Ex:

I never fell for the left footed love
of a right handed man,
I don't trust a single person,
whether they draw with their hands,
or shoot with their feet.
It's the insanity of being human,
I know what they are.
Because I am, in fact, one.
So it will do you no use,
to explain how different you are,
I know.
It's when I find people
that aren't constantly trying to explain themselves.
that hope is restored.

Sleep Walker

I hope one day I sleep walk to you,
with my eyes closed tight,
so tight that you could walk on them,
like the man in the circus.
I'll walk through my door
With an iris projection,
keeping me walking on a selfish path to love.
I hear you say my name
under your breath as you fall asleep.
As I feel your name make its way,
coursing it's self throughout my thoughts,
touching my veins in a sexy, electric way.
I can't find it in me to curse this connection,
I cradle it, and spoon feed it like I'd nurture my own young.
I guess my mind is cruel,
sharing with me, unique dreams of how our first kiss would go,
you'd place your hand on the curve of my spine,
and tilt my chin,
just like a dream.
Because it is.
Please just once, let me wake to the touch of your skin.
I need your warmth,
"I can feel it coming."
I can't hear you say goodbye one more time,
without seeing you say it first.
I want to hear you say my name,
as I watch you chew the vowels,
while they reluctantly leave the safe haven of your mouth.
They, much like myself, cannot wait to return.
Return to the touch of your lips,
because upon arrival the only fear I can imagine,
is the fear of letting go.
as you calm my fears,
and stroke the spine of my love,
I close my eyes,
and sleep, just to dream of you.

Give up

The moon is wild,
giving me every reason to stretch my legs,
giving me motive to motion,
to turn myself on.
I hold down gallons of scorpions,
pinching the velvet sewn into my skin.
They crawl everywhere,
leaving behind their poison charm,
murdering moments I've tattooed upon my hip.
Ideas of who I'd like to be,
a monster.
Where are you going?
Somewhere impressive I hope.
Because I'm tired of giving my self away
to give ups, and empty dreamers.
begging to be released from my dark lullabies.
They are so ugly, but they are mine,
so I will love them.
All of these memories are ugly,
but they are mine,
birthed from the canal of my cannibalistic brain
So no matter how dark,
I will love them.

Prayer number one:

Being the object of several desires
gives you the objectivity to crave nothing.
I find myself growing out of this body,
growing into a space above my brain.
A place that is safe enough to call a retreat.
This is where I go, when I want to feel humbled.
When I hear nothing but silence as I walk into a place
sheltering nothing but ver'men' and egotistical suits.
Men,
Hushing one another to catch a glimpse of my charm.
If I crave nothing, and I eat nothing,
as it goes, I must be nothing.
So why should a man love me?
Cliches aside,
I could never be content with being a face in a room.
I hunger for being the voice in a crowd,
laughter in silence.
However,
Nobody ever shows pity to the girl in a red dress,
not once have I been asked for the time
with the intention of ever knowing the answer.
Not once will someone compliment my thoughts before my apparel.
Lately, I don't shower,
I don't wear layers of anything,
I just want the outside of me,
to prove nothing.
In fact-
I want nothing more than to prove my face wrong.
Yet, as a woman in the end
I'll find myself, a slave to the mirror.
Just like my mother,
crimping and primping,
shaving, and lasering,
fixing and filtering.
I am not a cold queen yet,
I don't ask who is the fairest of them all.
I'm not vain enough,
and even if I were,
mirrors are seldom honest.
If you could see me now,
the insides of me, twisted into cement
shattering into a powder I inhale to feel at ease.
You'd understand.
And maybe with the deterioration of my pale, smooth skin,
I will find the love of my life,
and maybe, for once,
he'll truly love me.