eden

Those who curse the negligence of Eve

Have never felt starvation’s 

Convincing disease

Of the desperation that makes us hopelessly reach

For those forbidden fruits

We have sworn not to eat

On the day of creation we were theoretically whole

wandering God’s grocery store with our baskets full

And you of ruby ripe flesh

Dangled from the top branch pulsating and swole 

Daunting me to exchange my spotless soul

But then I was able to walk away

Satisfied with the love that would nourish and stay

Though it did not stop my mind from obsessing over that temptatious day

In my mind I prayed to keep my fantasies at bay

I began to imagine your flesh between my teeth

Enchanted by the lust 

Of empty calories

How your core would be euphorically sweet

As if it was your elusivity I could consume and eat

Soon God’s image no longer reflected mine

I could feel the mirror distort and twist with the entanglement of time

And I could no longer convince myself of this holy lie

Hope had escaped me

And I found myself reaching high

Your soft body rested in my palm 

before I plucked you into my possession 

And with the fatal snap of your stem

I was consumed by obsession 

In my fallen state of grace

My gluttonous impulse pulls you toward my face

And as my canines dissected your crisp base

I felt the guilty release of God’s suffocating embrace

forgotten

How many names are written on bricks?

Or park benches, dedicated in the name of bird shit and piss? 

You beg to be remembered 

to be the best and oh so clever! 

clinging to the idea of recognition and fame 

praying that they will remember ur name 

i find it foolish and funny 

that with the donation of a little money 

your name plastered on walls in halls

will resonate any more meaning 

than strangers curiously leaning 

only to forget seconds after- 

living their life empty of your laughter 

passenger princess

sitting in the car side by side 

your hand interlocked in mine

left hand steering as we drive 

the dangers of drunk driving do not compare 

to when your fingers run thru my hair 

hands on my thighs, skin so bare

eyes on the road i say

but given a red light or any delay,

your lips are on mine to stay

no need for talk, the quiet is calm

there is peace as my fingers dance in ur palm

ETA whispers we are almost home

but in the car i could sit forever 

something mundane alone becomes an exciting endeavor

moving thru time

side by side together

doormat

maybe I’m a masochist 

or I’ve taught myself to enjoy the pain

but I wear the title of a doormat

as if it’s my middle name 

stranger’s steps carry all sorts of dirt 

and i politely lay,

collecting all of the hurt 

i begin to question the origins of my accumulated filth

if i had never offered, then I wouldn’t carry this guilt 

But I have “welcome” plastered on my face 

inviting lost soldiers,

a quieting and comforting place 

but just as the doormat exists, 

outside of the home.

Never welcomed in, 

nor shown the same love.

mothers makeup

enchantment meets my skin 

as the tip of the eyeliner grazes my lid

i am possessed by feline grace 

as my wrists flick a cat eye across my face 

glitter engulfs my eyes 

chunky flakes and shards of shimmer cloud my vision 

I scrunch my eyes into their sockets 

and regain my precision 

my prepubescent skin stretches against my skull

pore-less and pure 

i slather a mystical mask of tints cremes

in an effort to look more mature 

though my uterus has been spared by the eclipse of the moon 

i stare into the mirror 

and pray for womanhood to begin soon 

i dance in my mothers oversized dresses

and relish in the chaos of my eldest sister’s closet messes 

i patiently sit in awe 

waiting for my hips to widen 

and my breasts to ripen 

to reveal the vessel of spontaneous life 

where in my femininity I am  ubiquitous and divine 

connected with every sprouting beauty 

where in my fertility i embody a world that is truly mine.

birth through blood

there is broken glass scattered across the kitchen floor

and i am roaring laughing 

while blood from my hands begins to pour.

The shards protrude from my weary wrists 

and sweet red regret 

drips down my fingertips 

every chance I try to pick up the the jagged shards

my soft flesh rips, 

as I let down my guard.

and I never imagined healing would be so hard. 

I begin to finger paint with my blood across the walls. 

painting murals of my pain,

by telling stories across the hall.

I have created a mad house where I can process it all. 

Hemmingway whispers, 

"just sit in front of the typewriter and bleed"

and I am reminded of how heartbreak births new things.

Each sharp cut reveals emotional ink,

where I can process my feelings through art 

rather than continuing to sink. 

With every stroke of crimson pain, I carve a path to clarity.

And by the time it is all out of me,

my iron levels are low.

and though my anemic answers,

I am able to sweep away the glass

and continue to grow. 

pretty pollen

During my recess days,

I would plot my one free hour to frolic and play.

Delicate it to the large field of flowers that festered;

and all the creatures that crawled and flied in unity together.

I wanted to be all with one,

soaked in grass stains and rays of the sun.

Out of all of the choices of candied blossoms, I chose:

the enthusiastic yellow that incited my eye the most.

A dandelion was a weed to many-but I embraced it with grace. 

I played in its chalky pollen and smeared its yellow on my face.

It’s buttery gloss stained my fragile cheeks, 

while I laid in the grass and communicated with the meek.

The bees, butterflies and beetles that slowly creeped close,

whispered sweet secrets of a world I wanted most.

Where I could be small forever and free to roam.

Underneath the paint of pollen, 

these friends helped me feel less alone. 

That was until the day I got stung, 

brutal and between the eyes, no remorse for what it had done.

And by that point, the dandelions had began to turn gray.

The once naive floral facade, 

had matured into a ghost meant to be blown away.

And as I held onto the fragile stem, 

wishing for the next season to blossom again. 

I inhaled a breath from a source deep within,

and let my exhale carry seeds of strength to begin again.  

I give my gullibility grace,

Aware of the countless times I have been stung in the face. 

I do not blame my intrinsic need,

to bask in pollen and slurp nectar so sweet. 

To love what feels good and to embrace the unknown,

I trust in mother nature’s fluctuation and flow. 

What is painful is temporary, and what is good will only grow. 

wishbone

Tic-tac toe, and rock paper scissors

Silly games with only one winner

the illusion of strategy and the glory of a win

I prefer to lose before the game can begin

I think of myself as a wishbone

Delicate ivory waiting to be broken

A memoir of words prepared to be spoken

Ready to give you the larger half 

Before you even had the chance to ask.

To rip apart my bones 

What’s a missing rib from Adam’s home?

I wonder who I am beyond my acts of servitude

Selfishly waiting for a drop of gratitude

For the way I bend and contort

To comfort your world from any hurt

Yet I fall into the hands of those,

Who lavish the sound of snapping of bones,

Those who know my game 

And eagerly play all the same,

Aware of how weakly I grasp my bone

As they break the brittle, and take their winning prize home.

hey girly text

hey girly 

i don’t know you, 

and you don’t know me,

but let me tell you- 

your love cannot untwist that crooked tree.

It’s leaves are dead

and it’s bark is rotten to its core 

no matter the love and nutrients you feed it, 

it will always beg for more. 

you say the dark never scared you,

because you grew up in that same festering wood, 

creating love for the broken,

and the inclination toward good.

At the tree roots base,

You lie there in gushing gold,

glowing with Sacred Grace,

satisfied with being alone-

thinking maybe if you shine bright enough you could guide your lost knight home.

You must abandon this enchantment,

of fixing what you did not break.

Love that tree from afar,

by letting it devilishly twist

and take its true shape.

the chase

i have always been the boy to crave the chase- 

the thrill of seeking 

as winds of adventure brush my face.

i love the illusions of holding you close-

dreams don’t hurt 

the theoretical always pleases the most.

close contact burns my skin 

and open wounds ache 

when intimacy is rubbed in.

adrenaline pumps through me as i hunt 

but the rush dissipates 

when i get what i want.

reciprocated affection doesn’t seem right 

a flaw within my partner 

so i decide to take flight. 

now i am the one who runs 

for no apparent reason,

except for

the impending fear

of being pinned down by my own heartless treason. 

meat

My body has been grinded down into chunks of meat by the minds of men

Separated and distributed to those with preferences

Of breast or leg , flank or rib, all ultimately the same

They honor a single quality with gluttonous lust

whilst wasting the rest

Scraping peripheral qualities of me off the the edges of their plate

To focus on the main course they reserved

I do not fight their salivating gaze of hunger

Because once I am meat to them I am already dead

I have no other purpose than to be served 

Waiting to fulfill a longing and be fully tasted

Accepting that I am ultimately bound by man to be wasted.

my bloody valentine

for you i would rip open my rib cage 

and kindly invite you in 

to drink my blood and feed upon my flesh

take it all, i really dont mind

It’s a bloody Valentine 

I consensually sign and lick the envelope 

kissing it’s seal addressed to your selfishness

it’s a sick symbiosis we share

seeking feeling in immediate hurt

you like to give it, where i crave to absorb it all. 

you are the hot stove 

i am so curious to touch 

to feel the delicacy of mirrored warmth

i have been craving so much

lover

is that your heartbeat or mine?

skin so close our senses intertwine 

as your fingers delicately trace my spine 

the silence doesn’t bother me at all

i hear your breaths as your chest rises then falls

the dialogue in your diaphragm calls 

in this moment i feel complete 

the tension between when our lips meet

as we swim in the pool of our body heat 

our eyes lock and our souls connect 

no spot of skin do you neglect 

a gentle love bred by respect 

you hold me with shameless embrace 

cheeks flush as you grasp my face

dissolved are the boundaries of space  

if i could

honey glazed skin, slightly sun kissed 

sticky contact, i sink into bliss 

i curse this barrier, i want the abyss

if i could, id unzip you at the spine 

crawl in, and mesh your soul with mine 

at last, forever intertwined.

if i could, id crack open your skull

dig through, your worries, fears and all

stitch you up, with only happiness to recall

if i could, id slip into your skin 

become your armor, nothing bad to come in

protect my love, is that a sin? 

girlhood

i hate the way my skin feels against my clothes 

feminine fabric and secret oaths 

like wearing lacy thongs

pink paranoia that only i know.

the male gaze has no eyelids

it never blinks or sleeps 

it knows my skin and loves to creep.

undressing in the bathroom mirror 

feels like a performance

to all the voices i hold dear

words that kiss away my questions  

and make me feel real

my worth intertwined with sex appeal.

oh to cut the cameras

and to see myself as more 

anything but to be trapped in this girlhood chore.

homesick

it’s a phenomenon i don’t quite get

i suppose it was my home making me sick

all the pain i wish to forget 

fresh air fills each breath

exploring the unknown depth

of the beauty between birth and death

all of my efforts finally for me 

floating over uncharted seas 

embracing the distance with ease

emotional chains,

and

growing pains 

from maturing far too soon,

no longer haunt my childhood bedroom.

awake

i stare at the microwave clock

directly across from my bed 

it’s what keeps my eyes wide 

that blinking dialogue of red 

my eyes never leave it

Yet I never see the numbers change 

Must be between blinks 

and all of the thoughts I think.

about why i can’t sleep. 

I can never catch the moment 

when I peacefully slip under

even when I fake it

my body cannot surrender.

so instead i comb through my day 

each strand of mistakes 

braiding it away while I’m still awake

teeth

i adore your crooked teeth 

the milky stone expressing the child underneath

i want to know your cavities and sores

where sweet sugar lingered until you couldn’t take anymore 

the insides of your cheeks that you nervously bite

making your jaw look sharp as you chew on your fright 

the choreographed dance of your tongue 

glazing across your teeth to the roof of your mouth it clung 

your lobby of words so seductively strange 

tastebuds decorating a mouth id never change.

i <3 dad bodz

i suspect he wore a shirt in the pool as a kid

to hide his soft stomach 

tho it was something no one asked to be hid

he would plant his feet on the textured cement 

holding his breath under water 

to disguise his lament 

counting the seconds until his diaphragm begged 

sucking in sweet air as his head emerged to the sky

tho he wishes he could stay under instead

where the chlorine stung his eyes blind 

and water cradled his worries

and he could escape to a world more kind

ribs

i think about my ribs often

those twelve pairs of bone 

peaking shyly through my skin

an ivory cage 

protecting the gentle soul within

a single heart so alone

i have this vision

perhaps a distant memory 

deep within the collective realm

where i fly freely 

with beautiful wings drenched in milky feathers 

whimsically existing everywhere and no where all together 

my heart is open and unprotected, no bones at all to weigh me down

attachment and pride 

are synonymous with being chained to the ground 

the angel finally lands

delicately falling 

into the trap of selfish hands

where society hurts and projects

the aching soul inevitably reacts

with a mechanism to protect

wispy wings flutter with grace

before calcifying slowly 

curling within the cavity of the heart

Twelve stone fingers grasp around

As a barrier to keep suffering apart

Eve was born of this very bone

When God erased the notion

Of “being alone”

Perhaps this flesh is not a prison

rather the amoeba to a future decision

To rip open ribs and find your wings

embracing love within all things.