Phoenix Tears

Glassblowing

How is it that I ended up here?

Shattered like those

Beautiful glass orbs that you made.

The ones with the twists and

Subtle turns that

Never seemed to vacate my mind.

You would throw them down

And usher the pieces away

Because beauty was never quite good enough.

You smashed me too.

I’m swept into the corner,

Nothing even close to

The pieces you deemed fit to

Be seen by the world.

Should you remake me?

Or is the design simply inadequate?

Start anew instead.

Create something that

Can become a body worth

Putting

All your efforts into making perfect.

Disregard anything

Anyone has ever said to you

About the way that I gaze

With dewy eyes and

A bright face

As if you were the one

Creature that hung the moon.

What a preposterous concept I say,

That one could hang the moon.

That celestial body is not

One to be  simply arranged,

No matter how painstakingly,

In the spattering

Of bright glossy stars.

No, he stands alone,

Bright in his desire

And the desire he awakens in me.

You did not hang the moon,

For you are the moon.

Perhaps I’m the exception

Rather than the rule

But the soft spicy scents

Wafting from the cup

That you place so softly into my hands

And gently wrap my fingers around

Are only a reason to

Delve a little deeper

Into your velvety brew.

My mouth wound you tight against

The slivers of my soul

And wound you up to

A heat seeking frenzy

And in the heat we found each other

So each of our disparate centers

Were pressed strong against one another

And your essence is perpetually

Bound to the recesses of my body

Now I honestly don’t think I could go back.

Don’t think I could go back

To the cool and calculated,

To the raw intensity we lacked.

To before my cue cards were scattered

When our inhibitions were intact.

collab with the lovely haveyoubeenborn

Coffee makes me fall in love

I’ve never quite realized

That coffee makes me fall in love

It smells the most endearing though,

When my nose accepts the

Surges of sweetness

And my hands accept the warmth

That I’m not quite sure initiates

From you

Or the brew

The funny thing is

I don’t even like coffee

Traces

I was told that I wasn’t worth fighting for

By a man in a striped sweater,

Two golden rings on his second finger,

And thick amber glass

Bound eternally to his skin.

I believed him then

And I still do

Even though he’s since

Dissolved in a puddle

Of his own sins.

The Filly

Everyone about me

Is worth just as much as me, they say

I look at it as being

Worth as little as me

But either way,

They are my equals,

My herd with which I am expected

To stay.

Everyone here

Is a raging stallion

With hooves as hard as stones

And blazing fires in their eyes

They carry on down their path to nowhere

Kicking up sand and treading on life

And I shall continue I suppose

With being this awkward little foal

With bright eyes wide

With not wonder

But with unbridled fear

Of the stampede of the creatures around me

And the path that we are all headed down.

I See You.

You’re good at being you

And everything you are is a complicated sea of many things

But it is a good sea

In which things may flourish

While some people have nothing living in theirs.

Simply put,

They can’t care about people

Or they don’t care about people

And they can’t always make sure

Or even attempt to make sure

That their ecosystems thrive

Confinement

Her limbs contained a stillness

That the universe would not allow even trees or rocks.

Blood would course through veins and arteries

But she could never again blush with

The exertion of a run on a cold autumn day.

And her heart throbbed with all the

Energy that was simply stored

When sitting in a sagging chair

With rusted rivets and screws

And wheels that creaked and slipped

From worn down treads and subsequent disuse.

She was forced to flutter pale, bare eyelids

That were once covered in a plethora of glittering shades

In response to peoples words.

But there was one thing

Perhaps even more heartbreaking though

Hope giving at the same time

She would write beautiful scores

And endless arrays of poetry in her head.

She kept them safe within inches of bone,

That contained her very being,

When all she wanted was to loose them out into the world.

Her spirit would dance

Pirouettes en pointe

When her body could not even sway

To the beauty that was unfolding within her mind.

While people spoke with slow cruelty and

Moved in a way that

Periodically brought pricks of moisture to her eyes

She would sit and

Let their pity wash over her

Because she couldn’t tell them otherwise.

Train Tracks

She traces train tracks

With bare feet

And toes covered in soot

The soft, warm ash

Creating a silken path

Upon which she lays her feet.

There was really no way to have

Seen this coming

To expect things to happen as they did.

The train sputtering to a stop,

As she had done in another life,

And having to return to

The place she was before

Backtrack all the way

With no brakes

She doesn’t know

If it’s for better or for worse

But only that it is.

If I die young

Please don’t bury me on a bed of satin;

I find it all a tad too pretentious for myself.

Take my ashes to a windy place

And simply release.

Not a mountain,

Promise me that much.

Just somewhere high enough.

Climb, climb as far as you can

Even if that’s just to the top of a jungle gym and

Find a way to make my words carry

Just as my particles will spread.

What If?

If I were to lay down next to you,

Line up our hips,

Then line up our lips,

Apply gentle pressure and

Tangle my fingers in your hair,

How would you take it?

Then if I were to

let my hand slide down from your tangled mane,

And traced the contours of your face?

Or even steal a taste of the shallow little ponds that overflow with golden honey

When the light falls in exactly the right place?

What would you say,

If I told you I loved you

That I needed something to be,

Where nothing was really there before?

Because in my head you’d say yes

And I’d cock my head to the side

And try to explain that

A response like that

Really makes no sense

In the context of my question

And then you would explain

In a simpler way

By lining our lips up once more. 

A Letter on Change

To everyone and anyone.

To those who carry themselves as queens

And those who shrink into piles of clothes,

Hoping to be left unnoticed.

To those who simply are

And those who aspire to be more,

To those who cannot fathom a time or place

In which another person could care for them,

Or those who have enough people about them to wage a war.

You are worth something

No matter what anyone might say

You do not need to change to be liked,

To be wanted,

To be loved.

You do not need to change at all, really.

But change,

Change can be good.

Change can make you healthy.

Stronger.

More.

Change can make you into something that you’ve always wanted to be

And you are welcome to that

Just be aware

That change

Often takes time.

There’s nothing left for me here.

Within these walls,

And the bricks and mortar that bind it all together

It never did do a good job of that,

Binding that is,

Because I’ve been slowly unraveling since day one.

Rock Bottom

You know when everything

Is just slipping and faltering,

And you just don’t know

Where to put your feet?

The placing is important

In order to stop the slide

And you aren’t even sure

If you want to stop it at all

Because

Maybe it’s good

To hit the bottom,

With some sort of bang .

Because you figure

That’s a place

That will become terribly familiar

In years to come.