Mr ScratchyRainbow hues brushed aside
Dark thoughts furtively enticing
Exalt;'Enbrace me!'Damp sheets
Veil conscious thought,dappled vigin light
Recessed shadows running tandem
Contradict the here and now.
Waking dreams leach my will
Dumped almost lifeless on the floor,pillows
Struggling weakly to my knees
Tender,gravel peppered palms
Enrage.Anger swells my tongue as
Carrion creatures jostle
Screech and peck in mounting
Frenzy.Bruised and bloodied
Accepting of my fate
Dull ringing echoes,skull
Bludgeoned from inside:
Intensly bright,white paper
Blankly i paint myself a
Mask and call him
Mr. Scratchy.His long arms
Flailing awkwardly,knots in string
Propel the ungainly-
Unbalanced as i am by you,
Buried somewhere inside me
Toying with my metal plated heart,i
Struggle,shove you hard
'Back in your box!'
Naughty Twinkle Toes.
Valiantly,down the years
Attrition was your sword,random
Victories grudgingly acknowleged
UnawareWhen you are two and five and ten
you are unaware ––
of the cactus in the windowsill,
how, fragile, each quill bends
and breaks and falls apart.––
Twelve years later, on a Tuesday,
you dream about a boy
who bumps his head
on an iron slate and you wake
in a cold sweat.
You are twelve when you are
always bumping shoulders.
Twenty-two years of Thursday.
There is nothing at all.
And you wonder (and
you wonder why)
each time you wake.
The cactus in the window bleeds
with you when you bump it.
No one ever mentioned
frightened things bite.
So you have always been unaware.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
SaturdayWe slept on the floor when you drank.
– Like worried puppies
too small to reach the bed,
and sat with our backs to the wall
by the bathroom while you showered,
we hid car keys,
Peering over ledges,
I watched your listless eyes
wander to windows
thinking of your mother and marriage,
toes curled around the coffee table corner,
and we begged you to sleep.
Zach cleaned the sinks,
the rugs and the ashtrays,
capped the bottles and placed them
high on the shelves.
You woke to cartoons,
a headache, a fresh
pack of cigarettes. –
We never talked on Sunday mornings.
Oaki knew a girl once,
with an oak heart and guarded hands
(gloved from touch)
uncrossed her ankles,
let naked fingertips
touch well-read lips, and
her heart kind of turned
i miss that girl,
with the oak heart -
she was tougher.
you can't have it allBut you can have eating wild grapes and their skin like beetle wings
cocooned in bruises. You can have swings that go so high you kick
a hole in the clouds. You can have chickens following you through the front door
and the cat’s gift to say, Look, I am taking care of you.
You can have happiness, but tempered as
your first taste of wine when you hid your puckering face
because you were eight years old and dangerous.
You can have a touch you blush for, ferret hands dancing,
small and terrifying and knowledgable.
You can have an aspiration of “us” held on one stool leg, darting breaths but
never admitting to dreams, to a stew of practicality.
You can talk to her, sometimes,
and even mean something.
You can have the book you stole after she stumbled,
and “that” word sank into your hands. You can’t cure cancer,
but you can have two sets of spoons in the same sink
although she’s only touched the one you lent her,
the one you didn’t expe
negativeI feel like a double
hashed one on top of the
It’s confusing to look at,
I feel confused.
Two of the same face at
too many limbs
to count –
this picture of me
isn’t fit for human
InvincibleMy wisdom is my weapon
My emotions are my strategy
And my scars are my medals
I'm ready for one more battle
And for another victory
So bring it on, Universe!