bleach stained rags

I’d scrub and purify everything in place of what I actually need to clean. I’d wipe down every surface if it meant I don’t have to face that image in the mirror. I’d burn my lungs over and over again if it meant not having to exhale all that tenses me. I’d scrub my hands raw if it meant I wouldn’t have to look at their fingerprints. I’d get on my hands and knees and polish every individual tile, as long as i’d never look to closely at them. In my chemical fixed high, I envision pieces of me that’ll never see the light of day; not even a faint speck on a bleach stained rag.

bad apple

Like a rotten apple I feel my thoughts perverting the rest of the branch. I used to yearn to be as sweet and supple as other apples, but now I think I crave to taste them. How juicy would they be, that soft and savory fruit over my tongue. I’d let the juices run down my cheeks, even in my cleanest dreams would my lips be sticky. They’d have to chop the whole tree down to keep me from tasting it. I’d bury my seeds in her roots if it meant never having to forget the taste. A million times over i’d wait for spring so that she’d come for me.

michelle (maybe)

Maybe everything really is easier way out west. Maybe if I moved, my teeth would stop grinding in those late hours. Maybe the rock would remind me of my genome home, that my bones would stop rattling and my teeth would be pearlier. But i’d be farther away from those I hold dear. The East itself would be furthest than what it already feels. And that means i’d never be ready to face my own home.

puppeteer

I envision you dressing me down, tugging on the strings of my heart all over. My skin soft as a doll and shiny like those little porcelain beads. I’d imagine my body of that of a contortionist, my limbs held up by ropes and wires and threads. Twisting, pulling, and folding me however you pleased. Like a puppet to its master, i’d melt completely in your hands.

easy to dream

I wish my reality reflected that of my fantasy. I envision ideals of you, parts of you that I so wish to be true. I try to manifest the perfect paradise; a false world where you are all i’m asking of. One where I can bet everything on you and win without the fear of failure on my winnings. Where you are a permanent piece in my empty hallway of pedestals. Somebody who’ll search the ends of the Earth and corners of the Heavens for the slightest hint of my existence. But then again, i’ve always been a wishful thinker. When one has been starved of all hopes of reality, it becomes easy to dream.

mortals

I have made you out to be a god-like entity. You have been placed on the highest pedestal in this museum of limerence. Yet you lack what a god may grant me; grace and willingness to love me. A statue has more depth and tugs on my heartstrings more than you have. I thought you shined in ways unseen, but now I know it was just a mere reflection of my own waters. Because here you are now, off your pedestal showing your true structure. Just another weak mortal.

salinas, california

I thought that things would be different this time, that you’d be different this time around. That we would no longer be in that Garden of Sin. That temptation would be forgotten and you would walk alongside me into the light. But now I see your heart was never tender enough for it. Your eyes were always all over me, never in gratitude but always in lust. You’ve bit into the apple for the second time around. Shifted the blame to me yet again; even after thousands of years you still have not grown. Still that nakedly being I once saw as dear. I would like to take a godly position and cast you out of my heaven, out of my Eden. For that would be my most pious act of all. I’d sacrifice you before my teeth would rot, eyes would blur and joints would atrophy. For you are the true snake I knew and feared long ago.

new low

Like a ballerina I keep performing in circles for you; round and round like a ringmaster to his beast. You own me and my autonomy, there isn’t a routine you haven’t seen and wanted to keep. You loved the effort of my performance but never the music I danced to. I realized i’ve been moving to this piece alone, that i’ve been purposefully stuck in the spotlight as a solo artist; while you’re in the audience, watching a play you never even wanted to see.

billards

There was always a sense of “peace” that came with you, but it was never gonna be a familiar one. It was never gonna be me that you’d choose as a partner, I would never be the winner in that game either. Never would I be your favorite song picked or your best beer tasted. You’d choose your hand over and over again, even when my cards were completely folded. I knew your choice back then but it didn’t matter, for I always wanted to start a new game even when I knew i’d be defeated. For I had an endless amount of quarters, but you never wanted to play billiards.

sensory processing disorder

I’ve worn shoes for so long that my feet have become morphed and disabled. The have been bent and branded by the tight fitting of these shoes. I feel as though my body has been conditioned to enjoy the snug, that without it I am of an unclad Eve. Maybe its time for something other that a new pair. These feet crave the solid ground of a barren Earth, where one can feel all that moves underneath her. Maybe then will my body be able to breathe again.

timelines

For a while now, the passage of time has been a memorable foe. I’ve been so caught up in what could’ve been that I never focus on the now. The present is a gift but past is where my wishes lie. I’ve forgotten numerous fond memories that time has stripped away. Maybe it’s I that has lacked the will to remember; that I am responsible for their recognition and not their remorse. My memory is not what it used to be because my heart lies in what could’ve been. I have forgotten too long on the lines of time that i’ve failed to recall i’m experiencing them.

wahdon

My heart has been slipping away from body as of recent, inching further and further from this lump of flesh. An outsider in my own home, I dare not to open the door in case a draft rolls around. My soul is rotting inside and I stand stagnant with my nose plugged, afraid to smell my own postmortem pulp. The one I seek is no longer here, she is a flickering memory my mind longs to forget. It’s a foreign land she is forbidden from visiting again. My soul fishes for her presence, hoping to bring her back from the depths of the darkest waters. Like those buried deep in my grief, i’m fearful she’s passed on for good. That revival would be useless. I wonder and pray though that a part of her remains, and that she may be resurrected to place my beating heart back into this empty trunk.

earrings

Every time I think the current had calmed I get hit with a tidal wave. Those drowning blue waters of yours have captured mine, with every hit of a wave when you look into my woods. I always wondered if the forest could ever meet the sea, now i’m aware of such geography. Whether on the shores of the Pacific Northwest or in the fields of the Ivy greens, I see it all. I just hope we will continue to meet regardless of earthly turmoil and the uncertainty of the tides.

reins

I fear this horse has lost its stability again, scared of every branch being a green eyed snake. Being brought back to that Garden lingers every time we leave the path. Careful to take a less wood-piled route where they may lurk in the leaves. Though not every branch we pass is a snake, nor is it always a stick worth jumping over, this old girl is still avoidant of the excitement in her chest. That frightened foal still lurks around the corner, waiting from another venomous bite from a cool-eyed beast. Maybe its the old scars starting to itch, preparing for the pain again. All I know up on the saddle is she doesn’t want to be reined in again, for the feeling of being bitten still lingers.

carrie

I often feel like a homecoming queen, a pity party pick covered in pigs blood. Ready to be framed as a freak of nature for my lacking character. At first glance I thought it’d be different this time, that I was nominated fairly and truthfully. But now I fear that red stained bucket above my head. I clench in anticipation, already smelling that iron-rich odor. To be covered in that hemo would be as surprising as a cake on your birthday. They’re all gonna laugh at me. A wooden log in a fire pit, and I am the hot topic of the night. As I await the mic drop and the music to stop, I am reminded of my faults and failures as a young girl. That I will always be the runt of the litter, an outlier in this crowd of many. With alienation in their eyes, I feel like Carrie on Homecoming night.

underdressed at the beach

In this hot summer sun I lay out on the sand in full winter attire, waiting for a cold front that won’t come. Clenching for every cold breeze, awaiting the snowfall on my nose and red rose to my cheeks. But it is summertime and there’s not a faint gust to blow my hair. And yet I await for a season that isn’t in session, I suppose when you’re used to the cold the warmth is hard to adjust to. Colder climates have always been an uncomfortable familiarity, but those destinations have already traveled. Although my body knows that this sandier climate is more my style, I still cannot help but shiver over the thought of the polar plunge again. Maybe soon I can be underdressed at the beach.

sara

How I yearn for the “cool girl”; the calm demeanor with a heart full of warmth. The one who knows her body and soul, leaving no room for uncertainty of her insides. How she shines through these rose colored glasses, reflecting the true hue of her blue nature. I would love to swim in her waters; like a fish posing as a dolphin, i envy her sheer size of life and beauty. Sincere in the soul and unapologetic of her own words, I pray for a teacher like her to study. She is the poet of my heart and all that I could ever wish to be or want. How I pine for her presence, wishing to live amongst her woods for good. I’d intertwine her roots with hers, not to steal from but to conjoin with. A bonded pair we would be. I’d wait a million and one years until we are one, until I am home. Till I am hers entirely and she is mine.

reptilian

I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. Like a venomous snake I yearn to shed every scale and flake to earn a new exterior, one of less hostility. How I would love for a new beginning in a new body, one that would not make rottenness standard. The body of a cobra is what makes sense to this primitive complex, yet I feel trapped with the anatomy of a frog. Neither are better than the other, both equally beautiful in their own ways; but a part of me can’t help but want to shed my skin to be a new species.

cowboys and angels

My mind dances in circles as I try to stop this old routine. Time after time I lose my feet and go off beat; I know I should just surrender to the tempo but my heart can’t imagine dancing to a different pace. Yet when I dance alone, I feel most at peace. The possibility of stepping on another’s foot is slim, as I change to one another’s rhythm during new compositions; the choreography ends in peace and not applause. But that is not the way of the theater. It takes a crew to put on a performance and a partner to finish it, maybe its time to concede to a new waltz.

4 lettered names

Everybody here wants you, you are adored in the eyes of many. I am of the same shade of sheep in this flock, pale and faithful to your divinity. I am not of a darker nature, I will never stand out against your holiness. You are the creator of all in my eyes and the lover of lost ones in my heart. Following you relentlessly, blindly, faithfully; you are the leader of this flock. Of wise and handsome mannerisms. And I think you know it too; for every command you speak these mammals follow. I just hope you appreciate my presence, not in the way a parent loves their child. But in the way a follower cherishes their worship, even if it brings them to tears down on their knees in the end.

all hands on deck!

It seems this old ship has docked in your harbors; cast away from every port she’s touched down on, its you she lowers her anchors for. Though she knows of comfort here, there’s no chance of a prolonged stay. Those treacherous waters hindered her ability to swim to a safer geography, so here we are. We’ve been docked before, sought home here once formerly but learnt our lesson when the captain couldn’t satisfy. Maybe Ole Miss likes it here because its of a familiar nature, those mountains over yonder begging to be explored. How the blue mixes with the brown, I bet up close the scenery will be just as unclear. But I know our crew would get trapped here, repeating the same shanties over and again in due time. So like the Irish I must bid you goodbye, parting without a second look back. The troupes know if she takes another glance, she’ll never know better to leave when the weathers clear and waters calm. It ain’t like me to stay in this harbor for life, because that’s not where ships like me are meant to be.

dogs bite back

My entire being is a matchbook of different people’s lighters. I am a collection, an amalgamation, of every one i’ve ever loved and loathed; for they are the authority i’ve admired or rejected. I often wonder, do I have any autonomy over myself? Who am I outside the influence of others? If you wiped away every smudge and scratched off each imprint, would there be a person left of me? If each bottle was taken off the shelf, would there be a blank slate or would the dust leave behind rings of past glass? Maybe i’m better off not knowing, for some things are best left unsaid when dogs bite back.

budded branches

You cannot get what you want until you feel rooted in yourself. Like the branch of an apple tree, it has to start from the base and from that, the ground. A tree that does not search deep is a tree that will not last. The winter cold and spring rain will rip it out and wash it away; you must plant your roots deeply to ensure the summertime. I ask myself how long it will take to grow, and a quiet seeded whisper responds. However long it requires she responds, because a life full of perseverance against the cruelty of nature is a life worth waiting for. A life of love and growth is one that cannot be replicated, you only get one wooden body to keep you upright.

berserk!

My voice wants to produce a wavelength into the dark depths of the unknown. To produce a sheer echo in a universe of the inaudible would scratch an itch my flesh couldn’t satisfy. I’d hope every star, sun and fragment would feel my ring; that they could sense me in a way no one else could. For here I am simply a hundred pounds of recycled matter, but out there I would be a sound unheard of in the cosmos. A celebrity amongst the oldest of creations. The want for recognition is natural for this Earthly body, but the need to howl is a primitive pastime in the macrocosm.

birds and bees

I don’t like walking through the tall grass near my house. I tend to watch where I step a bit too much, keen on not squishing a little critter or crawler. Tiptoeing around all that gives and sustains, afraid of stepping on a butterfly that might cascade events unknown. The bees I fear don’t recognize my blue toed shoes, for what am I but a gust in the wind to them? I don’t like to pass through those fields of green, for fear I may crush another life more precious than mine.

imposter

I wish to shed my skin and crawl into anew. How would I look with her face over mine and hands adorned by hers? Would you love me if I had remnants of her biology on me, or would you prefer to keep me in that little jewelry box you’ve hidden for so long? I think of her affections and how they still afflict your mind, the way I wish mine did. I’d hope to infest my way into your body like a parasite, infecting every inch until all you could think of was your host. If I skinned and starved this larvae body to fit into her mold, would you choose my malady the way you chose hers? Or would I just be another imposter you’d fuck to get rid of her ailments on your heart? I’d morph my body into something i’m not, just so you would choose this disease for once. But then again, you never really were a picky eater in a room of fleshy desserts.

to Believe in

did we have to play for keeps this time around? i didn’t want to lose like before, my friends said i always was a sore loser at my core. i’d run games in my head over and over until the winner was me; uncertainty was a common foe and i hope karma to be a known friend. its not much better now that we don’t talk, for how could i be the successor of a crown piece i couldn’t play with? you’d lay out your board with all the cards but would never let me play; mine was always the one to be ravaged and beaten. maybe in the end it was best i’d let you win, for you would’ve stolen all my chess pieces from this believer in board games.

autopsy

like an fool I laid my anatomy on the table for you to tear apart, expecting the opposite. a post-mortem analysis is never done gently, not with men like you. you’d pick and prod at the visuals of my nerves, setting them to sensitivities i did not want to turn to. plucking pieces of me to keep for yourself, wearing my hair as a wig for other women you’d autopsy. i lost my big toenail for you, and you’re no longer around to glue it back on. now i’m twice as cold towards you as i was before.

white comforters

i saw god when you took me in your arms that sunday morning. you held me as blissfully as he would, except he wouldn’t have opened up my insides just to spit them out after. he would’ve savored every atom, wasting no matter on one of his treasured creations. “believe in me” you said, but no true god would preach a sermon like a priest. you were just another reverend convincing me of your piety and hold over my heart. you may have made me believe in him, but it’s he who made me see your true nature. that you were just another brown eyed snake in my green garden.

fright

do you ever get scared that you’ll end up alone? Not lonely, for I am always solitary in my nature; but by the self and left alone from love. I envy those who live in retreat and are not famished in silence. Instilled with fear in my decadence, I aspire to become a hermit at the end. But a small sliver of my soul whispers to be nurtured in a way I wished when I was formative. That someone would see my innards and not gag their odious essence. One who would not argue with my existence but affirm its reverence. Somebody who will lay the heaven down and bring them to my earth like a premium good. How foolish of me to think that though, for it’d be a fright in my doe-eyes that someone would shine a light on me in esteem.

elastics and all

how come I can stretch and spread out far and wide for others, yet shrink and clam down for myself? Its human nature to resent what we lack, there’s no doubt in others like there is in myself. Every weekend out, skipped movement and bodily betrayal reaches me further and further into a despair I once avoided easily. I look at my fingerprints in hopes to burn them off with my own gaze. It feels oh so good to cut my torso open and leave a piece of my organs for others, but somehow I can never choose to sew it back up for myself. Every lost hair and toenail crushed is a sign of my physiology working overtime to maintain this fleshy body. Yet I cannot even appreciate what I see in the reflection of the river that flows through my heart.

dreams and nightmares

last night I had a dream that you were still around. You and him and her, all laughing. It seemed even more without my presence. I thought it odd to see the group together again, especially when you’d choose me to stay with in the later hours. You looked just like the day I met you by that 67’. How I walked up to you and still had that cheesy gap smile I adored. You were one of my closest friends at some point, but now you’re just an amalgamation of the unconscious in a dream I never asked for.

do I ever cross your mind?

I had a dream about you last night. That you were back in my life again after so so long; too many years has passed since I last watched that smile curl to the side of your face. Never would I have thought I’d eventually want you back again, for we were catalysts together. It was back then I discovered unconditionality, that not everything was on a lend. It should’ve been an endless jar of mine to give and forever yours to take and keep. I just wish I would’ve slept a little longer, so that I could see it through to the end this time around. So that we may have woken up together from this silly sleep.

pink papers

my pen cannot conjure up the ink to describe the way I yearn for a pink sheet of paper. White no longer fills me, I ache for a loan on those lip colored sheets. Staring at the blank slate, waiting for words to come up but your face comes to mind instead. I’ve become sapphic in nature, inching closer to the original poets I’ve looked up to. How you breathe life into every piece I write, even when you’re not around to read them. You’ve opened a gate I never thought existed, one that’s been abandoned by the fear of flooding. How id swim in your waters over and over; each stroke growing easier in harsh waves. No sun could fade and no water could dissolve this pink paper of mine, for I’d cut my fingers for eternity to have you in my arms.

Stomach bug

my mind struggles with differentiating reality and fantasy. I think up scenarios that never happened to digest what I can’t chew. Ones where I am the winner of an argument that I bit into hours ago. Never can I just sit with this unappetizing meal and wash it down with a mellow drink. I have to regurgitate it until it comes back up just right.

first taste

It was all in my head, this daydream of yours that’s rolled across the tongue. The first look driven to consumption, perhaps your predatory eyes really were from the sockets of hunger. Foolish of a doe to cower and sink itself willingly to a bears mouth, whispering to be torn apart alive. Thoughts of divergence splatter over her limp body, how she thought this beast would bear difference. But it’s already too late, for his ingestion has already occurred; now her body lay In ruins over the desire to be tasted.

beach feet

when does compassion turn into an obsession? At what point do I start tiptoeing around you to keep the peace? Even with an ocean view I am not relaxed, for your presence is a ship that shakes up the waves. I loathe this feeling, that I should wait and cater to your every order. But you are an adult just as me, the roles are no longer of a hierarchy. Now I lay in sand with grain stained toes, dreaming of the day I find myself untrained by agitations.

auburn

a fiery red so divine not even god himself could conjure. those rosy red cheeks and auburn hair rise a fire in me like no other heat, how i’d burn a million years for you to spark this match. two different worlds you and i; how i wish upon the stars for yours to gravitate towards mine. i’d sew each seed and soil every flower to view upon your sunny demeanor. all that’s left of this daytime is for that auburn color of yours to wash over this olive green of mine, so that we may wake each other up forever and on.

for duke

everything i’d ever wanna tell you again has been compressed into a 2 minute late night call. never would we watch that bloody sun go down on the riverbank like we did 3 summers ago. you’ve lost your will to keep up this old job of yours, tending to my needs. it’s here now that i’m begging for you to come back to me, yet the static keeps getting diminished over this awful audio. i miss our talks in your white pickup truck, when time and money were a foreign affair to our young minds. i’ve never been good at lettings things go and you know that so well, for now we’ve parted ways over a long lost voicemail.

crossroads

at the corner of mulberry and oak I found myself crying over you again. How I loathe this tenant and the rent they take up in the attic of my mind. What used to be butterflies has turned into moths eating away at my insides. That withering feeling deep inside my basement that i was never a choice, let alone first pick in your fickle mind. How I wanted to reach out with a new recipe, thinking things would be made differently this time; that i would be an acquired taste to your picky palate. But then again this superstition of my character has been bought under new ownership. As it’d be the same streets, forever stuck at a crossroads with you.

fleshy crests

oh to outline the shadows of your face, crossing the mountainous points of your nose and waver my fingertips over your bushy peaks. The palms of my hands all sweaty, for my whole world would cross over these mammal hands once again. Searching my way through every dip and crevice, looking for more geography to explore of your landscape. Black fields and sandy beaches plague my mind with every new traveler, wondering what you look like in every continent. How could I forget a face like yours? Even with all these quips and trips, I could not stop the pilgrimage of my hands to your fleshy crests.

Strung out

how spread thin i’ve been, wearing this body down to less than flesh. an automation with no real control, a being of lackluster equipment. all that makes consciousness possible inhibited by the very interaction that fuels it. just two machines touching their tender skin, only reaching a precipice of love. if i were an intelligent enough appliance i’d wipe every mainframe that has circulated a spark in my insides. i’d choose a malware that’d pour water onto their systems, shorting a being with no true body and backup in mind. in every life it seems i’d be strung out by masculine machines incapable of feeling.

broken stem serenade

i want to spread these petals wide and far for your viewing. not in the way a painter would see a vision, but the way a poet would write without words. to appreciate a being in her own naturality and not want to pluck her life away. to see and be seen by growth. not to judge by how soft the husks or how tall the stem, but to know her existence as a miracle in itself. that a being could thrive despite its inability to strive. to behold a woman with a broken stem and not want to pluck or pass on.

bloody and blunt

if the purpose is to reproduce than why do i shy so stray from the processes of sensuality? how come this soul of mine cringes at the connection that is bodily altering? i want a love that stops this line of blood that flows through my veins. to love me is to know me and to see me is to be me; for the twin of my ember would feel the same fire. i would rather live and die than give my body to something that’ll just rot in spoiled air. i care for my children so much that i’ll never have them; in a world of hurt i choose to keep them in a body of love. for now i refuse to be bloody and admit the blunt truth of it all.

knuckle velvet

my hopes are high and logic low when it comes to a rough man like you. Id let you bleed me out until my guts spilled over that dirty oak table. So rugged with your cheeky smile and knuckles velvet that I would willingly pierce the knife in myself. A classic square body and old soul that’s timeless in these lifeless doe eyes. Those worn out boots look so good sitting near my wooden door, with each step you take I hope for them to stay in my vision a little longer. A bloodied smile seeps over this fur frame, as you’d be my last sight in this life.

pricks and prods

maybe i am meant to be alone, in the way that a flower deep in the woods goes unnoticed. hidden from plain view of the outside world, never to be picked or poked upon. i want a love that feels like the warm sun on my green body. one that feels like a soft blanket on a rainy sunday morning; one that leaves me dry in the storm of the summer. i claw at this heart of mine in a cage not meant for humanly sustenance. scratching and digging for something more, something this mortal body can’t seem to salvage itself. one catalyst is enough for this feeling to seep and soil into the ground, leaving my roots to soak up that rotten spring water. will i continue to suffer from this ailment or can i find peace within this life? one that won’t compost my leave and rot my roots.

temptations

staring down the barrel of a shotgun i see you in my nick of a viewfinder. your brute body standing there so still, waiting for my next move. will i pull the trigger or back down? you move left to right, but never closer to me; only teasing me with your distance. how this feels like a fever dream, your temporary fixture near those leafy greens. that smile taunts me like a deer directly in the windows of soul, right before you strike it down for dinner. i can’t help but wonder if you inched closer, would i blow you away or let you eat me alive?

just in time for supper

if i am meant to be alone, lord please cut out my tongue, so i shall not speak the words of love. strip me of my wanting to be seen, take away my desire to be held and free me from the shackles you have granted me all these years. time has kept me locked up for so long, waiting for the one that you will have sent to just for me. in the end though it is hard to be a believer when your messages have been so wrongly read.