Ode to Mrs Slovenly....
Mr ScratchyRainbow hues brushed asideDark thoughts furtively enticingExalt;'Enbrace me!'Damp sheetsVeil conscious thought,dappled vigin lightRecessed shadows running tandemContradict the here and now.Waking dreams leach my willDumped almost lifeless on the floor,pillowsScattered,comfort lost.Struggling weakly to my kneesTender,gravel peppered palmsEnrage.Anger swells my tongue asCarrion creatures jostleExcitement builds,theyScreech and peck in mountingFrenzy.Bruised and bloodiedAccepting of my fateDull ringing echoes,skullBludgeoned from inside:Then.Silence.Intensly bright,white paperCauterizes emotion,staringBlankly i paint myself aMask and call himMr. Scratchy.His long armsFlailing awkwardly,knots in stringPropel the ungainly-Unbalanced as i am by you,Buried somewhere inside meToying with my metal plated heart,iStruggle,shove you hard'Back in your box!'Naughty Twinkle Toes.Valiantly,down the yearsAttrition was your sword,randomVictories grudgingly acknowleged
i hate your love storiesand your tumblr aestheticswith your shit john green quotesfull of naivety and idealized conceptsof what romance is supposed to be.i want to burn your paper townsinto a silver-spined grave loopingaround the melted ink and torched pageand i want to shoot your gas ballstill they dive bomb the dust everyoneloves to proclaim as their aura.and there is fault in our stars'cause you believe you are oneand i'm sorrybut you're not even a setting sun;forerunner of gatling gun stunnersyou're more thief(hiding) in the night (from life)than ray of (shining) light (in the sky).illusions of oasis making you look twicewhen beauty becomes ugly--beholding stare of immaturity;eye maturing knowing nurturing hueover letting nature torture youis the best route for two.
Yes, I Have a PenisYes, I Have A PenisDo not assume (if I hold the door for you),that I am making a statementabout your inabilitiesto open the door for yourself.If you hold it for me,I'll say 'thankyou'.Do not assume (if I pay for the meal),that I am underestimatingyour earning capacityas a woman.If you invite me out for a meal,you're paying.Do not assume (if I defend your rights),that I am belittlingthe attempts that you have madeto defend your rights yourself.If you defend my rights,I'll consider you human.
storiesi begin and end with storieswhere hummingbird hearts play sonatasagainst my ribs and i drown inearly morning light andthe girl in me sinks into the sealike rusting anchors chained toships and i sway port and starboardthe lion in me rises like lazarusfrom the savannah where dust swirlslike stormsand i begin and end with storieswhere i swallow the world and allthe rain and girls and lions in itwhere i hold it up like atlas,where i support jupiter with justan index finger and where i chasecomets and cup them like firefliesto hang on my bedroom walls
Insanity needs companyand now I’m stuck here,pondering,how the walls becamea veiny sight-(could the cause be me calling outyour namein the middle of the night?)and alone I stand here,wondering,how my feet gotnailed upon this floor-(do you hold my ankleslike an anchordoes the shore?)and I know it’s been thirteen yearssince you were here at all,according to the hash markscarved uponthe wooden wallbut I can’tlet goof our memories,that hauntme everydayso for now,I’ll let the doc declare: Insanity needs company.
five things they don't teach you in highschool1.it's okay to fall in love.i mean, they tell you you're never goingto marry your high school sweetheart and i'm not goingto tell you it's a liebecause it's not. you guys will probablybreak up and is gonna hurt like hellbut you'll be okay. remember, you are not the only onewho has felt loneliness like a knife,the only one to know the pain of lungs collapsingbecause they were your air,and you will never be the only one who whispered"i love you" two lives too soon.you will not be the last one to have tuckedhair behind their ear and leaned in for a kissor the last one to wake up reaching for a hand that's no longer there.but it's okay.2.your favorite book will not always be your favorite.like you, it will change over timeto something unrecognizablethat gives you only a vague nostalgia in the tips of your fingers.flipping through the pages will neverfeel the same again.you will learn to love something new;your next favorite will teach you something about you
Ghost in the MachineThere were daysMelissa measuredher happiness in brightness,when she would holdher hands over her eyesand the cracks of sunlight,like old paint on drywall,would shine throughto let her know exactlywho it was that held her.Who is it?And at that moment of recognitionMelissa felt…...she felt okay.More than photonsreflecting off of totem shells,humanity is conch-cradledin her dusk where light perceptionis limited to the moon, where blindis a swear word and an oathdependent on a circadianarcade: she is blindand going blinder.Lingering,she allows herself a curfewto blow out the lanternand sing without colorfor the first time.Melissa,you rely on a perfect balance—trusting the sunshine to smileon your bare arms at eight a.m.,two p.m., half-past six and ticking on,letting the moon comfort youas patchwork clouds shawl overmidnight's studded shoulders,leaving behind aspects of life:natural, mundane, mechanical,and self-made doubts.Don't fo