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tomorrow,there will always be another rainfall.
.under mackerel skyowl echoes distantmy handssculpt the air
missionary.out where the wind crawls along my backlead me to your roost and wanderwhisper through the waves of my mindpillars of ice pierce to hold your spinefragile yet strong, and the tortuous blackis near, his mountainous framewrapping you in velvet rinda drop of blood in wine.
a grandmother's love.the rain pelted the walkwayto your house that day.i sit outside remembering howyou loved your rosescaring for them as ifthey were your childrenconcrete cylinders norasphalt roadways could dulltheir shine, where they brim with hopeand splendorthat day, in their radiancei remember your faceetched into the petalsyour love lives onin that momentthru roses
saturday morning coffee.Seattle held many secrets in its dreary rainfall: college kids having sex in the 7-11 bathroom, a drug dealer staking out Rainier Valley for new clientele, and, worst of all, a secret agent working at the Starbucks on 5th Avenue. I had watched him for months now and every day something suspicious seemed to happen. Today, the strange behavior revolved around the chocolate syrup pump sitting surreptitiously behind neatly placed metallic coffee mugs for sale. The perfect hiding spot for seedy behavior! A woman I earmarked as pleasant-enough looking leaned over the counter cautiously, eye over her shoulder to detect any prying eyes. She whispered something to the duplicitous cashier who squinted his eyes and squished his face, as if he smelled something rancid. Perhaps it were his devious plans that smelled so foul! But alas, all that would transpire would be a few extra squirts of syrup into the woman's drink. This wasn't enough to convince me of his la
morning.if my words fallupon your ears gentleand serenelittered leaves belowyour feet, gatheredand whisperingan ocean vastof constellations deepour minds the root,our hearts beneathat once we soarover snowy peaksthe caress of morningupon our cheeks
delirium. The screams of children and the shouting of their parents pierced my ears as I stood stark in the middle of the street, and suddenly conscious of how I was not in costume. Dimly lit street lamps giving bare visibility to either side of the avenue, dark trees hiding the houses behind them. Somehow these belligerent children still find their way to their front doors, no doubt in search of fine chocolate only to be disappointed by twenty-five cent knock offs. My mother was supposed to be near, but I wasn't sure where she wandered off to. An odd scent of sewage wafted over me, revolting and pungent. I quickly glance over my shoulder looking for her and try, in vain, to extinguish the horrid scent by pulling my nose into my elbow. A few houses away from me I noticed a house where no children were visiting. A forest-equivalent of trees laid grimly in its yard, more than any surrounding house had giving off an eerie atmosphere.
sugar.the air scented like strawberriesand your eyes as wide as cherriesmy pulse racing as you saunterso freely past fields of daisiesinto my arms and on my lipsis where i know warmth resides—beit in your garden or your heartheat rises without single thought
frog's swamp.alone,the sun's amber breathweaves, hot, throughthicket and mire.besidethe cypress branchhe croaks, flaccidand pale.above,wasted and expiring,gnats glide gently –dinner.
synecdochemy mother's gotten fat off of my promises,empty calories that just go straight to herhips.i made a meal out of truth once, set it downfor both of us to eat. she cleanedher plate, asked for dessert-threw it up later that night, said she forgothow thin these walls are,took the liberty of damning me to hell beforeslamming the door.god says to stop feeding her bullshitfrom a silver spoon, tells me you're so full of shit, your eyes are brownevery time i try to explain.he tells me to leave so i go homeand pick my prayers from the pile underthe shredder-get some elmer's clue and hope to hellit works.
Lack of InspirationScribbling, scribbling, scribblingSeeking abnormalities to writeNibbling, nibbling, nibblingChewing nails out of sightGiggling, giggling, gigglingSuch strange words, not so brightBabbling, babbling, babblingNo inspiration, nor any light
TormentedI gave you my heartYou tore it apart.You split it in twobecause you, love you.
genesisi have a bird in my chest andshe's pecking at my ribs and trying to squeezebetween the fluted bones,frantic heartbeat tripping over mine-i feel her feathersscra-pemy lungs,talons shredding threaded valvesand acid rising when she vomitsandemaciated organs slicing andsewing themselves back togetherbecausei'm the bird in my chest andi want to pry myself open and rip myselfout-but i don't want to let this part of mego.
Six Word SermonLove is not a raised fist.
He only dates broken girls.I will destroy you. I willmake you love mewithout even trying;you’ll love the scabson my knees, the bruisesunder my eyes, mysinged hair. You will lovethe rush of holdingmy hand as we crossthe bridge; you’ll feellike a hero each timeI don’t jump. You will buyme chocolates, the mostexpensive, to guilt meinto eating. You will buyme seeds instead of flowers,to give me a reason toget up in the morning. Youwill make me dependent,even as I feed your whiteknight complex. I will destroymyself, and so you,and you will know why storms are named after people.
MedsThey're supposedTo make me betterTo solve my problemsBut they're nothing but drugsDrugs to control meTo keep me docileThey only make meNumb and tiredThey make my lifeDull and boringA chemically induced illusionThat doesn't solve a thing
.just breathing isn 't enough -i need to scream to remind you I'mstill alive.
misconceptionsand as he paces the cliffs of my ribs with hisfingers and contemplates jumping off,i leave his bruises of purple milky waysat home on my skinand push us both over theedge-hold me tighter, cause i'd rather be a bag of bleeding veinsthan nothing at all
Dress of WordsAs I skip around in my dress of wordsI look at the lace of my glovesIt was torn and shred and covered in charscorched by the hands of past loveAnd as I gaze at my shiny blue shoesI smile, In remembrance I glowFor I still wander in treacherous landsseeing sorrow that no one should knowBut with a clappity-clap my feet move onand I dance as the sorrow falls downMy hand still reaches for the sake of my loverain can't stain my white linen gownWith scarred hands I bear fingerless glovesand I reach out to whomever I pleaseFor I remember one who danced in the rainand showed me to dance, just as he
Untitled 28Time ticks by as I lay by your side,Thinking of all the tears that you've seen me cry.Running a finger down your sleeping face,I know there are millions who would take my place.Laying there safe and protected in your arms,Thankful that I fell for your undeniable charm,I think of how many times you've dried my tears,Picked me up, helped me through and calmed my fears.I feel you stir and I let out a sigh,The tilt my head to see those gorgeous grey eyes.They're beautiful, yet have a dangerous hint,And looking at you now I see a mischevious glint.Trailing my fingers across your skin,I return your look with a devilish grin.Watching those eyes, like a stirring storm,Watching their depths change and transform.I raise my head to your passionate kiss,And I wonder what I've done to deserve such bliss.I snuggle in closer to the warmth of your side,And am thankful you weren't scared by all the tears that I cried.Now my eyes are dry, there are no more tears,And I no longer have
are we there...little mouthsrequire frequentfeeding little arms require frequent hugging little mindsrequire frequentfilling little selves require frequent boosting little heartsrequire frequentloving[miyoji collaboration with cattservant]
breathe.coral sunsetreflectedin your hairsunflower's songwhisperedsoftly in my earsthe supple breezesurrendersto your glowing skinmy handyour chest breathe