Girl

.
Girl met boy, and instantly fell in love.
Wary and unsure at first, boy gave girl a shove.
Open came her chest, and out came her heart.
Girl handed it to boy, expecting him to do his part.

By just his voice, girl lost her breath.
When skin would touch, she conquered death.
Girl had no control, t'was given entirely to boy.
With heart in hand, boy played it like a toy.

Boy took heart, and roughly tore it apart.
Girl fell to her knees, but it was just the start.
Boy stepped on it, and stapled it.
Placed heart in mouth, and down he bit.

Needles and pliers, piercings then gages.
Girl begs boy to stop, still boy engages.
Spray paint and scissors, graffiti to pieces.
Girls lying on the floor, boy finally releases.

Girl slowly moves, pulls herself to her knees.
Crawls over to heart, voice laced with a wheeze.
Girl collects the pieces, then gently girl lifts them.
Places back in her chest, ceasing the mayhem.

Time passes for girl, her heart she did repair.
Band-aids and stitches, healing with care.
Gently girl washed it, and softly she stitched.
Girl put heart back together, and rarely it itched.

Girl built a wall, encased was her mended heart.
Strong was her wall, not a soul could impart.
When another boy came along, away she did turn.
With no focus on them, a lot girl did learn.

But then girl meets man, but no shove is involved.
Man treats her different, girls walls are dissolved.
Open came her chest, and out came her heart.
Girl handed it to man, and he did do his part.

Man has girls heart, which he does protect.
Girl feels secure, and man and girl connect.
Man kisses girls scars, on her heart that was torn.
Girl kisses man back, and a women is born.
.

Water Walk

.
dependent

entirely dependent

sloshing from unconcentrated movement

everything originating from your hands

your clumsy hands

your silly clumsy hands

you leave me shaken

still wavering at lifes glass brim

smeared with oily finger prints

leaving their mark

but yours wont wipe clean

and you spill me onto the marbled floor

breaking the smooth rhythm

disrupting the cold surface

leaving a forever echo

as you calmly walk away

undisturbed

entirely independent

independent
.

Sunlight Kisses

.
The Sun finally breaks through the clouds
painting highlights across the walls
like a brush dipped in fresh crisp paint
penetrating through the frosted windows
brushing away the bitter cold.

The temperature slightly and subtly rises
impatiently shoving away autum air
the sun sweeps out the silent chill
easing my body into comfortable warmth.
.

Song Of Myself.

.
A song as a lullaby
teardrops dampen sanded cement
explosions of thunder leave sulking babies
my song waters rivers, dried from neglect.


A song from years past
when sun neither moonlights glow
can break through the thick gloomed clouds
memories desired to be forgotten.


Regrets are a matter of perspective
mistakes may take hold of acquired self respect
but leave footprints of wisdom, experience
ability to live life with knowledge of opulence.

Sing your song, I sing to myself
only your song, and nodbody elses
leave skies to the birds, and stars to the Gods.
Dream long.  Live longer.
.

Led About On a String.

.
Once they were lost. Drowned. Intertwined. Connected softly in each others seduction.
They used to smile. Laugh. Tease. Talk of silliness soaked in corruption.
Their hearts were meshed. Melted. Dressed by their remains from sincere eruption.

He tied her ankles. Assaulted their unique feelings, moments. Replaced to corruption.
Her ears rang with his name. Her skull shook with each twisted eruption.
He pulled tight. She crawled forward on bleeding knees, eating salted seduction.

She focuses on ruffled pink clouds that suffocate her tearful emotion eruption.
He branded her irises with scorching metal. Blinding with milked seduction.
She kisses his fingers. Polishes his chin with tender devotion, oblivious to corruption.

He owns her committed seduction laced with corruption in every eruption, leading her about on a taut string.
.

I Am Your Bed

.
I comfort you.
I keep you warm.
I grip you close when no one else will.

We breathe in unison,
meshed together.
I hug you tight when all you can do is cry.

I lock away your frustration.
Swallow your screams.
And keep your secrets from prying minds.

I've held your worst.
Laid with your best.
Welcomed your visitors that always fail to fill my shoes.

I'll never judge you.
You'll forever be welcome.
I'm dreading the day you eventually move on... 
.

8 shades of white

.
pale, sucking existence from affection
smothering vibrancy from singularity


simple, contrasting from vivacity
leaving unique with far reaching importance


inspiration for a simplistic cranium
sparking intelligence
creativity
imagination


intimate sensuality
enveloping clandestine desires
instigating uncontrollable attractions


irrelevant
colorless


blue, green, redish yellow, oranging pink
purple, browning black


Dominate, mothering flocks of diversity
fortification for less significant


Beautiful, imperative for striking vista
divergent from all others
.

To keep my eyes open...

.
when tears fall...
when the feeling of defeat overcomes...
when friends leave...
when emotions disperse undomesticated...
when life overwhelmes...
when family consumes your happiness...
when home no longer holds security...
when nature turns pale...
when music looses its esclusive comfort...
when your strength fails...
when boys abuse...
when your interests become counterfeit...
when laughing is forgotten...
when the weather thrives to bring you down...
when sleep produces nightmares...
when smiling is your frown...
when sparkles go dim...
when rain rubs dry...
when walls enclose...
when needed air only suffocates...
when clouds discolor...
when confidence shivers from vitality...
when sunlight wanes...
when you can no longer excel...
when your mind unfastens from cranial tension...
when pictures hold only poignance and odium...
when white repudiates its dance...
when the one you desire discounts you...
when vivacity tarnishes...
when summer is a drought...
when water declines you of hygeine...
when darkness trounces light...
when imagination fades into staple idealism...
when morning soly brings regret...
when your body carries no more potency for progress...
when energy diminishes...
when beauty is replaced with materialistic display...
when talent swims free...
when all your semblance of importance forgets itself...
and you begin to understand those who crave to take their own lives...
keep your heart beating,
and your eyes open.
Step forward.
.

The Pinecone

.
His lanky shoulders droup, and his smile is non-exsistent.  Eyes sealed shut for eternity.  His numerous fingers silken sharp by rough growth, the mean tips scuff fabric on contact.  He's lonely, fallen from his origin of belonging, an outcast.  No possession of vibrant colors that release breath from onlookers.  No gentle whispen and frayed sheets folding from a rich center.  His flattened feet are bland and unattractive.  Sunken nose and smeared ears, no attention is paid to his originality.  His daring spirit and longing eyes are unnoticed or simply breezed away by forgetfulness.  His unique shade of skin blends with the background.  His happiness is stolen by the unobservant...
.

God.

.
Baby is uncomfortable, baby is restless
baby cries.
Mommy comes to feed crying baby
Baby refuses, baby won't eat
mommy persists,
"Here eat baby, food will help,
food will make it all better, eat baby."
Baby repudiates, baby is stubborn
baby cries.
Mommy tries to be an example,
"See watch, mommy eats, mommy is
all better now, food makes it all beter.
Please baby, eat."
Baby will not eat
baby still cries, baby is crying louder.
Mommy gets impatient,
"Eat baby, you'll starve, you'll die,
baby needs to eat."
Mommy forces food into baby's mouth
pushes down baby's throat.
"Eat baby!"
Baby chokes, baby won't eat
baby spits food out
baby screams, baby howls.
Mommy is exasperated.
Mommy sets food down, leaves baby.
Baby whimpers
baby settles.
Baby remembers mommy
mommy ate, mommy all better.
Baby eats
baby doesn't cry
baby sleeps.
.

Run or Mark

.
  Much of my years he ducked his lip.
Then hesitantly he seemed shaken,
face blanched, when I think of it now,
he was gentle.  I don't mind his lilting
brogue; you feel to much.  That flirting
with a sense of nerves, fighting back
fear.  Years ago, now part of history.
Translated from talked passion about
suggested truths.  If only the images
evoked deep, uncontaminated reason. Such
devotion to speech still holds deep power.
But it ignores the most wanted private
thoughts and feelings.
  Anxiety in his abyss, registering
determined obscurity, masquerading the
abyss.  Naive might be expressed for
conviction that didn't close into stylistic
quality.  Proof vaguely became subsumed
by the surrealism that smacked imagery
drawn from ice.
  Being inoculated with concerns, he gave
a different kind of sort you would expect
from his humor; combined with abstractions
and ideas.  Yet many of his intense
struggles invited language to help create
experience.  That can be spoken of in the
same breath.  Deep image taken merely from
the individual circumstances.
  Popular is not an indication of quality.
It seems ironic which criticism is
addressing the individual art.  The nature
of criticism is the line between traditional
imagination and the understanding of
unvoiced capacity from experience.
  His advances had accelerated deep anxiety
and interest; filtered through a sense of
inwardness that desensitized shock.  The
problem with our relationship was
mannerisms, especially the knowledge that
structures differ.  To hear formal
literature, to know when to deliberate the
self-generating quality.
  His mental tone of seriousness-a doctrine
of composition-gave different concerns: in
order to continue with life we must be
willing to enter into unique texture and
feel deep image.
.

Concentration

.
Pencils scribble across frail paper.
She swivels her pen,
he nervously plays with his clammy hands.
She clicks away at her worn keyboard;
removing rumage from her brimming head
into patterns on her screen.
Erasing, rubbing, writing, ringing, tearing, grabbing, whispering, snickering, thinking, thumping, wiping, daring, trying, dusting, swiping, sniffling, humming, whistling, coughing, turning, scribbling, wondering, tapping, settling, switching, biting, thinking (cough)..thinking, writing, thinking (cough)..flipping, sighing, playing (cough)..resting, tempting, prying (cough)..grasping (cough)..unwinding (cough) (cough) (cough)
God! Shutup!
.

friends.

Those with the ability to connect, relate, and inspire

despite the difference of opinion, or religion.

To not only forgive and forget; but learn, listen, and love

no matter their abnormality of styles or trials.

The ones that, when really needed,

wont be standing by your side

but holding your hand, and leading the way.
.
.
.
.
- inspiration from my brother and closest friends
.
.

Value

.
   She slowley walks down Florence streets, her red velvet skirt sways with every young, easy step she takes.  She breaths in the aroma of the flora grown from gnarled burgundy clay pots, mounted on withering stone walls in the sills of empty windows.  She wears a silken ginger blouse and worn in coffee sandals that expose her delicate toes painted in dehydrated dirt.  Fragile rock crumbs dust beneath her steps, and she languidly chafes her bony fingers across the stone walls that incarcerate her in five feet of freedom.  With her threadbare basket in the crook of her bronzed arm she exits into the busy market.
   Approaching the booth satiated with myriads of rows bursting with flowers, she pays each one gentle attention.  She tickles them with her nose, breathing them in as memories.  Placidly placing her favorites in her vat, she feels a tender hand entertain the small of her back.  A smile pierces her lips as a familiar friendly nose nuzzles behind her ear and inhales avidly.  Strong arms swallow her slender waist and lips amuse her bare neck.  She weaves free and continues to mill over to the fresh produce, he trails closely behind and observes her fastidious shopping.  Several sincere compliments fall from his sensitive mouth, deserving the hidden smirks she hastily ingests.  Assembling the last of what she came for, she pivots to his grin, his hungry russet hands reach out to her.  She reflexively twists the simple gold band on her finger; his genuine empathetic eyes breed serious, pain.  Turning regrettably she flees, parting him with wasted compassion.
   She strides to her petite, humbly weather worn, and undemanding stone abode.  Releasing her recently purchased goods from her basket she proceeds to mince, merge, shred and saute.
   Her hefty physiqued husband enters, and without a gentle touch, grumbles of overgrown shrubbery littering the terrace.  She patiently places his food in front of his voracious fingers.  Deviod of a thank you, he hastily consumes and critizies the insipidness.  She sits and ignores his "Hmpf," directed at her disheveled hair, and thinks of a man... miles from this occupied, hand-crafted chair.
.

Ode to My Face

.
I embrace my eyes
ears
nose
mouth.
The blessing of sight
sound
scent
taste.
The curse of unattractiveness
noise
rancid
bitter.
Seeing artificial beauty and natural alike
phony
genuine
unique.
Hearing expressions, good or otherwise
music
nature
dialogue.
Inhaling wisps of satisfaction
mouthwatering
smile invoking
memorable.
Tasting another's intimate passion
rich delicacy
astringent
unforgettable.
.

The Man On the Bench.

     He sits.  The man on the bench does.  The man on the bench sits. And observes.  Everyday he sits on his little lonely bench.  And watches the world.  He watches the days huslte by, and weeks as well as months trot on their merry way.  He captures emotions, cringes at lies, smiles at giggles, sighs at displays of affection.
     His breath stuck in his throat as she swiftly passed directly in front of him.  His eyes follow her, and he sucks in as much of her perfumed scent until it fades.  Every step she takes has admirable poise, eagerness in her walk.  He can't tear his eyes from her and is relieved wih her sudden stop at the street corner.  He wishes to catch her nomadic eyes, her searching eyes, she glances around, anticipation in them.  She's waiting.  Waiting for whom?  A man?  His own eyes glow a little dimmer.
     Her feet shuffle slightly as she shifts her weight, tapping her crisp white heels.  She wears a straight, tight balck skirt to mid-thigh, pulled up just to her hips.  Her white cotton top half hidden by an off-white, knee-length trench coat.  He watches her long sinuous black hair blow faintly in the vague breeze, and the acerbic cold barely tint her nose to pink.  Her emerald eyes wane in confidence, sweeping the streets for what they long to feast on.
     Minutes tick by reaching an hour.  Her shoulders droop as it reaches two more.  He wonders what would keep her waiting here so long.
     A gentle tap on her shoulder and a low masculine "Ma'am," surges brief buoyancy back into her brilliant eyes.  But they clear emptier as he simply offers an undersized purple bible.  She graciously waves him off, turning back to her useless street scanning.
     Folding her arms to her chest she watches the sun fall out of the sky.  Water escages her no longer anxious eyes as stars start to sprinkle the swiftly blackening horizon.  The man on the bench still sits, watching her, longer than he ever watches anyone from that weather trodden bench.
     Another hour drifts by and she no longer holds restless wait, but stands in sadness.  No more waiting for what won't come, just attempting to determine why it didn't.
     He watches her stand at the corner for a few minutes more.  She turns back his way and gradually steps past, water lined cheeks and slumping shoulders.  Just as she passes he stands, determined to fill her with the beautiful confidence that was there hours before.  And so he follows her.
     The next day.  Sunday.  The bench is empty.

Papa

.
Even taking a breath was
                                      agony.
Be careful, be very careful.
Her free hand placed on her head.

      He had seemed immortal.
      the small wooden gate,
      mama did not come home
that night.

The words kept
               turning
               into
               blood
each time i read them.

                                           Light and Water.
What was the riot about?
i held the clothes carefully.
Things started to fall apart
       at home.
Should not waste his energy,
fathers car smelled like him.

   She asked her children if they wanted
                                           to come into the house.
   But they would not come.
   The ones left behind did not
                  even
   have the strength to dance.

He admitted that his mother had not really died.
I said no, and
                                                      we
sat silently,
our hands
                                                     clasped
for a long
                                                     time.

He looked down,
his legs bent into a triangle.

Papa came home.

He stared
                  and then turned away.
i looked at him and wondered
what he was thinking.
My stomach was unsteady.
He stood up and retrieved his things.
     God take power from the devil
he muttered.
The next day was Sunday.
i could ease myself.
It had rained all night.

   i forced a cough out of my throat
                                           hoped i would not stutter
i hope you didn't break anything.
He came into the room.
Papa shouted, pointing accusingly.
He was standing behind papa.
i want to leave with him.  i said
as if doing so would make my
words come true.
Papa started to breath in a
noisy, raspy way.
He will be upset.
                                                                 i
took a deep breath and                               Prayed.
The space between us was                          to
small, too tight. i looked away out                my
window.  Your                                             Father
said you are to stay.  He said.

i pressed my face close to the window.

Weeks after, the hollows were still carved
                                           under papa's eyes.
i came home from school.

I should have
                                     never
let you near
him. Papa was
                                     saying
I should have
protected you.
I should have
made him
                                     stop!
sooner.

My hands unconsciously rubbed my potruding belly
Papa looked away shamefully.
i turned to stare at him,
he hated me now.

     Papa's breathing was always noisy, but now
     he panted as if he were out of  b r e a t h , i
     w o n d e r e d   what he  w a s      thinking...

It is a sin.

Why is it a sin?

Father said nothing else.
i hate you.  It felt easy saying that.
Why did you have to make him leave?
i pinched back the tears,
i
would
not
let
Papa
see
me
cry.
A neighbor rapped at the door

           i want to kill myself.  i stumbled out.

His eyes fell to my enlarged stomache.
He looked at me and said,

           You can do anything you want.

It was sunny outside.
Father went upstairs.

i lowered
     myself
and sat.
i cried for a long time.
i did not want to be awake.
i lay on the floor,
curled tight in a ball.

                 Dust settled on the teleision set that hadn't
                 been working for a myriad of months.

A dog barked outside.
The house smelled like
                      pine trees.
Papa's nearly full
medication bottle
lay open on
the cabinet.
And then i just didn't care anymore.
.

No Repentance

.
I've never shot someone in the knee cap,
I really hope to keep it that way,
It sounds exceptionally painful.
I've never stolen another person's work.
I think I may have plagiarized, once,
in elementary,
does that count?
I've never stalked someone before,
unless facebook counts... then yes, many times.

I have in no way deliberately harmed a small child.
But I would, very deliberately,
harm someone deliberately harming a small child,
very violently.
I have never crashed a car into another car,
or anything for that matter,
'course I've just recently started driving.
I've never broken a mirror before,
so presumably, neither seven years bad luck.

I have never gone streaking before,
I'm pretty certain I could outrun the cops,
I'd just have to be considerably,
more comfortable with my body.
I've never robbed a bank.
I won't say that's never been appealing to me,
if I could even get away with something like that.
I've never killed another human being,
or any living thing
(besides spiders)
I wonder how that would feel.

I've never smoked a cigarette,
not even a puff.
Thank goodness, now I still have my lungs.
I have never drunken an entire bottle of alcohol,
hence, never lost control of my actions and thoughts,
or my precious kidneys.
I've never received an end of the year F,
I've kept them to A's and B's
for the most part.

I have never sworn at an inane teacher,
ok that one was a lie.
I've never participated in satanic rituals,
nor have I ever had the desire to,
those things give me the creeps.
I have never ever stolen a baby from it's crib,
although some are inhumanly tempting.
I've never broken a naive heart,
at least not to my knowledge.

I've never burnt down a house before,
I'm sure I would feel terrible if I did,
especially if somebody aquired injuries in the process
I've never intentionally caused someone
emotional stress.
And... hmmm...
I have never made a list of things
I've never done before.
.

Deformation of Affection

.

Love

Misused

Confused

Lost Amidst Misunderstanding

Thrown Around Among Frivolity

Misplaced Meaning

Spoken with Opposition to its True Denotation

Warped

Falsely Defined

Term Uttered in Replacement of Lust

Said when Feelings Reverse

Carries Pain

No Longer Pure, Sanitary

Mixed with Enraged Emotions

Scarred with Jealousy

Torn by Addicted Misusers

Dropped

Forgotten

Overtime, Twisted in Adolescent Mentality

Thought of as Corporeal Satisfaction

Contorted

Distorted

Hacked to Fine Pieces

Severed Segments

Repaired to What it Was Not Before

Fading in the Midst of Less Significant Vocabulary

Buried by Irrelevant Terminology

Stripped of its Unique Flavor

Painted with Dissimilar Unsightly Colors

Incorrectly Labeled

Spit from Mouths

Swallowed by Ears

Again and Again and Aain

Abused Unrelentingly

Drowned with Juvenile Tears

Continuously Stabbed by Confusion

Slapped by Insensitive Individuals

Rubbed in the Dirt

Trampled

Left Behind

No Longer Vital Enough to Even Express Amusement at

In Desperate Need of Rescue

.

Senseless Pages.

.

This group was mounted.

But there's another thing.

I'll never forget your courage.

That in only a few months.

Inhabited.

These two passions.

A pile of small change.

No belief or religious principle.

Yes, you are right.

Because you have not only fed, housed, and

                                   cared for me.

I must admit.

Recognized as the supreme.

Who had spoken to him.

Lead about on a string.

She had developed some very odd old-maidish

                                   quirks.

Translate emotion into action.

Become demanding.

Trembling with the nervous tremor.

That moment was not to leave her again.

And do you know what he replied.

Marry her.

If I had not been afraid.

This change of color gave something piquant.

The amount of his profit.

A scene which took place at the beginning of

                                   March 1843.

He who has made no mistake.

I don't belong here.

An old friend of mine.

An absorbing interest.

About three years after his marriage, in 1841.

.

T h e G ym .

.

Stretching   to              my toes ,    straining  ,   tension,

 holding,      discomfort,      i n c r e a s i n g   flexibility.

Pointing   my    feet , elongating  my                        legs.

R e ac h i n g my fingers, pulling at air to reach farther.

Grunt.     F a l l      b a c k   into      my    b o d y    frame.

          Breath.  Jump ,   forcing  m y  weight into the air.

Calves   f l e x i n g  .         Body      h e a t     warm i n g.

H e ar t  rate gradually raising. Push off with  my toes.

 Exertion  in  cal ves     ,      thig hs    ,      ha mstrings  .

P a t t e r i n g  arou nd  the   track   at an  easy    pace.

Slowly  filling  my  lungs  with  a i r...  release,   repeat.

Heart rate increasing, bloodpumping slightly speedier.

Quicken pace,  f e e t  pounding as I  pass lap after lap.

       Sweat  starts  pouring,  more  difficulty   breathing.

G a s p i n g ,     ru n n ing,     p  e  r  s  p  i  r  a  t  i  n  g .

Comfort comes through labored breathing. Happiness.

     N o      j u d g m e n t  ,      n o      e x p e c t a t i o n s.

No        conversations       to                           keep      up.

Ju st    me    and    my  b o dy,    tryin g    to    imp r ove.

Music  is  my  c o m p a n y, sweat  is  my  best  friend.

  F o r t i t u d e .      Work      harder,     better,     faster.

La y   my    b ody  on    the  m at ,   li ft   off   my  ba ck,

 ra ise   chest  to    my   kne es ,            up ,           down.

U p ,   d own .   Continue  lifting,    abdominal burning.

 P u s h i n g    to  t he  li m it ,        and    t hen   som e .

Flip over , stomach down, place hands flat on ground.

Inhale, push my body up. Exhale, gently drop it down.

 Ar m s     b e n t   at   a  nin ety   de g r ee            angle.

C  h  e  s  t       five  inc hes   f rom         the  g r o u n d ,

 i  n  h  a  l  e ,     up.     E  x  h  a  l  e ,      gently    down.

Pu sh i ng,    s we atin g ,   gr o an in g ,    b u r n i n g .

 Pus h  my  body  u p r i g h t ,  start   t o   patter again.

A r o u n d the track, now pounding. Heavy breathing.

M usic  singing me forward, no  al l owance  for slack.

S t o p .          F um ble     d o w n     onto   t h e    m a t ,

m o r e back raising up, down. Pushing, inhale, exhale.

                        L i f t    m y    b o d y    o n c e    a g a i n.

Ea sy     pa t terin g                    aro u nd   th e      t rack.

Breathing  comes   easier,  heart   rate  d e c r e a s e s,

b u r n i n g  continues.  Pat,  pat,   pat,   swift walking.

 C o o l i n g  d o w n .     Sw eat  pours  like a fountain.

             Dr ench i n g  ,      n e c k ,      b a c k ,      f a c e.

Drop   down    onto the mat.    Reach  fingers  to  toes.

                              R e l e a s e      s o m e     b u r n i n g .

Point,         stretch,           reach,                                          b r e a t he.

.