Poetry
I wonder what it would feel like to be validated by them. Under the wing of my own mother hen. Ink spills over our desk, so I pick up the pen. Carefully chosen words fall on deaf ears. Oily feathers revealed to be spears. My ink bleeds over wasted years.
Poetry
I am a supraorganism. A colony. A vessel. Microscopic beings outnumber me in a body that was never mine alone. As the captain it's my responsibility to build them all a more hospitable home. I am one star, in the galaxy that is humanity. I need no moon.
Poetry
Healing is cleaning with a dirty rag. Scared of being labelled as a drag. I hide sharp things inside my bag. Spilled milk begets a game of tag. Streaks of grease I could never erase. New horizons beg me not to stay. Better than I was, yet forever stained. Learn
Poetry
Maybe not being able to hear a voice in my head Is an invitation to speak gentle thoughts out loud I’ve made the mistake of yelling them into a crowd Faces of strangers marred with darkness Muzzling me with a lack of guidance Still I stumble Cutting my hands
Poetry
I feel a gnawing emptiness in my belly I'll nourish you, my love My chest is full of muddy water I'll drain it for you, my love I want to hide away from artificial lights Return to me whenever you need, my love
Poetry
Lonely little daddy’s girl. Vessel, vehicle, portal. I’ve primped and prodded myself into a veritable morsel, Yet no fish can I catch. No longer able to see the depths I wade out into darker waters. My heart races. The speed with which I’m snatched. Was it ever
Poetry
Consequences are mine to behold, sluggish with the weight of another. Morals I bought repeatedly sold, finished rebuilding my rudder. Mentally ill with a heart of gold, forgetting the feeling of rubber. Automatically doing what I have been told, my ancient dreams lay covered. Trimmed white sails, I dodge the
Poetry
You don't see the being inside of me. Surface level projection of your beliefs. A flesh Acheron inconveniently diseased. Nasty for the sin of being free. Unfit for you to live vicariously. I try instead to live for me. An attack you'd like to believe. But
Poetry
You showed genuine interest in what I love and I knew in my bones you were a friend
Poetry
Some things I write will never be seen I keep treasure close to my chest People out there can be terribly mean I am tired of them and need rest Whether their thoughts are kind or sullen It makes no difference to me They can think silly thoughts all day
Poetry
I lost your tree in a forest Even with a color so unique I saw you not for who you were But who my prejudice made you to be
Poetry
cryptic little notes I think residue of a painful past I write these for myself to keep the essence behind the mask