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This is the Door I Left Open For You
You knocked and knocked. When I called out
for you to come in, the knocking stopped.
I peered out the window and you were gone.
I hesitantly moved on.
I got up and closed the door, realizing it was
a ding dong ditch. From time to time
you still knock, but the door stays
Sleep ChildSleep child. The day is done.
A sweeter song is being sung
than the morning's rooster call.
Sleep child, this day is done.
Rest easy. Time will stop
before a new day has begun.
Sleep child. Sleep quick,
before dark steals your thoughts.
The night creeps on by
while you're wide eyed.
Learn to SwimThey lined up and dove in. Every one of them sunk like rocks.
Their eyes were red when they came up. They cried, I think, it was a pool of tears.
Choking. Breathing. Laughing.
She laughed a knowing laugh.
"If you stay in the shallow end you'll never learn to swim."
I don't live by the ocean and I don't enjoy the sea,
so what does your wisdom have to do with me?
I waited by the door but you already left, so I waded
in the water and took a deep breath. I unstrapped
the vest that protects my chest. I shut my eyes and plugged
my nose and pretended I was a balloon. Gravity wasn't pretending
and reality pulled me under. Flailing to float
and failing, my heart deflated. I gulped down
water not fit for drinking. Soon the sinking stopped.
My toes reached cool tile
and I thought that
this must be
how it feels
to walk on the moon.
Moments felt like minutes,
pushing toward the surface,
bouncing back to Earth.
DriverI spend my evenings predicting the future.
I will lay awake, with my eyes closed in the dark,
considering hypothetical scenarios of what it might
be like if that happens. Predicting how it will be
even though it is never is what you'd think, unless
that is what you make it. You create it.
I are not a passive passenger riding in the flow
any relationship. I am the driver. I figure out
what I want, and make it happen with that person.
I choose to laugh.
O.R.B. He opened the front door and it didn't creak the way he'd expected it to. The house didn't know his father was dead. It was still fresh smelling, alive with plants and natural light. The curtains in the living room blew around, excited by his arrival. Ted had to push against the wind to shut the door. The house was quiet, anticipating his next move. He had to remind himself to stay on task. Do not pout around, don't touch everything. Find the papers and do what they say. In and out.
It had been years since Ted set foot inside his parent's house. He forgot how Home and Garden's everything looked. Rather than being in his childhood home, Ted imagined he'd stumbled onto a made for TV movie set. Any minute a man would yell CUT and the walls would come down. Ted waited, and nothing happened. Every room was picture perfect out of a magazine. All shades of green and brown. The dishes and table sett
Lovers SpinningI faced him with nervous anticipation as our arms intertwined. His large hands easily clasped around my wrists. I too, held on to him. We began to spin, slowly at first. Everyone around us flashed looks of agitation, but I knew it was envy. He smiled and took pride in the fact that I was playing along. His feet sped up so I tried to keep up. We both laughed as our world disappeared into a kaleidoscope of color. Our shoes dug holes into the ground. I didn't want to slip, because I knew he wouldn't let me go and we'd both go tumbling down.
We'll either decelerate or fall into the grass together. That is how it will end. It will be soft and will not hurt. Afterwords, we will wipe joy tears from our eyes. So I hoped.
As our speed increased, so did doubt. I was sure we were spiraling out of control. My mind flashed forward, anticipating the release. Any moment now his hands will escape mine. I will fly away from him. My vision will be hazy without his face to focus on. I will be lightheaded
Rainy DayI smile at the sound of rain pattering against the window. It fogs the porch with a damp musk that thrills my nostrils. Droplets sift through the screen door, rejuvenating my skin and state of mind. Suddenly I am more awake than I had been moments ago. I get up to shut the door and I stand there for a few moments. Closing my eyes, I wondered why the rain pleased me so. A sad sweet trail of thoughts comes to mind.
I remember sitting on a round blue rug, looking up at an elderly woman with slim features and puffy white hair. Her name was Mrs. Perry, she was my second grade teacher. Rather than being attached to her head, her hair somehow floated above her, like a friendly cloud hovering over her shoulders. Her face was not bright like the sun, but it was pleasant enough.
A couple minutes before recess the class would clump together, legs crossed, sitting anxiously, anticipating what our principal would say. He would often give the weather report over the intercom, especially when it was
Chase the SunI don't wake to the sun the way I used to. Oh no, I wake before the dawn and in the dark my rooster buzzes. He says "The world won't wait for the likes of you." He taps his toes against my bed. "Not a minute. No, the world won't wait."
He buzzes until I hit him upside his head. I twist and squirm and crawl out of bed. I water down my beauty parts and thrust my body into cloth like a dart. (like a dart) I smear dyes on my mouth and eyelids, to accent my two lips and irises. Colored like a parson, fragrant as a garden.
I do what I need to then I sleep.
I do what I must and then I weep.
For all the things that I've done wrong
And all the things, the things I didn't do
I didn't do at all
Once I turn off the light and head out the door I won't see the sun anymore. No real light just humming from florescence. Hmm Hmmm Hmmm. I work for a place that doesn't work for me. Ties strangle hopes of prosperity. Affluence may be a goal of yours, but I'm just living today. Oh,
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
Makers Of The Cage. Holders Of The Key.Our eyes are the closest thing we have to freedom.
We see endless blue sky, and the stars beyond.
We see the beauty of the world.
We see our reflection in the mirror;
the reality, and the fantasy.
Our eyes see far and great.
But the rest of us cannot follow.
Our hands probe the steel bars around us.
Fumbling in the dark.
Cut by the sharp edges.
The bleeding never stops.
Our feet shuffle around.
Trying to go places.
But we walk in circles.
Our emotions go from red to blue;
orange to green;
yellow to purple,
mixing in a haze.
Our mind goes to dark places,
and only wanders deeper.
Oblivious to the place right next door.
It knows the freedom,
it knows the pit.
There are endless paths to take.
There's a cage we need to break.
There is a key ourselves create.
In our hands, it's never too late.
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
a cherry pit dog heart.she holds a cherry pit dog heart in her hand, arrhythmic
beats like children playing pots and pans in kitchens
mother builds from scratch, black bean soup prepared
for dinner by a creased artist; wisps of white
upon a grandfather's head remind his daughter's child
of winter as he talks of horses in cuba who scratch
their backs on wooden posts; the first time she eats
ox tail is at an uncle's funeral, sitting in the basement,
surrounded by her surname, wondering why everyone
seems so happy; her grandmother keeps having
that dream where she's cooking and pours hot oil
on the animal in the kitchen, singeing his skin—
she cries out at midnight, sobbing for her daughter;
black eyes watch as her child keeps growing,
inspecting her process for future improvements,
while she takes pride in getting her sleeve caught
on twigs as she runs through the forest; motherhood
enters her every so often, at times uninvited, but
never for her prince in white, the bundle curled up
on her bed, floating
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Good Evening IntrovertGood Evening Introvert,
Brace for over stimulation
and delayed gratification
at least 'til we get home.
Block out inebriations
that block out all your truths
until you can put them to good use
Slowly breathe them in,
take your time,
one piece at a time.
At least try.
I will sit and learn with you
and we can go a pace or two
behind the steady crowd.
I'll run circles rounds the masses
and we can take some early classes
maybe grab some coffee.
Next to you that would be just fine.
That'd be alright.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More