perfectionist.
deaf.
colorless, emptiness.
wondering what it's like to not have teeth.
crevices of fingernails, currently shaping clay. turn, & listen to the motion of the spinning thickness.
dried up pottery, under your nail that you just can't reach. it's a part of you, and you don't mind.
hearing a song, and your hips taking control. sometimes it isn't apart of your choice. it's involuntary.
blinded by sprays of water from an 18 wheeler when you are on the interstate at night. downpour.
pitch black, can't even see the lines of white on the road. white lines, speeding and slowing down.
thank you God, for carrying me home. sprinkles of rain and piano sound.
a sly fox's grin from the other side of the window. what have you done? you always have that grin.
oh mathmatical equations of today! none that will most likely be remembered. school. pointless.
dear natalie, I hate the color orange. your face is not orange. oompaloopma, no.
sometimes when there is a gaze caught in the mirror of my mouth, it is crooked. it's sort of crooked.
painted faces, masks of envy and vanity. curls made straight, pulled back to hide the body.
white skin, growing into a woman skin. white, a transforming to soft. polished nails,
stepping out of character. headbands, nearly always. powder on the surface of my face.
hey, I can't seem to get those words out of my head that you said. don't make them cheap, now.
an old man sitting in a wooden chair, suddenly it caves in and he falls to pieces.
someone picks him up and puts him to use. that's not so bad. that's not too bad, too bad.
making plans to be somewhere important with someone else. I don't really like that, but there is no choice.
promises are always left upkept by those who are half hearted. do you have a heavy heart?
do you have a cold nose? sometimes I miss the days when things were terrible, terrible, in that way.
we enjoy pain. masochist, all of us. too spineless to step out of a misery shower; too stubborn to bend our knees.
is there an expected point that we're all looking forward to? to seeing when, by a supernatural power, we
will be cast to our knees? will he break our bones to soften our stiff necks and thick skulls? will he force us
to bow? better knowledge best be kept inside your grey matter, dear friend. it is your move to make; your
choice. you will not lead this dance, no! but you can choose to sit it out. alas! stand up, being of waste!
lazy bones, lazy bones. spent all your time dancing to sorrow's tune with a glass of wine in hand;
stand on your feet! walk the ribbon of sobriety. be not baffled with your own ideas and self indulgences.
running with pleasure, in thought and action; ever mindful of your bruised feet and torn lips. choosing to
speak, still, in false and unworthy words. fighting battles that are self made. do not choke, while you run.
curl up in a pillow seam and dream of lighter threads. thin is the line you walk underneath your empty bed.
soft, and blankets wrapped in twisted sheets, waiting for a sign to get you out of bed. ah, they found you dead.
staring at a mirror full of images and words written in black expo marker. nothing to make out of it.
you woke up once, with words written all over your breasts and stomach. what was speaking to you?
I don't think you wanted to read it because you knew. maybe you didn't. it's a memory hazed and forgotten.
marbles kept in a plastic bright green container on your brother's bookshelf when you were a child.
you liked the dark metal ones best. were they magnetic? you liked them best. scratch and sniff stickers of
things like coffee and pasteries were there too. imagination took you to a nice warm table with your mother
there. but she wasn't around, and neither was dad. that's alright, now though.
pale yellow curtains with tiny polkadots that were bumpy. white walls and a closet for story telling.
a pale yellow pillow that was soft, and your only best friend. thin white stripes, and rarely washed.
I remember watching you sob on it once, when you were a little girl. it was daylight outside and you
had a pain in your chest. stomach, face down, into the pillow; red face, hot tears, screams. why were you
crying that way, at that time? I can't truly recall...
you used to draw a lot. and write a lot. but then one day she made you bag them all up in a white
garbage bag and threw them away. you said they were for your mother, for when you saw her next.
perhaps they didn't think you'd see her again for another long long while.
hey, memories flood sometimes when you're ready to think about them. when God lets you recall.
big fat purple hat on your whatever-ith birthday. favorite solar system long sleeved glow in the dark
soft black shirt on, with washed out black jeans. you kept calm, and held it in. good, kid. I wish I could have
known you better. houseshoes, always. it was the rule.
onto other things. blue tongues from blue paintbrush suckers. standing on vents that were from the
floor with your big t-shirts on and bare feet. daisy's in the backyard, picked with your mother.
grandma says you were a happy child. a happy child.
bladder is about to burst because I like to hold it in. hey, my second least favorite is orange, like that.
people feel safe when their feet are on the ground. but there are aliens that live underneath. ironic?
it's all in the flesh, it's all in death. be happy, the day when you die! be sad the day, when one is born..
I know you don't believe me, and it's not expected for you to I guess. but there is one that is waiting
within one of these eggs inside of me that will bring forth, by the hand of God and the love of a man;
a child. "You Are Intended To Love." and so, it will be. just don't be so certain things so well understood.
but seeds always tell the truth; they will either live or die and they are honest. purity in a child's eye!
ah, what fluid minds. I really like white white paper without lines and fresh school supplies.
happy rules, and helping hands.
I saw your mother in the glint of fire. light came from it, and warmth. she was on the other side,
and was smiling at me. she loves me, in this moment. she loves me, again. there is something warm
in my arms; sometime small, and new, and pure. she wants it in her arms, and I allow this, with a safeness
in my heart. I understand that she is a part of what she is holding. it is her blood, and she has wisdom
held in her mind of what is to come for the child's life. I don't see you there, and I'm not looking for you.
"At times, you will mother your children alone."
today, corinne.
colorless, emptiness.
wondering what it's like to not have teeth.
crevices of fingernails, currently shaping clay. turn, & listen to the motion of the spinning thickness.
dried up pottery, under your nail that you just can't reach. it's a part of you, and you don't mind.
hearing a song, and your hips taking control. sometimes it isn't apart of your choice. it's involuntary.
blinded by sprays of water from an 18 wheeler when you are on the interstate at night. downpour.
pitch black, can't even see the lines of white on the road. white lines, speeding and slowing down.
thank you God, for carrying me home. sprinkles of rain and piano sound.
a sly fox's grin from the other side of the window. what have you done? you always have that grin.
oh mathmatical equations of today! none that will most likely be remembered. school. pointless.
dear natalie, I hate the color orange. your face is not orange. oompaloopma, no.
sometimes when there is a gaze caught in the mirror of my mouth, it is crooked. it's sort of crooked.
painted faces, masks of envy and vanity. curls made straight, pulled back to hide the body.
white skin, growing into a woman skin. white, a transforming to soft. polished nails,
stepping out of character. headbands, nearly always. powder on the surface of my face.
hey, I can't seem to get those words out of my head that you said. don't make them cheap, now.
an old man sitting in a wooden chair, suddenly it caves in and he falls to pieces.
someone picks him up and puts him to use. that's not so bad. that's not too bad, too bad.
making plans to be somewhere important with someone else. I don't really like that, but there is no choice.
promises are always left upkept by those who are half hearted. do you have a heavy heart?
do you have a cold nose? sometimes I miss the days when things were terrible, terrible, in that way.
we enjoy pain. masochist, all of us. too spineless to step out of a misery shower; too stubborn to bend our knees.
is there an expected point that we're all looking forward to? to seeing when, by a supernatural power, we
will be cast to our knees? will he break our bones to soften our stiff necks and thick skulls? will he force us
to bow? better knowledge best be kept inside your grey matter, dear friend. it is your move to make; your
choice. you will not lead this dance, no! but you can choose to sit it out. alas! stand up, being of waste!
lazy bones, lazy bones. spent all your time dancing to sorrow's tune with a glass of wine in hand;
stand on your feet! walk the ribbon of sobriety. be not baffled with your own ideas and self indulgences.
running with pleasure, in thought and action; ever mindful of your bruised feet and torn lips. choosing to
speak, still, in false and unworthy words. fighting battles that are self made. do not choke, while you run.
curl up in a pillow seam and dream of lighter threads. thin is the line you walk underneath your empty bed.
soft, and blankets wrapped in twisted sheets, waiting for a sign to get you out of bed. ah, they found you dead.
staring at a mirror full of images and words written in black expo marker. nothing to make out of it.
you woke up once, with words written all over your breasts and stomach. what was speaking to you?
I don't think you wanted to read it because you knew. maybe you didn't. it's a memory hazed and forgotten.
marbles kept in a plastic bright green container on your brother's bookshelf when you were a child.
you liked the dark metal ones best. were they magnetic? you liked them best. scratch and sniff stickers of
things like coffee and pasteries were there too. imagination took you to a nice warm table with your mother
there. but she wasn't around, and neither was dad. that's alright, now though.
pale yellow curtains with tiny polkadots that were bumpy. white walls and a closet for story telling.
a pale yellow pillow that was soft, and your only best friend. thin white stripes, and rarely washed.
I remember watching you sob on it once, when you were a little girl. it was daylight outside and you
had a pain in your chest. stomach, face down, into the pillow; red face, hot tears, screams. why were you
crying that way, at that time? I can't truly recall...
you used to draw a lot. and write a lot. but then one day she made you bag them all up in a white
garbage bag and threw them away. you said they were for your mother, for when you saw her next.
perhaps they didn't think you'd see her again for another long long while.
hey, memories flood sometimes when you're ready to think about them. when God lets you recall.
big fat purple hat on your whatever-ith birthday. favorite solar system long sleeved glow in the dark
soft black shirt on, with washed out black jeans. you kept calm, and held it in. good, kid. I wish I could have
known you better. houseshoes, always. it was the rule.
onto other things. blue tongues from blue paintbrush suckers. standing on vents that were from the
floor with your big t-shirts on and bare feet. daisy's in the backyard, picked with your mother.
grandma says you were a happy child. a happy child.
bladder is about to burst because I like to hold it in. hey, my second least favorite is orange, like that.
people feel safe when their feet are on the ground. but there are aliens that live underneath. ironic?
it's all in the flesh, it's all in death. be happy, the day when you die! be sad the day, when one is born..
I know you don't believe me, and it's not expected for you to I guess. but there is one that is waiting
within one of these eggs inside of me that will bring forth, by the hand of God and the love of a man;
a child. "You Are Intended To Love." and so, it will be. just don't be so certain things so well understood.
but seeds always tell the truth; they will either live or die and they are honest. purity in a child's eye!
ah, what fluid minds. I really like white white paper without lines and fresh school supplies.
happy rules, and helping hands.
I saw your mother in the glint of fire. light came from it, and warmth. she was on the other side,
and was smiling at me. she loves me, in this moment. she loves me, again. there is something warm
in my arms; sometime small, and new, and pure. she wants it in her arms, and I allow this, with a safeness
in my heart. I understand that she is a part of what she is holding. it is her blood, and she has wisdom
held in her mind of what is to come for the child's life. I don't see you there, and I'm not looking for you.
"At times, you will mother your children alone."
today, corinne.