empty

I am empty and aligned with the horizon
lace fallen to my feet in a flash of crimson.
but even fallen tokens disrupt each others beauty,
grief turned over.
The scarlet sun shifts silently to silver moon,
the sky moves all night until she is red again.

mirror stage

I've never liked
looking in the mirror.
Something about the reflection there
never suited me.
That face can't be mine.
So today when
I felt your heart beating
in my chest
I wondered
at the strangeness of your particular rhythm
and how it beat so perfectly within me.
One day, maybe,
we will escape back into
whatever it was
we were before.

carousel

All those voices,
sing a round,
a sing-songy round
in her head.
The gravitron refrains
of what is said
become lost
in a carnival of thoughts.

It's easy to get
turned about,
a whirling girl
with a sing-song
round in her head.
Looking over her
shoulder at those yesterdays,
the dancing colors,
wishes strung like bright bulbs,
they paraded past
so fast.
So fast.

And the future tilts
around in her head.
A carousel girl
spying her make-believe
rescue steed.

Her ticket to ride
lost amongst the
confetti.

graffiti

Seeking my origin
I'm bounding in and out of puddles
masquerading in mirrors
pacing the abandoned tracks
circumventing my past...
teetering on the curbs
that are almost home.

I sit on the top of the steps
and debate the consequences
of moving up and falling down...

like once colorful city graffiti,
now drab,

I was here.

reverse peristalsis

She was always
Seeking the paragon
Of purity
Knowing it was preposterous.
But in her distorted mind
Intellect was
Waisting aweigh.
Nothing was ever gained
Except deception
In the form of a gold coin
Worn round her neck
Signifying the accomplishment
Of keeping it down.

And with that,
they labeled her
Cured.

snipped

unfinished.. but why not let some of it out..


sun glowing through petals
affixed under plastic
transparent and pressed,
dried and arranged
aesthetically, artfully,
posing...
to remind you of the place
in your novel
stifling beauty to suit purpose

snipped after blooming,
this has become
the definition of
femininity.
this practice of preening womanhood
with shears.

once wildflowers,
now, wallflowers.

reading.

how freaking cool is my job. seriously.


I'm sitting in the library with J, a kid who hasn't read in the last 5 years. he just kinda stopped reading in 6th grade when he started failing all his classes. This is his third year in 9th grade, and I really really want him to get back on track and take control of his education. We've been working the last few days, doing some simple sentences and pronunciations, and it's all coming back to him.
AND
Guess what, now he's reading- and liking it. It's slowgoing, but he's doing it. It's averaging 18 minutes for 5 pages, but HE'S READING! He keeps stopping every few minutes and telling me what he just read- in an excited way...

dude. i get paid for this.

life is good.