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Literature
Poison Posed as Perfection
i.
Would you listen even if I told you?
A gasoline puddle reflects the sky in a kaleidoscope of swirl-smeared color, rainbow whorls distorting the image into an obscene depiction. And though I've heard claims about accuracy and intention, I've come to view these puddles as shallow representations.
If I gave you a mirror could you gaze into it and look for more than just yourself?
ii.
Honestly, I tried.
Yes, my words are polished, but when was the last time you cared? You're the one who taught me to paint primroses amid the Mojave. You seemed to prefer overbearing fragrances over my soil preaching statements of aridity and honesty. Then when I began to slur words like dehydration and depravity, you corrected my vocabulary. It wasn't a case of diction, you just couldn't abide my intentions, couldn't be bothered to listen.
Those flowers weren't planted to ornament the emptiness, you just couldn't abide my vastness. An immensity that stretched o
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Literature
boys that want you, boys that love you.
1.
there are four kinds of love.
the first is honest.
the first is messy.
it’s smeared makeup.
it’s tears over a martini.
it’s people dancing alone.
it’s off-key singing, at the top
of your lungs.
it’s unmade beds.
it’s the hickey on your neck.
it’s the gasp he gave
when he first saw you,
how he missed your lips
when he tried to kiss you.
it's forgiveness
after he made you cry.
2.
the second kind is what you feel
for the boy lying next to you.
there’s cigarettes in the ashtray,
panties on the floor,
a lump in your throat,
and he does not love you back.
3.
the third kind is when you'll meet
his eyes
and that little moment will stretch
into something huge and permanent,
into a month/six months/a year
of a million glances that you'd thought
were meaningless.
it’s when you'll say nothing
and neither will he
because there will be no need
for words.
because he'll very nearly smile
and you'll know.
4.
the fourth
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Literature
Ravenous
Bones.  You saw them before you even saw her.
The all-too-visible quiver of her jaundiced skin
tightening over well-kept secrets; skeletal protrusions.
Above all, I noticed her sarcastic slouch, vertebrae sticking out in a slump.
She would persist, boasting of womanly fullness while the emaciated truth
jutted out at her pelvis.
She wasn’t just hungry, she was ravenous.
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Literature
The Anthem of Harmony
When the darkness comes
When the shadows return
Six lights will awake
Guided by their friendship
With the power of
Harmony within them
Together they will
Bring an end to evil
Honesty will fight against any lies
Kindness will aid those overwhelmed by anger
Laughter will wither all sadness away
Generosity will help those in need
Loyalty will strike bravery into the hearts
Magic will then make everything complete!
Rise forth once more
(once more)
O Lights!
O Harmony!
With the sun and moon guiding their way
They will always prevail!
Together
Honesty!
Brave ones
Kindness!
Fear not
Laughter!
You'll find your way!
Lift us through
Generous!
Our goal
Loyalty!
lies ahead
Magic!
In souls and hearts!
Rise forth once more
(once more)
O Lights!
Spirits of Harmony
Reborn!
When the darkness comes
When the shadows return
Six lights will awake
Guided by their friendship
With the power of
Harmony within them
Together they will
Bring an end to evil!
Honesty will help stand us firm as mountains
Kindness wi
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Literature
Six Words
My walls are ice; yours, steam.
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Literature
pipe dream.
dreams:
I’ve always wanted a boyfriend
I could watch porn with
and drink straight vodka with
until we’re too drunk to know
who took who
to bed.
I’ve always wanted a boyfriend
I could ride
without feeling embarrassed
that there’s a freckle on my breast;
a boyfriend who could make me fall in love
with his eyelashes
when they’re wet with tears,
with his breakdowns and daydreams
and every honest, vulnerable little thing.
I’ve always wanted a boyfriend
who could make me believe in God
because miracles were real
and I didn’t need evolution anymore
I didn’t need to believe
that things were destined
to change –
that I didn't want them to change.
dreams:
(I just wanted it to be perfect.)
truth:
You called me heroin
because you were addicted.
“You ruined my life,” you’d say,
drinking straight out the bottle.
You never drank with me,
so I always knew it was you
who was too drunk
to get my je
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Literature
Wasted Words.
Wasted Words.
We wait for the last possible moment.
Even when confronting our opponents.
To reveal,
How we truly feel.
We hide behind our counterfeit expressions.
Conceal and contain our countless confessions.
Failing to announce,
What our mouths long to pronounce.
We purposely squander opportunities.
Maintaining our positions within our communities.
Avoiding any disclosure,
Reducing the risk of exposure.
We use humour to dilute what we actually say.
Because the truth does not have to be revealed today.
We know there always is a tomorrow,
So today has not got to be filled with sorrow.
We wait and wait.
                Stall and prolong.
                                  Until it’s too late
                                                         And the moment has gone.
                                There is never a convenient time.
                            For us to say what is really on our minds.
                               It takes the sight of a death bed.
         
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Literature
history remembers.
i.
history repeats itself.
i realize this the fourth time i find myself on a couch
with the head of a boy i don’t know
between my stiff, nonresponding legs.
i realize this on the third sip of alcohol. on the fourth.
the fifth. the eleventh. the first time i black out. the eighth.
history repeats itself
and i am napoleon marching across russia
and i only pretend the water is poisoned.
i only pretend the earth is burned to ground.
i pretend that destruction is inevitable
and that help is not an option.
--
ii.
we got close, him and i.
sometimes you get so close to a person
you can feel their lips stiffen
when you try to kiss them.
sometimes you get close to a person,
under them, between damp sheets.
sometimes,
they never stop believing
that you are beneath them.
--
iii.
“help me,” he says. i say okay.
he tells me to sleep with him later
so i say the wrong name in bed,
but so does he;
he means it,
i say it because it’s the only way i can
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Literature
Natural Woman
Natural Woman
 
Don’t listen to him, honey,
You’re beautiful, always, and that is the truth.
Drop the blush brush and focus on the auricular,
You don’t need makeup, these marks that adorn you,
Represent wisdom and represent your youth,
Every crevice and scar,
Shows the pain, your fight, and parts of your heart,
And your personality shows you were raised by a king and queen,
Understanding you’re a princess;
Understanding only royalty is worthy of your presence,
These little lines around your mouth show your brother was a jester;
The hair that covers your head,
Those hairs curled into inquisitive, bouncing question marks,
Quiz and question my every word to find if what I say is what I actually believe to be the truth,
And to answer your question as you look at me with an incredulous expression,
Eyebrows furrowed, forehead cutely wrinkled and your nose beautifully crinkled;
Yes, I believe these words to be the truth because you’re perfect w
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Literature
Honesty is a Crime
Honesty is a crime.
Tell people you're sad,
You're crying out for attention.
Tell people you're angry,
You're a threat to others.
You say you're not afraid of death,
You think you're the shit.
Honesty is a crime.
If you have beliefs,
You're out of your mind.
If you love gore,
You're a sociopath.
If you have a disorder,
Everyone should pity you.
Honesty is a crime.
It's not okay to be sad.
It's unacceptable to be angry.
It's impossible to not fear death.
You can't show emotion
Because you're craving sympathy.
Give me attention,
For I am human,
And I am so very special.
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Literature
Blindly
Blindly
 
People see what they are told.
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Literature
Chrysanthemum
Chrysanthemum
 
Last night, I dreamt of us.
We were together on a mountaintop,
I was sitting on the edge,
With my legs dangling above the bottomless pit,
With a lone, white chrysanthemum in my hand as I pull the petals from the stem.
While you were standing above me, looking on, languidly,
None of us wanting to say anything,
My own mental battle sewing my lips to one another,
Unable to speak,
While you were probably trapped within your own mental depths;
In my mind, I was debating between venting and jumping,
Simply over the fact I didn’t know what that look was in your eyes,
But I think that’s probably the point, that we’re no longer of the same kind,
Maybe I changed into something I’m unaware of, maybe you were the one to transform,
But I don’t get the same feel of what used to be,
This is foreign to me,
An unapologetic feeling of extreme apathy,
And that is the unfortunate reality of this situation,
No matter how long
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