the fort

We built serotonin cities
under blanket forts
and declared reign of our kingdom,
high on the feel of skin on skin.

no definitions

“What defines you?” they always ask.

“Nothing. A definition excludes the possibility for change.”

radio waves

We talk until our
mouths are dry
and lips are cracked,
spilling our greatest fears,
distilling our hope,
and dissecting why
bad things happen.
But it just leaves me
more exhausted,
ears bleeding
and mind numb.
It’ll be exactly
the same tomorrow.
The knife will still cut
with the same precision.

imbalanced

The stillness of night
has the power to abduct me,
carrying me away
to a place where I’m
peaceful and calm.
The ripples of the water
reminds me that
all things in life
come in waves,
ebbing and flowing
with no perfect balance.

spilled ink

We write because we have no idea how else to express what we hold inside. We emote the deepest thoughts, scattered and incoherent, imagining the symbols that most portray what we feel. Often times, we cannot find the words to convey what tortures us, inspires us, scares us and drives us, but we spill our ink trying to capture it. We write because we need to, because a different world exists inside our mind, it’s beauty and darkness begging to be shared. We write because we have nowhere else to go but to the paper lying in front of us.

our book

We all have a few
chapters in life
that we don’t want
to read out loud.

the light

some days they wear sunglasses

to get over your glow.
you can mimic the sun
and still be offensive. 

run through a field 
of wildflowers

but it is so strange 
to be wild with it.
come back to what you know
you are getting out of hand.
conform.

Evolve

Self reflection.
It allows you to
comprehend your life,
what your role must be,
what the meaning of
your existence is
and your objectives.
It guides you to grasp
the fact that you
have this one life,
to not be arrogant
or egotistical
and to value relationships.
Self reflection is key for you
to evolve as a full human being.

Plastic

Cerebellum
seeping in
 madness

like tar
 from cigarette smoke,

resisting the urge

to tie another

smiling knot.

Master Minds

I stopped my habit
of looking into people’s eyes
and trying to meet them halfway
through their thoughts.
It was an exhausting thing to do,
even more when lost are my guesses
and I end up punching the walls.
True enough that people see
what they want to see
and believe what they
want to believe.

I don’t need to say an extra anymore.

Cutting them half
is a win-win for both positions
and either way, I still am the person
I’ve known myself to be.

Vaccinate

The citizens 
are declaring independence
while simultaneously 
suffering
 an epidemic of lethal overdose diagnosed
as
“political poisoning.”
And politicians 
are busy eradicating 
amongst themselves,
“financial deficiency disorder”

through fresh supply 
of tax nourishment, vaccines of national budget
,
and booster doses of funding,
while the citizens sccumb to death

in search of medicine.

inward

I’m enthralled
by the idea

of what

the world
would be like

if we all buried

our noses
deep
 into a book
instead of

our cell phones
and other people’s
business.

Basic

We are 
a
sleep-deprived
generation

that is also
least likely

to wake up.

Reserved

In public,
serene faces

chaotic minds

observing people

noting behaviors

silence preferred
always.

Dream #999

As I tried to sleep last night,
a group of three men
dressed as riot police
burst through my
bedroom window.

They held me on my bed
and sliced open my skull
with X-acto knives,
pulling out an SD card
I didn’t even know was there.

One of them plugged
the card into a smartphone
and they all gathered
around the burning screen.

They began to weep
through their masks
before leaving quickly
as they came in.

Meanwhile, childhood leaked
from the hole in my head
and stained my sheets
the color of a cloudless sky.

Relaxation washed over
me like drowning.
I slipped into the deepest
sleep of my life
and woke up this morning
refreshed for a change.

tragedy

he says he has no talents,
i wonder if he knows

that i can name a hundred things

he does
 that make him
the most
 special entity,

that make him
 my mind’s

favorite tragedy...

deprivation

i want to touch you
in the places

you never knew

were so
 deprived

Maximal

I write dirty words and go to extremes
But don’t think for a minute you see my secret things.
Inside me is locked a goddess of love
Who pushes and writhes, waiting to be let out of her cage.
She’s there at the surface when the writing shows lust
Hidden in the shadows smiling mysteriously
Waiting and watching you fall to your knees.

Her essence is shared with the free spirited girl
Who aches to be free of this temporal world
The soul of that girl comes out as a tease
Her longing and pleading you hear in my words
The two of them dancing out love and lust on the page
Not caring if you see the truth they do bare
Their only concern is the feelings that hum
Being shared as they are felt to the core of my being.

11 mins

he whispered,
”you taste like 11 minutes after the sunset

when the sky is the most beautiful
.
when blue finally meets orange
with the first star
up on the horizon

watching down on a spectrum
of two colors 
connecting
...
and i never knew orange
could look so beautiful.”

weakness

he spent an hour reading
my personality chart

“i’m reading about your
weaknesses
“ he told me,

i laughed
..
how could you possibly know
my weaknesses
when ive never given away
what they were?

Asthetics

yellow walls
blue furniture
monet paintings all over the room
he’s sitting on the carpet
in his sweatpants
with his coffee mug
on the table beside him
i don’t know what he’s reading
he looks beautiful today

concept #37

concept:

you and i
 sitting under a shady tree
you watching me
 reading out loud


paragraphs
 from my favorite book

dream #122

Medieval times in a far away land,
lived two treasoned lovers
who were damned by the Queen.

His hands travelled slowly

down her sides, “I fell in love
 the day
we met. The day I laid eyes on you
it was evident to me
you were not what you appeared to be.”
She smiled, “Is that so?”

“I have more to show you,” he said.
He pressed closer.
Through an open side door,
she caught a glimpse 
of an antique
wrought-iron bed
high and wide, and her knees
began to tremble,

“Your bedroom?”

Nervously, she slipped her hands
under his jacket
brushing them over the silk
shirt covering his beautiful body,
and said, 
“All right.”

Holding her breath, she walked into the room...

#101

He calls her the devil
cause she makes
him wanna sin.
And every time she knocks,
he can’t help but let her in

underbelly

How could two monsters
not fall in love,
hiding under the same bed?

the wave

i had to strip my soul naked
of people’s opinions
so i could soak in my truth.
now i swim free of guilt
and nothing can drown me.

city street

There is nothing prettier than a city at 4 AM
with its empty streets and slient wind.

slience

i often prefer silence
and body language.
rather than speaking

speaking over complicates things
and creates problems that aren't there.

truth #546

sometimes you just need an adventure
to cleanse the bitter taste
of life from your soul.

on the inside

Introverts:
One who cares little for the
trivial meaningless things in life
because they are too busy trying
to calm the raging hurricane
that is their mind.

reflection

I am mentally ambidextrous.
I could see myself in a mirror
and see something beautiful,
but in the same day
I could see my reflection
and despise everything about me

common place

Forced conversations along with fake smiles.
-the world

letter

I wish I could send a letter to the past,
but the future’s all I have left.

the vandal

Did you just try to break down my walls?
How dare you?
Darling, I should have you arrested for vandalism.

the ticket

i am fairly certain
that my imagination
will one day get me
a one way ticket
straight to hell...

pass by

Sometimes, I want to take a breath
and let the world pass me by.
This world is so ugly sometimes.

expectations

how quick people are to judge

quick to put others on a stand
and read into them

they put words in their mouths
 
quick to tell them all about their own intentions
they take a flaw from their character
burn it onto their skin
turning it into the whole of them
 
quick to tell them of their imperfections,
endless flaws, faults, sins, and wrongs
all that they are not.

we see things how WE are, 
not how they really appear

Limited

Sadly, sometimes the people
who take permanent residence
in your heart will be the ones
who walk very temporarily
with you in your life.

truth #332

Rock bottom has built more heroes than privilege.

white flag

People ruin each other in unspeakable ways
and declare their innocence by calling it love

Concept #143

Concept: I am alone in a home overlooking a lake on a cold late autumn day. Huge glass windows cover the walls. The leaves on the trees outside are deep red and orange and are rustling in the wind. There are dark clouds rolling in and rumbles of thunder in the distance. The fireplace is lit and the wood is crackling. My coffee is brewing, filling the room with an aroma of sweet warmth. I have a book in my hand and a smile on my face. This is my happy place.

Acceptance

You can’t fix others
You can only fix the way
You feel about them

the passenger

He said there’s something I enjoy
about you in control of me
in the passenger’s seat.

puzzles

i took his brain out

and played with it
like a 
Rubik's cube.


now his thoughts
are all mixed up
and he knows not
how to get them straight.

he was never
good with puzzles.

abstract concepts

He said "Making love to you would be so much better if you were also there..."

the creation

Never let an artist paint you nice and pretty in their head

this world

one thing i am sure of,
is that the world doesn’t run out of beauty.
beauty and the awe it supplies is not a finite resource.
so if today has been an absolute fucking disaster, don’t worry...
i can assure you that life’s beauty will be waiting for you tomorrow.

dark honey

Dark honey sliding warm and sticky sweet
along my tongue...
Your kiss, intoxicating from first touch...
to the last great sigh of relief.

no rules

Time.
There is no consequence inside the poem
There is no distance between the hunger and the mouth
I can touch you in this place, more intimate than flesh
You can press your fingers through the body of my wanting
Fell the swell and the pull.
Inside the poem we are one.
Inside the poem
you can find me splayed out
between your hands...
between the lines.

the cure

Lost in imagination while watching reality unfold
is a spoonful of harsh medicine
that works by delivering the truth in large doses. 

villainous

Until human kind agrees
to change its view of the world
no matter what protest, speeches, or arguments told
will fix the wicked ways of this world...

after hours

People are so vulnerable at night.
They’re willing to spill out their souls to anyone willing to listen.
They have desires to do things that never cross their mind when the sun is in the sky.

Concept #315

Concept:

the taste of Whiskey on my lips,

your whisper in my ear.

Sinatra softly playing,

I introduce your mouth

to the forbidden spaces

beneath the hollow of my throat,

down to the stardust between my thighs.

exaggeration

Stop breaking your own heart by exaggerating your place in other people’s lives

changes

Oh, darling, I wasn’t made for you.
I was made to make fire sweat.

havoc

Once hidden in the dark
Has now run into the live of day
Spewing acid like venom upon unsuspecting prey
With no fear of reprisals and running about having a field day
The havoc breeds chaos and division
When all most want is love without conditions
This thing we thought once lost to the sands of time
That is unless you lived with an opened mind
History is coming full circle but on a live news feed
So tell my friends once again did it ever really end?

the vow

her soul is a riptide.
she is made up of thunderstorms and scars,
a thing of beauty.
she draws on a supple canvas
with colors that are yet to be discovered.
her throat burns and her eyes sting,
but she is still upright.
she is standing in an idle town
with a sky as dark as her hair,
swimming in unfortunate circumstances.
and she clings onto a faint glimmer of hope
until her fingers start to bleed.
she never learned how to let go.
despite it all, she continues to blossom.
despite everything,
she still vows to love clouds
and sunsets and starry nights,
and she still burns bright.

write

the thing you are most
afraid to write.
write that.

moonstruck

I felt his breath on my neck whispering,
"It is so bizarre, how do I love you
without knowing who you are?"

static

We all
 chase our
 nightly noise...

creation

Us humans, we are all a complete wreck.
No one will tell you this.
The only difference is
that some of us
know how to crash and burn beautifully

the wandering

All the things you said
I hope you know I let them
roam around free in my head

take notes

a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste, so write it down...

the waiting

A needle drops on an anachronistic record
She always did love her antiquated affectations
Sepia filters, old cigarette tins...

We're bored.

Like watching water boil
Which I never really minded.
Water always boils, summer always ends.

collection

He collected each sound she left behind,
and stretches them on his bed.

And each night he breathes her in,
and becomes high.

stacked.

She keeps postcards in black and white

of all the old movie stars on her walls,

because she’s a dreamer.

She's the type of person people don’t forget.

The type of person who is immortal,

even if they died long ago. 

Escalate

She is fear and destruction,
a whole city crumbling to ruins.
She is beautiful,
for better or for worse,
and he wants to touch her,
her innocence and her sin.
He wants to hold himself
against her stone walls
and broken glass,
until he bleeds himself
into something terribly beautiful.

burn and drown

I crave your lips bruising mine
and your hand between my thighs…

Spill the gasoline baby, strike a match,
seduce me with your words,
and set me on fire.

My skin burns under the heat of your finger tips,
and you ignite in me something fierce.
I ask if you know what drowning feels like,
and sink my teeth into you
just as your words drip into a whimper.

I’ve got my hands around your throat
and you beg me to pull you under.
Lips wet with mercury, eyes lustrous and haunting,
I see in you the monster in me...
a vicious lover, ravenous and vulgar.
Glowing in darkness, forged in flames.

seismicity

This is how it starts...
The dirty talk turned pillow talk.
The easy metaphors and pretty words.
The imagery of two bodies as a landscape.
You told me you didn’t like
the way I had you shaking,
but darling,you are the one
who laid down with an earthquake.

Contraband

Flirty insecurity
and all tension with no release.
I can’t stop looking for trouble
and your appetite for me
screams louder than the silence
between us.

Be different

I'm not an easy person get along with, I know this. I don't make it easy for anybody. I'm really difficult at times, and it may seem like sometimes, I don't like you and I don't wanna be around you, but I do.

I'm a challenge, because I'm not the sort of person to let people walk all over me. I'm not someone who puts up with minuet bullshit drama either. I'm not the person who will give you sympathy comments. When I say something, I mean it. If people fuck me over, I'll throw them out of my life. I'll erase you. You'll be dead to me.

I'm annoying.
I'm hilarious.
I'm the worlds biggest bitch at times.
I'll make you want to scream and punch walls.
I'll ruin your fucking day, but save it at the very last minute.
I'll drive you crazy and sometimes you'll hate my fucking guts.

But through it all, I have an amazing side to me. I do.

I have great big giant fucking heart. I'll always be there when you need me, even though I may not have the right words to console you. Even if my life is impossibly knotted, I'll try and untangle yours by listening and loving. I won't stop caring about you, not even if you push me away. I am the happiest person you'll ever meet because I try to look at the positive side through every situation.

They say I'm different from everyone else. "It's refreshing," they say. "A breath of fresh air". And I like that, because way too many people are the same. Conformity is the jailer of freedom. Be different.

Layered.

I am aware that I am less
than some people prefer me to be,
but most people are unaware
that I am so much more
than what they see. 

Expose

We’re all monsters, my darling.
What matters is who we show our claws to,
and why we do it.

The Cycle

You need to know,
that there is someone
out there in this world
who has images and songs
that have been reserved
just by the thought of you.

Offbeat

I love like minds and rare people.
The ones who can separate their observation from their preconception.
The ones who see what is, where most people see what they expect.

The Urge.

A secret burns within my mind.
You darling, are attracted to the flames.
I pray that you don’t get burned
attempting to unravel what I hold hostage...

Authority.

If you let me,

the lightning in my heart

could strike the sand in your soul
and turn you to glass,
breakable and honest.
 

The last thing your demons
would taste would be the
poison on my lips,
a kiss that could starve
your anxieties and ignite
your spirit.

My fingerprints
on your skin could
suffocate every doubt and
scrape the worries from your
shoulders.

My body could
be the nourishing well where
you come to heal yourself,
where you remember how to
breathe.

If you let me I could be
yours in a way no one has
been before or will be again.

The Novel.

I am all mystery and secrets,
silently wishing,
that you don’t read into me,
or you’ll know how much
I desire to be always,on your mind.

I am.

I have the greatest responsibility of all.

I am compelled to make people feel,
in a world that tells them not to.

I am committed to speak to you through
words and photographs.

By writing about moments of such magnitude and beauty,
that people rediscover their hearts one more time.

I am here to give meaning to the few decades we spend here.

That is the reason I was sent to Earth.

I....
am an artist.

Scattered.

Writers are forgetful...
but they remember everything.

They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore and how you smelled.

Every single day...
they remember every story you’ve ever told them, but forget what you’ve just said.

They don’t remember to water the plants or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how to make you laugh.

Writers are forgetful because they’re busy remembering the important things.

So please, forgive me if I forget.

I was late

I’m sorry I was late. I was pulled over by a cop
for driving blindfolded
with a raspberry-scented candle
flickering in my mouth.

I’m sorry I was late.
I was on my way when I felt
a plot thickening in my arm.

I have a fear of heights.

Luckily the Earth is on the second floor of the universe.

I am not the egg. I am the owl
who just witnessed another tree fall over
in the forest of your life.

I am your mother shaking her head at the thought of you.
I am her words dissolving in your mind like footprints in a rainstorm.

I am a long-legged martini.
I am feeding olives to the bull raging inside you.
I am decorating your labyrinth,
tacking up snapshots of all the people who’ve gotten lost
in your corridors.

vicinage

warm January mornings.

chapped lips.

yelling mistakes and untold secrets

through the collars of shirts.

this train is running local.

allow yourself multidimensionality.

 

Brush strokes

The doctor tells me to sit down on his table,
and asks me to stick out my tongue, so I do.

I ask him if he sees the paintings I carry in the back of my throat.
He laughs, as if I’m telling a joke. I’m not.

I tell him that I’ve got Da Vinci, Monet, Van Gogh, and Picasso,
and when I laugh, I taste brushstrokes.

I ask him to stick out his tongue,
so I can see what he has trapped inside of him.

He hesitates...

Then he does, and I see a man who struggles for acceptance
and chokes on the word love.

I don't conform.

As a writer, it’s easy for people to criticize my creativeness

when someone thinks my work is offensive, 
specifically, that it offended them.

It doesn't matter.

I don’t censor myself. I won't censor myself.

I write what I want to say, how I see it.

It may be fiction. It may be non-fiction.

-And the point of view will always be different.

It doesn't mean that I don't live in reality.

I write from all points of view.
Covering every perspective.

It means I am inspired by all humanity,
and I see the beauty in everything, from every angle.

People will have opinions and I respect that.

And someone will always be offended. That's a given.

If you don't appreciate it- don't read it.

But I will never hold back what I want to write 
because of fear someone might be offended by it. 

When it comes to writing, people are going to love it or hate it,

and people are going to judge it -just like everything else in life.

It's said "Conformity is the jailer of freedom." 
-I don't conform, I am free.

we are nobodies

Death has no rhyme or reason. It does not discriminate.

Death doesn't give one fuck about
how old, how young, or how beautiful you are,
how rotten, how rich or what a saint you are.

Death is motherfucker. 

We are nobodies.

We are small.

We are vulnerable.

you already know

You want to get to know me, but what you don’t realize
is that you already know exactly who and what I am…

I’m the scissors you were warned not to run with.

The stranger you were told not to talk to.

I’m the bass beat in the sub-woofer that disrupts your heart’s rhythm.

I’m the 1% threatening your health, that your hand sanitizer refuses to eliminate.

I’m the anticipation that comes after the lightning
just before the thunder lets you know how close the storm is. 

I’m the cyanide in your apple seeds.
And the gravity when you fall.

I’m the devil on your left shoulder and the angel on your right,

reminding you that, either way darling,
I will always, always have my way with you.

Escapes

I don’t know if I am really a writer or if I just have a lot of shit to say. Someone once told me I just liked the sound of my own voice.

I just know how good it feels when something from inside of me escapes into the hands of someone outside and it returns to me with fingerprints and more stories to tell...

That makes me happy.

superficial

Her life was black coffee
,

with extra cream,

and three spoons of sugar on top.




On the surface
,
everything appeared sweet and innocent,

but the base always remained 
dark...

Encore.

I swear I'm nice, I can promise you that.

But bite me baby, and I'll for sure bite back.

Like that lone actress on the Broadway stage,

I honestly don’t give a fuck, the show will go on.

Break a leg bitch, and good luck.