and
kerning on a whim.
You can control love,
highlight and change it.
Again.

But, love is fluid,
as fonts are to typographers,
as words are to poets.

I met a boy who's shy
as a fox. He has hair thick
as it's fur. Eyes big ,
round and glow. I met a
boy who's free and wild
like the untamed wolves
who roam around the woods
in the silver moonlight. He's
the boy I love. The boy that
i saved from shapeshifting
in the dead of night. One kiss
before midnight stopped his
body from aching and shaking.
It stopped his bones from
cracking and breaking. One
kiss was all it took to cure his
curse. But he will always remain
my little wolf boy. The boy I
met when I was wondering lost
in the dark. The boy i touched
before he shifted into the
creatures of the night who
hunt for prey and mark their
territories with their paws
and claws* ~

All beginnings are beautiful, the French say
Maybe that is why betrayal stings, a finger in a light socket
a lasting burn, like a blister on my foot, my pace is made painful
I walk wounded, stop to try to salve the wound, protect it with the gauze bandage of
"it is over now, he can't hurt you anymore" which bleeds through and needs to be
changed, reminded, advice and commiseration of friends is the antibiotic salve

I look at you and remember a one time mentor and now I watch your behavior
a plastic bag in the wind, your opinions and pronouncements tossed here and there
hour by hour, depending on who is there at the moment to influence you
Shapeshifter you are, talk is too dangerous now
my resentment bubbles over like a hot, shaken, warm soda, even if I try to keep
the cap on, once the froth commences, there is no help, I can't hide it as the liquid
radioactive anger spills forth onto my hand and onto you

So hard for me to accept the death of a relationship
You are still alive and breathing, so how can it be that something is dead?
But there is that dead space between us and a fear of you
in me, and memories, like little sores, in my belly of your abuse
of the wetness of my tears that destroyed the art of my make-up
washed away the eye liner on my bottom lid, as if it was my dignity

You came as a friend,
Twisted into a lover,
and left a stranger.

Like passing seasons in a year.

my voice is a window
that opens to my throat leading
behind my rubber band lungs
and into my humming, drumming,
beanbag heart

my voice is excitable
ringing out into my space
struggling to embrace the eardrums of my companions
and be heard for truth

my voice is a shapeshifter
that wants to make you laugh with it
not at it
and will go great lengths to
elicit that sound from the depths of you

my voice will step on your toes
and then apologize profusely
because my voice wants to be known
but also wants to know you back

my voice will hold your hand in the dark
cushion your heavy thoughts like a pillow
and sooth your worries like shea butter
on a cracked left palm

my voice is loud
like and 8 year old on a playground
explaining the rules of tag
to their rowdy best friends

my voice will make music with you
it will hesitate and it will overcompensate
but if you catch it on a note that isn't self aware
my voice will harmonize

my voice is mine
and it lives just outside of me
in the open
where I am no longer just electric thoughts
but where I am sounding

let me just sweat it out
better yet, push it out, let it out
with cigarettes without a doubt
i won't enjoy them as much
this time. i configured my fingers
into a figure eight but leaning
sideways figuratively speaking
now days nothing i say is not figurative

Silver tongued serpent,
Emerald-eyed warlock,
When he speaks, the crowds will surely flock,
Raven-haired "deity"
Creator of his own piety
Atheism is my saving grace
Otherwise I'd be caught up with him in some cult-like space
He, a fierce lion
I, a timid gazelle
This shapeshifter of a man
Stalked his prey until she waned
The energy to avoid his pursuit is well beyond drained
I put up a good fight, ignored his advances every single night
Professing his love to me tested my might
Am I upset this man wore me down?
In the beginning, indeed.
But now I understand that we were both in need
Of someone who could withstand intense emotion
Of someone who would show unfaltering devotion

She told me that if she was anything
She was a desperate attempt
Of a human life form
She told me that she never felt sanity
Never felt normal
But she told me that her desperation
Was just because she wanted to fit in
It wasn't her fault
She was the daughter of the guardian
'I just want my story to be told,
Truthfully indeed,'
She said to me, as I sipped my tea
'Truthful, I can try,
But honey, story telling is based on lies,'
I smiled as I finished my brew
And walked out planning the death of you.