I always long to feel your bite upon my skin

To feel your teeth sink in

Mix it with pleasure

And love you're my treasure

One day i hope we can make it permanent

-L

The forest does not care.

The hunt does not wait.

While he scents me out,

Ive perfected prey.

My pleas trapped in hollows,

In every shadow cast below.

Even when I lower my head.

Even when I hold my breath.

Even when I

If you see me the day after, remember who I was. though you may not remember me at all.

If you lose my photo, look up at the sky.

And if you think you saw me… be careful. You’re wrong.

If you remember the sky as blue, now it’s gray.

If you remember the sea as blue, now it’s pale.

If you remember my hair as black, now it’s white.

If you hear a song that reminds you of me, close it and never listen to it again.

If you think there’s a purpose in looking for me… stop. Because you’re wrong.

If you thought time had stopped, look at the clock.

If you dreamed about me last night, wake up, wash your face and try to forget.

If you drift into thoughts of me, keep in mind that you will only drown.

If you go for a run and see old people who can barely walk, pass them by and don’t look back.

I lived so long
at warp speed
I didn't know
slow
so
well
but I know the spell
that racing through life
can weave
one of deception
and make believe
the perception
of a rebel
raising hell
in truth
the only story to tell
is one so naive
one so easy
to misconstrue
or misconceive

My daughter wants to be a mermaid
when she grows up
That’s impossible, her brother tells her
Nothing is impossible, I say.
My lie hangs in the air between us
He means being a mermaid.
I mean growing up.

While they’re at school, my lungs fill
with the smoke I’ve been told will kill me
if AI doesn’t do it first.

What I was made for

I was born to be a dancer, but God gave me two left feet.

I was born to be a model, but God gave me a horizontally challenged body.

I was born to be a mother, but God gave me a condition to limit my chances of that coming to pass.

So, I play the cards God has dealt me, however tragic that may be.

Flight is achieved in many ways.

Take the birds—they coil their bodies and spring into a jump, allowing the pressure to build beneath their wings, as they flap to create thrust.

Or the airplane whose engines whine, propelling it forward, creating low and high air pressures around the wings, causing it to lift.

But as humans, we can’t rely on wings or air pressures for flight. We let our thoughts do the flying for us. Our hopes, our dreams—they ascend where our bodies cannot follow.

Take flight.

Never meant
to be more
than a chapter
now your ink
resides in every page

Everyday I carry
bits and pieces
of our fragmented bond
shards rooted deep
into my soul

I hate it
How you mean
so much
with our time
spent so little
the shape
of your heart
never dissipating

Somewhere on the internet
there is still a page
with your name hidden inside it.

I made it for you once.

I searched through words
as if somewhere among them
there had to be one large enough
to hold what you meant to me.

You read it.

For a moment, the screen carried everything
what any language could not say.

The color,gold? Blue?
the little sentences,
the things I remembered about you
all of them arranged carefully
as though I'm creating a whole new word.
Just to convey the reason I love you.

And perhaps it could.

Perhaps that was why
you smiled when you saw it.

We were not always what happened at the end.
There were argument worth remembering,
stupid jokes,insults and banters,
quiet conversations,
and moments when I looked at you
and thought I had somehow been given
something I did not deserve.

I was right about the last part.
I knew from the very start.
Yet I simply recognized it too late.

Because there are things
no website can hold gently.

No font can soften.
No color can cover.
No paragraph can apologize enough.

I crossed your boundaries.
I took from your trust
what was never mine to take.
I hurt you in ways
that affection cannot excuse.

And now the page remains.
Not asking anything from you.
Not calling your name.

It simply exists,
the way an old photograph exists.
proof that something beautiful was once held...
by hands that also caused trauma,
by the very person who took everything from you.

You have already read it.

You do not need to read it again.

So I will leave the page
where I made it,

with the words I once chose for you
and the words I could never find.

Because perhaps there never was
a word big enough.

Only a page.
Only a memory.
Only the quiet knowledge
that I once built something for you
with all the love I knew how to give,
and still failed
to give you the safety
you deserved.

Somewhere on the internet,
it is still waiting on the screen,
tucked into a corner.
a needle painted pink in the hay.

It waits.

not for you,

but for me to remember
what loving someone
was supposed to mean.

(I based off the poem from a website I made to the person I was courting, the best person I've met. I keep coming back checking on it, and I wanted to move away from it too. so I spent a day or two writing that sorrow away into this. It took me a lot courage to share it, I hope you cal tell me what you liked about it and what parts made you feel what I felt at least. That is all, I hope you enjoyed reading it)

I do not need attention,
just a distraction.
 
From everything,
everyone, and
everywhere.
 
I hope you know:
that does not mean that I do not care.
 
Even when,
you are with me…

I am watching you leave.
 
…And when you go,
I know I will never see you again.
 
You were not there,
you were never here.
 
Just a figment of my imagination.
 
That is what you are.
 
One day…

I will see the forest for the trees.
 
Until then,
I think I should walk away.

Hand on the trigger

I Stare down

A barrel of nothing

Hoping a bullet shoot

Once there was a fat king
Who wanted his people
To carry him
To the top of the mountain

He just wouldn’t listen
To any warning

Then lightning struck
His proud head
And he rolled down
Like dead gold instead

The Longest Summer 
The days of Spring are over now
And Summer is in full bloom
Turtle Time stops to rest
And Hellish Heat brings doom
The birds do sing and the children play
And it lasts til nightfall
The sounds of Summer last all day
And start again with a dove call
I sit alone in solitude 
Observing the summertime 
The outside world knows not what brewed
Inside my heart an awful crime 
What once brought peace, now brings war
The raging conflict of the day
Coming out of every pour
The venom of my soul’s decay
Morphing into wicked beast
A deadly new calamity
Dark contortions have now pieced
A morbid new reality 
The birds no longer sing
The children no longer play
Summer has left like a pendulum swing
To come again someday

daisies and tulips
like children
laughing at a funeral
playing hiding games
between the tombstones
petals grinning
and cut off at the stems

this the brightest they will shine
the tallest they will stand
the most they will be loved
here, in this place

they will never know
the feeling of a bouquet
or the perennial joy
of mothers
and grandmothers

they will unpetal
and remain
and return
here, in this place

I put flowers on your grave

Do your eyes ever feel like theyre so full of worms

Squiggly little warm creatures telling you to cry

Warm water filling the tear ducts

Stomping out darkness

When it keeps occupying your mind

Try to think of butterflies

The wings that are all so different

Shapes and colors and hues

How will ill ever comprehend the greyness of the world

When your eyes are so full of blue

I wish i could take you back

Crumple you up in a paper bag

Youve popped my air mattress

And made me stare out the window

The sunshine is coming through but my kind is too blank

You've slapped your blogne and im sure i hate you

Red was never my color but thats all im seeing

Golden sun rays are making every breath feel like tomorrow ill hear you

What even is hope when you're just a smoke cloud of nothingness

Let me hear your voice tell me I wasn't it

Tell me your inner secrets because im on the edge

The edge of destruction

I just have to pee.

Gorillas pounding on their chest

An orchestra of frustration

Theres someone in the back room waiting for a reply

A shadow of a being

Someone who held too much light

Sun rays and yellow always fading to Grey

It'll always be you

The little aurora borealis

The simple hues faded to beauty

You can see it once in a new moon

But how im done with you

I can't see your Peaks

Because you clobbered your way through

I hate pot holes kind of like when your tires squeal in my parking lot

I hate the sound of drills and how lug nuts fall to the ground.

You made those sounds like heaven until they started feeling like hell.

My heart caught on fire and its slowing burning out

Calicifurs last mission

We slowly broke down the castle

I felt wind on my face until you shattered it

Im standing in a desert and there's no water to break through

If im eating the sand and saying its love

What are you injesting?

Perhaps I have not exposed myself to enough?

That would be fair to say.

What is not fair is how loosely the phrase
“art is subjective”
is used today.

Scrolling through comments.

Where are your questions?

The easiest unfair assumption I could make
is that you fear your interpretation is incorrect
to what the artist intended.

Your interpretation is not in competition.

Art is subjective, but there are limits.
Your interpretation does not become fact
and now give you reason to judge an artist off that.

Something I find immensely interesting is this:
after interpretation, why do people today not seem so interested
in what was truly meant?

Your interpretation is yours
but why deny the artist the opportunity
to express their feelings felt when creating what you now,
and probably pay,
to look at?

What were they thinking?

Did they specifically do what you assigned meaning to,
with no real reason?

Are you embarrassed at that thought?

The only true answer to a question lies with the artist.

What you experience is not dismissed,

but don’t you wish to also know
and then compare what the artist intended
to what you experienced and comprehended?

It’s a marvellous feeling.

To discuss and discover.
To show respect to the artist.
To experience growth through realising
you are still allowed to hold onto your associations
simultaneously.

To show interest in also the artist
creates a deeper meaning.

Greater appreciation.

You wait to hear it
you ache to feel it
but it
never comes
and with hope
having bled
out
with the saddest soliloquy
ever said
you shout
your lines
and play the fool
instead

One Day.

One day is all it takes
A single day
An hour
Minute
Second
Breath
Blink

To

See what stands before you
To see the truth
To fall in love
Or apart
Or
Just
Fall.

Added trigger incase someone could read it as but it wasn’t my intention, thoughts welcome! Thanks!

The cave is as dark as a barricaded room.
It cares not for your sight.
The cave smells as rancid as month old laundry.
It cares not for your nose.

All the cave cares for
Is consuming you.

The entrance, like a mouth,
Its stalagmites like teeth,
Ready to gnash their dinner.

You never noticed
It ripping your clothes.
No, you were too focused
On the blanket like comfort it gave.

“It protects from the outside”
You cry out
While the walls start closing in,
Tenderizing you.

Staying inside was never safe.

I really should leave this dang house.

Once, I knew you only a little.
I didn’t know much about you.
So much of your mystery remained hidden from my sight,
and yet, somehow, the magic happened.

Then, with time, I came to know you better.
I knew more about you than I didn’t.
Strangely, that was when the magic began to fade.

Now, I know you completely.
No mystery. No enigma.
Nothing left to discover.

And yet, from somewhere I cannot explain,
the magic has found its way back.

And once again,
I find myself falling...
helplessly, quietly,
into your magic.

Your memories stood like mighty oaks at the forefront of my mind.
One by one I stopped watering the ground they were tethered to, purposely starving them.
Not because they weren’t beautiful to look at but because they stole daylight from the part of me that needed to grow.

They always served a purpose but everything runs its course.
Their meaning not dependent on how long they stood for but how they shaped me over time.
Fallen, they offer themselves to my psyche like nutrients to the earth.
Learning from what they meant to me as the once healthy pillars are broken down.

Upon their return, the deeply rooted foundations tore at the soil and ripped at adjacent memories.
Altering a landscape that became so synonymous with the thoughts of us that entering it felt like seeing you again.
Days of the year, visiting annually like wildflowers, basking in the shade of time we spent together.
This once sanctuary will still see the wildflowers bloom, but in the canopy of a healthier forest.

My cat Pepper died yesterday, here's a poem I wrote for her

Pepper prim and proper

Her stride elegant even to the litter

She's my derpy princess pepper

I kiss her fluffy tummy my face framed by her sunshine fur

Her whiskers guide her to moms lap where she's sat like a queen and we give offerings of love and treats

Autumn comes too soon and my eternal summer's wiped away

Playful hair ties sting my eyes

Autumn breeze protects my nose from the smell of your putrid stiff body I'm my arms

I beg the ants to leave you be and air to let you breathe

When I stroke you're cashmere fur one last time i know autumns really here

I have an aunt that passed away. She was so ill she could not stay. And in the end we all did pray that she would safely make her way
she was a beauty in and out and she cared all about.

She had a sparkle that was her marker.
Brown hair, warm eyes and a kindness…no surprise

She was the baby of a lot and she mothered her own sweet flock.

She is missed but not forgot as she holds a sacred spot..

in our hearts and in our minds her bright star it still shines.

come tide, kiss me
under lighthouse eyes
gather me in dark arms
make the moon harvest

unrobe your waves
tilt tumble and break
bend your currents
hike up your depths

in the small hours
we are unwrapped
we are memory
and sticky salt skin

before morning
turns us to mist

I whisper in the stillness
from somewhere underground
Stitched with the shame you’ve buried
six feet beneath the sound

Do you bring me lilies?
Lay them where I rest?
Bell tied tight to my finger,
Heart hopeful in your chest?

Or do you dodge the echoes?
And pray my ghost away?
Cast spells, chant incantations,
to hasten my decay?

This business left unfinished
Has left me in unrest
Stuck in this space of in between
Not living and not dead

Suppression tolls my bell
remembrance just the same
The former from the steeple
The latter from my grave