May 20

The Forgetfulness of Life

They lie awake,
oblivious to the warmth of their blankets,
and the chill through the window. 

They think about thinking,
thinking about how much they would like 
to stop thinking.

'Just once'
'Just once'

They close their dry eyes,
feeling the familiar sting and burn 
as tears wash over.

Some say that if one stops thinking,
they become lost... 
Not even noticing 
as they trip over themselves.

But they wish,
and wish so hard that they could stop thinking,
for thinking is the one reason
that they wish they could stop.

As life goes by,
memories build up,
some festering and old,
some gentle and refreshing.

Love and family become like sticky webs,
trapping them until they submit
and then ripping them away...

Then they think again,
about the pain they've endured and the good times
May 18

The Ones That Taste Like Mother

Like a thunder-shook flood,
I hated you,
for giving me such tasteless skin.
For gifting me with
eyes and ears that see myself suffer
day by day because of their color.

I hated you for my mouth,
which you cursed upon me,
and then told me you loved me.

If you loved me,
you shouldn’t have let me be
born at all...

I hated you like autumn winds,
whipping your hair around
your miserable head!
Entangling each strand with
scattered bits of leaf-litter.

“If only I could have
been whiter!”

“If only I could have been
beautiful!”

But now I look back,
and wade in the tears I’ve cried,
each drop tastes different,
but my least favorite
are the ones that taste
like maple leaves,
like you,
like mother.

I can’t stand to smell them,
with my sharp nose.

I can’t bear to listen
May 14

As Weak as a Butterfly

I know that I am different,
I am sorry that I am different.

I know you hate my smell,
of spices my family loves.

I know we’ll never be friends,
and never should be.
Our friendship would be as fragile
as a butterfly.

You might get teased alongside me,
for my dark skin
and curly hair,
and our little butterfly would fly up
in the air.
Like a moment you pass,
and watch as time pushes you farther away.

Too far to change anything,
but just far enough
to regret.
 
May 13

Sweet Fairy of Time


Running—sweet scent of pine and dew,
feet bare on sticks and leaves.

Wild hair,
cool, free wind.
Empty, yet so terribly full.

Like golden sheets,
the sun crisps on the first green,
turned jade through
a sunlight filter.

Like silver silk,
so thin,
so fragile,
starlight weeps,
dripping from ragged branches,
slowly sinking up from day.

Though light is ill,
and dark is cold,
she feels no fear.

Her eyes reflect the faded blue,
her hands slip,
from vine to vine.
Slipping swiftly against
every sliver of time.

Not one moment does she miss,
not one will she ever.

She is the only one,
that never forgets,
even if she wishes
not to remember.
 
May 13

The Modern Day Circus

Each day he feels
those crystal stares,
as if they were stopped in time.

He’s always hoped that maybe
someday,
those crystal stares
would shatter.

All his life, like the outer box,
nowhere to hide,
exposed to the darkness,
that others call light.
Seen by judgement,
pitied by envy.

On the outside,
despite his desire to cower
within.

He is ashamed of how
many crystals have grown.
He is ashamed of letting them grow.
How weak he is to ignore.

If only he had
chiseled cheeks,
or dainty chin.

Had he been tall,
and calm.

If only he could be reborn,
normal like the audience
of common day,
then maybe
he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty.

 
May 01

The World is Lost

As we overheat, 
like old computers,
lost in the realization that we
are lost. 

Tasting our mistakes by tip of iron tongue.
Feeling the pinch of an oil-sapped bullet
filled with thick ink.
Which like water,
sinks in sharp swirls in blood and fluid,
lost in itself,
as we are lost in us. 

The world heats up,
like us,
as old computers do.
Like a million suns devouring each other,
exploding onto asteroid clumps.
Balls of fire exploding in our brains,
as we realize.
We are lost. 

And the world loses itself in it's reality,
that it is lost in itself as we are lost,
and losing each light.
Like a city that finally sleeps,
click, click, click 
each melancholy light blinks out.
At rest,
folding a million times, aching, weeping, 
knowing. 

Lost are we and lost is the world, 
May 01

From Death Comes Life

In time
those in sight of crystal skies.
Through moving shadows,
in thinning ink,
like eyes,
shifting.
The light is real
and right.

Though simple in most ways,
some are thick as calloused webs,
glittering with shimmering blues,
golds, silvers, some so bright
they shine clear white.
Through many paths,
red to brown,
moments,
seconds,
years.

Someday from those crystal banks,
all will fall,
all will rise.
Someday you will reach
your clear pearl lands.

Once you flew out from these skies,
not a single strand of silk in your web.
One day you will reach that beloved blue,
silk web gleaming with
a thousand crescent moons.

 
Apr 09

One Word

Do you understand the deeper meaning,
impact,
emotion,
that each tiny word screams?

You’ve felt that sensation yourself.
Trust me,
you have.
Everyone has and still is.

If you counted how many times somebody felt that feeling,
you’d see that it happens every second,
millisecond.
A million times a day and over,
emotions bursting like an uncapped blender
of colorful milk.
Disgusting,
I know.

There’s a mix of pain, satisfaction,
guilt,
anger,
confusion especially.
Every emotion you could imagine.

They make you feel
up,
down,
sideways,
or maybe even at some odd angle.

Just one word
-with the right context-
can make you feel something you’ve never felt before.
Some strange emotion with no name,
a feeling you could never find the right words to describe.

I can’t tell someone
Mar 20

The World is in Pain


Huddled in the bathroom,
crying.
Tears are warm,
you wonder why
you feel so cold inside.

Rub your tender eyelids,
fingers slipping across tear slicked lashes.
Why am I crying?

Cover your sobs,
not wanting them to know.
Yet at the same time, 
wishing and hoping that they could see
your pain.

But they do not understand,
and never will. 
They are stupid...

This is daily life,
you think,
feeling hollow on the tiles.
You peel your naked body off the floor,
stepping into cold water.

No one would know you were crying,
no one but you.
You gasp and choke miserably 
as cold water grips your back.

You cry harder, 
angry, confused, hatred consuming your whole being.

The wall is bloody now.
You punched it,
getting a satisfying crack in your knuckles.
I hate myself,
Mar 19

The Corner

I see the corner bending back,
a ninety degree angle of grey.
Count the cars that slip on ice.
Count the people that have fallen.

If only they hadn't any phones,
if only they had said 'goodbye' at the last corner.
Then they wouldn't have slipped.

The corner,
where stupid deaths are vibrant and funny.
I laugh each time a biker crashes,
the pole on the corner seems to be quite deadly as well.

Each scooter, skater, and runner
can't seem to dodge a simple lift in the street!
Though no one knows it,
the banker who lives on Cheryll,
the child with the plastic babe,
not even the Mayor knows.

No one knows,
that this corner is drenched in blood.
Each popped plastic ball floating down the drain,
each crack on a forgotten screen.

'The entire world is so stupid'
I repeat to myself everyday.

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