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Showing posts from August, 2016

I Feel | poem

Slow, Low, Morose. A rose will not keep me afloat. I’m drowning in the undertow. A lotus will not save me from the depths of my own head. Anxiety is the anchor, dragging my aching heart lower and lower, until all I feel is somber.
Slow.
Below, these feelings are mysteries to me. I can’t label them individually; they have become one, fastened by past visions. Cramped, crushed, christened by ice, my body is oblivion.

Dragon | a poem

There’s fire in my abdomen, fueling the agony, that nauseous hunger, the same dissatisfaction that boils in bellies of dragons. Smooth smoke billows upward to flow through my mouth, But my mouth is closed; there is no escape. Instead, Plumes of brassy brume ascend into my head, behind my eyes, where they burn every gland, singe every neuron, char every thought.
There’s oil in my lungs, heavy heaps of sludge, hindering my breathing, leaking into everything I touch, see, hear, feel, taste. My tongue is coated in the stuff, slippery and numb.
(Every time I pick up a pen, oil seeps to the surface of my skin, soiling paper and foiling all my plans to create a chasm of words, a safe place to rest my head. These words are dead. Drenched in gasoline, it seems they’re better off burning from beginning to end.)
Eventually, I’ll grow scales and a tail. My tongue will be accustomed to oil and flame; my heart will pump nothing but gasoline. I’ll be a demon so slick you won’t even blink before I sink my teeth…

Young Love | a poem

Young bodies bear young minds, and that gives us strength. 
Our slippery tongues tell old secrets someone else sealed long ago. 
Giddy giggles replace our worries and our fingers find fables in memory.

Love isn't a life sentence; it's a sentence about life. 

We were made for this, the stuff that fills your lungs with bliss. 
Oxygen is an oxymoron;
science means nothing. 

How can you explain emotion? It flows in and out. 
Rainwater in drought, welcomed by us, 
embraced by young bodies. 

(Your face is all I need to see when I wake up to know God is alive; 
when I fall asleep, I know I'll breathe if you're breathing too.) 

Look at these souls; they're magnificent mages who've aged past their time, 
encased in young bodies and young minds. Erasing old dreams, replacing them with new ones. 

Our generation is regenerating.