The Grinch of Christmas PresentGone with the deadlineMagic turned to bitten nailsHopes for bigger shoes
AhemEloquent drivel-Slug trails shimmer in moonlight,But it's still just slime.
Stick in the EyeTrouble stickslike the tar pitsof your eyes.Dig me up when I touch the bottom.Till then,I'll be amassing mastodonsFor a later date.
She Talks to FaeriesShe talks to faeries, though earth boundShe's of the moon, my lovely loon.One wing out and one wing inof where the edges fray and thin,Leading off to otherwhere.Threads of aether in her hair,Lachrymose she tarries hereHalfway lost and halfway foundT'ween the toadstools, hunkered downWond'ring why they left her hereA grounded creature of the air.Silly loon,you are a door.That is what they left you for.Halfway ours and halfway theirsSeeing clearly through your tearsA peephole to a far off placeCalled by songs of Otherspace
1000 Feet DownIt's 1000 feet down you would sayAnd I would kick and sway.Beneath me lay such wild and terrible beasts,Each coveting my tender toesWhich trembled at their teeth.And so our game would go,Me clinging there unwilling to let go,Quite sure I'd soon be food for crocodiles,Growing weaker and more frantic all the while,While you stood, arm still sure and strong,Aware 1000 feet was not so longFor a father's love to reach.And though my childish fancies made me fear,Both your arms always would be thereTo catch me falling,To hold me tight and tell me I was brave,That you were there to save me all along,But first I had to show that I was strong.
IncorruptibleThese holes with ragged edges bare a letter of your name.I work hard to keep them open,To enshrine my deep devotion,To ensure the only token that you left me with - my pain.So here I keep you cloistered in the ruin that is me,A tomb to love, a flesh reliquary,Graven image to the past, heart held clasped, hands that grasp,Unwilling to relinquish your remains,Relishing the martyrs role for the one I'd canonize,These sacred scars, my ragged holes,The sweet stigmata of my soul,Weeping that you'd make me whole and open up your eyes,Roll back the rock, releasing me from Sisyphus's stead,But devotion doesn't matter to the dead.My eidolon, my anguish, I've come to realize,For me to live you must be exorcized.I think I will draw you from my veins.I think I will cast thee out.I think I will euthanizeThis worn acolyte once so devout.This is my body. This is my blood.It's time to bury you for good.
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.
How to love a girl who can't love herself.one. When she cries herself to sleep six out of seven nights a week you must say nothing. You must simply take her in your arms and kiss her gaunt, pale cheeks and wait for her to slumber at the sound of your heart.two. On the days where she wishes she were part of the stars, tell her no. Tell her that there are too many lights in the sky and that just one would be forgotten the moment you looked away from it. Tell her that she is perfect the way she is: completely human.three. Don't let her think about the scars that no one but her can see. If she says "I think I'm broken" smile like you know a secret and say, "No, you're mending." But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
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
LessNo matter the madness that stranglesthe news of this worldnow it comes down to a friendsomeone I've known for yearshere, with every organ big enoughto hold more than many of us coulduntil, after a long struggle,something gave, and yetthis wonderful man kept onuntil there was no more road leftto walk on life's journey.He still walks the journeyit's just not on this levelwhere the rest of us must waitwhile the madness of this worlddoesn't matter as I achebecause I feel there's less now.
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 markssketched in chalkacross the wall,but I can’tlet goof our memories,that hauntme everydayso for now,I’ll let the doc declare: Insanity needs company.
Huh?Cracked booksand open handspoint the wayto martyrdomwaiting to happen,but somethings are worse than death.Yes. Somethings are worse than death.