watchukillme

Sirens are calling out as they pass, and the diamond she wore cut a line my father's cheek, the one I kiss Out here, the visitors are rare, The buzz of the passing car is always cause for an eastward glance My papa's gaze juts toward the sunrise as he waits for his diamond bearer to return and cut into him again.

Because holy holy holy Ginsberg makes me weep The way holding my little sister to my chest makes me weep And brushing her hair with my fingers, telling her That she's beautiful and that the years between childhood And teen years will end more beautifully than they began Makes me weep, makes me weep, makes me weep. And poetry makes me cry when it falls out Of someone's mouth like drops of cream in coffee, To swirl and swoop in clouds of brown and white. And Ginsberg closes my eyes and drowns me out With his holy holy holy and I weep weep weep. If poetry could save her I would sew it into her Like rows and rows of seeds to grow and

I'm gonna take a walk All the way through the rest of Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico (all of my least favorite states) And rest my bones in weary Arizona. I've never breathed in Arizonian air Or sweat Arizonian sweat But I want to.

i am aching in my core— a sort of over-spilling emptiness. i received a beautiful notebook in the mail today, with a small city scape of yarn color. and it calls to me, calls, and calls. the embroidered shine smiling invitingly, "Write something good right here. this is where something good belongs." so I will

I want broken tulips to sprout from my palms reflecting light into caves that have never felt shimmer

And a-pow and a-pow, The thump of his palms crash upon his world with a poof of summer dust; his dimpled knees, pushing craters into the hot earth. Lashes and hair like a feather duster the color of New Mexico, his striped tee over his round belly bunches up over the eggshell-toned cloth wrapped around his tiny, round bottom A glistening pearly tooth pushes up through his virgin gums, sore and aching, as he pushes in clumsy fingers clasped around the satisfying spill of summer dust, to be poured onto his wet tongue.

I loved the crinkle in your cheeks when you smiled it was like birds flying through your dark, happy skin And the gleam of your teeth shining radiate sincerity it was like mirrors reflecting sunrise between your lips Just a crinkle and a gleam, Perched upon your chin.

And I puff and I puff, a Regular chemical pant, Blackening my pretty In pink lungs, like that Guy with the red door that he Wanted to paint black. And I search through everyone Else's words to find A gas station map to mine, But those words are gone, Holed up in someone else's Pocket and always Prettier than mine. Even When they are ugly, They tell a better story. Cause how much truth can I breathe out in smudged grey clouds? And how do I know, Even if it all lines up, That my cancer tinged Version of reality Is that much to talk about?

put your ear to the ground hear the trickling vibration of the earth's sigh against your cheek taste the dry dirt of the summer upon your tongue and at last breathe in the whisper of the rabbits and the birds lie belly down upon the bosom of the rock let her embrace you may you take root in her core plunging deeper into the very heart of our mother spread your roots deep in her soil your traveling days are over may you forever bloom in the moonlight as you my lover lie deep within her a part of her my travels are not finished and I must move on from this place you are rooted but I walk without a single tear upo

Sometimes, when you're away It's like I'm not real anymore. And when you close your eyes I stop. Sometimes I want to say the most horrible things to you Words I'm not supposed to say The words you say when I spill things-- Grape juice a purple sea on your white carpet All I wanna do is show you the picture I drew for you. I gave you purple hair-- Because purple is my favorite color-- and a yellow house beneath a rainbow and a blue pony. I drew it for you, mama Look, mama, please Why won't you look? Who's on the phone? I wanna talk, too! I wanna talk to you, mama. My face is getting hot And my lips are shivering

How many of you here have seen the X-Men movies? Well imagine you lived in their world. Imagine being raised thinking you were "normal" just like everyone else in your family. Then imagine discovering you're not "normal" you never have been you just didn't know it yet. Imagine you are a mutant like Bobby Drake (Iceman), imagine trying to tell your parents that you aren't a "normal” human like them. That you are one of those mutants they've heard about on the news. Now think back to X-Men 2, how did Bobby's parent take it? "This is all my fault." "Have you ever tried... not being a mutant?" Now how many of you sympathised with the huma