Fire has no pity,
Nor takes any blame,
Her warm energy
Gives with nothing to gain,
Her wild fury
Feels no shame,
Nor whispers an apology,
When all is left in flames,
She does not worry
When only embers remain,
It is all temporary,
She remembers no pain,
All her burdens are buried
Beneath the scorched terrain.
Can you see what I see? It comes to me so vividly
On the tip of my tongue Or top of my skull
It is almost there, Almost nowhere at all
It’s almost unfair That I can almost recall
Something you can’t see But I swear that I saw
You think that I’m crazy But that’s not my fault...
It comes to me so vividly; What is not there at all.
Advice or Suggestions;
Adorned with almost accusations,
Some sort of defused expectation,
Claiming itself as truth with no explanation
Refusing point of view or clarification,
Posing themselves as answers when
Truly they are questions…
Searching endlessly for nodding heads
A without-hesitation acquainted
Validation that will fade and then
Transition into new needs
The cycle of the complacent
Fall off into oblivion and are replaced
By an unclaimed sensation,
Belong to no one rather the whole accumulation,
Enables you to feel the ebb and flow
Of the unknown and trust your reaction,
To experience and radiate internal vibrations,
Un-wavered by speculation,
A truth not up for consideration.
Mother and Child
Passer by's don't look me in the eyes, but feast upon the rest,
And say to me what I should be, what I would do best.
As if to know where I will go, and what will happen next.
They insist I have a heart of bliss behind my supple chest.
That I could hold their weary soul; my arms their tender nest.
I’ll dare to say that I could do everything you think I should,
I would ace every test.
Allow myself to be devoured,
Every sweet thought to grow sour, and when I caress,
I’d squeeze tight out of bitter spite
That you would want me less?
Or think I’m not enough
After all I’ve given up?!
Even my own comfort to this dress,
To mother you like women do,
I think that I should pass.
I’d rather love and be scratched, scratch, and be loved
Right here with my cat.
Delicate curiosity poisons baby breath
New air leaves me gasping,
Grabbing at my own neck;
A familiar kind of grasping.
Engulfed by thick air,
Chew, swallow, inhale,
Full lungs tear,
Two fingers down my throat just to exhale.
Indulges, but does not kill.
Consumes enough to leave me empty,
Just enough to get your fill.
Habituated codependency, thrives off my survival.
I give into you reluctantly,
But would rather let you shrivel.
Quiet animosity coerces me to caress,
The meal you've been foreboding,
The disassociated flesh
Clings to the body it's holding.
Meandering mirrors deny themselves,
The reflections think their not repeating
Plastic bags roll across the street
Like wild west tumble weeds
Lungs concave under words left unspoken.
Force fed assumptions; bewildered lips fall open.
Only to be covered by hands, dirt under their nails…
Your fingerprints taste stale.
Your knuckles drag against my skin, asphalt
Your love; like too short street chalk.
There is a subtle sin
To the reflection in
Bite and sip
A quivering lip; t
Bitter and tart
An authentic identity seemingly free; is learned.
You are the stranger you cannot trust.
Wet fabric suctions skin,
Gripping in hopes
To be remembered
As something that
Holds on tighter
In unfavorable circumstances.
Dry eyes blink
Promoting a tear,
If any irritation,
Noted and forgotten.
Internally pacing, sifting through
Thoughts worth erasing,
Only to reconsider,
And let them remain
To grow bitter.
Her whole life she bat her eyes,
Taking pity on the pretty guys who pitied her.
They teased and squeezed till she agreed to be what they preferred.
Over time, she felt her mind escape her head, slide down her spine, tighten around her throat
Manipulating words she spoke.
Goldfish bowl memories swish around inside her skull
Minute lasing life spans circle and hit walls,
She remembers everything and nothing at all.