Glossed strips of flesh
Young, some say too young
Love doesn’t know age
Lust only knows brushes of bodies and the smell of hair

I’m about to do a real bad thing
It makes my smirk sharper

She’ll let me
Beg me
Thank me
Eventually leave me
Hate me

She’ll want the lights off
He wont understand because she’s beautiful
He’ll love the things taught her

But he will never be her daddy

Easily picked from the ordinary

I wish I smelt this on your skin
You started this letter with a kiss

What does that mean?
Thank you for the love
Don’t thank me for something I have to do
I can’t say I get you, but it’s a nice thought
How could a girl like you ever feel alone

Will you wear that dress?
It’s my goal too

Would I let one die to save hundreds?
Yes

I’d watch a thousands die to cure something that kills millions
I don’t consider this to be cold hearted
It’s not a numbers game to me

You’re just being selfish
You’d kill countless by inaction
For what?
Better sleep?

If I was the one to die for a cure
Don’t put my name in the news
Don’t talk me up as a hero
Leave me faceless and give the doctor that kills me a prize.

I Don’t want to miss your smile
Our naked hand puppet spiders
The baby talk I’ve only ever done with you
Our monster piles and kisses
Your dreams that became mine

You make time disappear
Next week I could be old with you
If you leave me today will never end

I miss you already and my shoes are off my bed

You love the scruff on my face
But I shaved it for us

We’re different but I love your world
Jokes are out of love you have to believe that

I feel less afraid with you
The people are looking at you beautiful

Please let me see you everyday

Please don’t take my smile, my lover my friend and the rest of my life away

I can see the deceit you wear on your sleeves
Rolled up showing off your outdated rebellion
An open mind is always corrected
Truth is a doorstop

This is when you choose to interfere?
Do you know how many things I do let slide?
Jewish people don’t eat dessert first
Children were being abused

You want to ruin my life
With your faux-martyr routine
And passive aggressive guilt trips that you use on your children
You are your mother

My happiness is not in your control
There will be no choice
No competition
Love is pure and love is mine

I started reading in the bath to feel closer to you.

I wrote about you yesterday and showed no one.

That doesn’t give you the right to push yourself back into my life with a text.

Go away.

I want to dance with you to music muddled with our laughter. There’s bottles, cups and bowls full of water and color. They make beauty in the air as we celebrate the freedom of our love.

Blue dripping from your hair to my hand. To the edges of our kisses.

The deposit is lost and they were going to change the carpet anyways.

Kiss, love, sex, passion and freedom.

We have each other by the hips, shoulders, hair…

It’s okay to walk away.

I pushed myself into insomnia. I don’t want to sleep. I feel like those kids on Elmstreet. No, nightmares. No Freddy, just her, me being myself because there I am who I want to be. Then I wake up it all goes away. I like it too much. It’s not real and no mater how many books I read on the philosophy of the Matrix I can’t convince myself otherwise. So I don’t sleep I passout and wake up feeling hung over- these are the best nights because I don’t remember my dreams kind of like my nights with her.

I hate myself but I love what I do.
The turn of a phrase or a new idea.

I’m a mother not a father.
I give birth to many things, and tell them how great they are.
I’m never hard on them— they never get anywhere or go outside into the world.
This is making me grow ambivalent.
I want my creations out in the world surviving alone without my name or hand.

I want to be remembered as trivia.

I don’t want to dent the universe but polish it shiny and smooth.

My name doesn’t need to be inside the pages of school reports.
It would be nice to have my ideas there though.
The children have a lot to learn, my mistakes.

The world’s ready.
It always has been.
Mainstream maybe not.
To keep my image around my friends I should say I’m proud of that fact.
Subcultures and stature making secrets aren’t really for me though.

I don’t want to be treated like a God by elitist self-proclaimed intellectuals, yes I do.

I want to be God, mother, father, and poster child of a movement.

I should shut up.

I can’t start or star in a revolution.
I’m not an artist but a dreamer.

I don’t want to work for any of this.

I’m horrible my art suffers for me.
I should suffer, and be sacrificed for my art.
I could think a thousand things in my mind but nothing can change the world in there.

The things that flood my ears pour through my lips and fingertips.
No one sees my fountain of work.

I’m getting too old to die young.

My talents makes me feel guilty.
I see writers struggle, trying to funnel thoughts through a pen touched to their lips held steady by nervous teeth.
I’m not a better writer or worse or equal but everything flows free.

I’m not proud with the high-grade of bullshit I serve people daily.
Yes I am.

I want to throw my fingers deep in every pile.
I know it’ll take away from everything, I do.

Art isn’t practice.
It’s prodigy.
It’s a chance.

For every hundred things I write, I like little and love even less.
I’m too worried about the finish piece to get anything real done.
Maybe I’m just afraid of failure, success, or being known.
I hate biographies wrote by fans.
I don’t want anyone to dedicate their life to mine.
Yes, I do.

I still learn new words.
I don’t use many of them.
What’s the good with giving out corkscrews when most people only drink beer?
I’m too consumed by what people want.

Maybe I should go into marketing.
Admit to my lack of any real commitment.

I want to be discovered.
I’m worse than those black root blondes walking the streets and malls like catwalks.
Those girls make me sad.
I’ve seen a few of them naked.
Their real beauty hides in their lost hands stance showing their uncertainty.
I’ve only touched one of them though.
Far less than any man I know, but they’re all proud.
I’m ashamed, broken, and unimpressed.

I ramble a lot.
My genius tangents are redundant and self-centered.

We live without life

In our rooms hiding from the sunlight 

The blinding light that will let us see

Nature that formed everything

The slant of the rain as the wind blows it on my window

As I stare past them into the blurred horizon 

I see you crying harder than the sky

I’ll wait till the eye enter the shelter of your heart 

Hands bound above tied into place

Looking you over, you’re so beautiful, sexy

My hands run down your body

Lingering, not stopping, causing heat

You love this game, created the rules

Trying to pull me into place with your legs

I let you for a few moments, we grind, stop’

Playful hard kisses after a taste of what you wanted

Teasing you, I know I’m in “trouble” once I let you go

So I make sure this last as long as it can

Kissing your cheek and neck but never your lips, not yet

I let you pull me back into place, rough, hard, fast, love

Untied we hold each other and think of other games to play

We look into each other eyes and breathlessly admit our love for each other

Again, you’re in control because I know I’m in “trouble” for what I did

Lady of rain

From the tears of your eyes that salts the earth in vibrant colors

The world loses the grey afternoons and left white mornings and black nights

With a piercing moonlight

Together we’re never in the dark 

Alone the light might fail to fall and show our skin

But a light red like the roses that fill our hearts

And whose petals lay with us in our bed in our most tender moments

Radiates from within

Painting the skin and widening our smiles in the darkness

As we fill our minds of the other

And their love