LSD

and the crevices of the
valley
held all the memories
reflected through
satellite dishes
onto back screens
of rose coloured petals
that only bloomed
if a child was
brave enough
to climb out of
the valley. And when
that child got her guts
and climbed, Every
flower bloomed
greater than the
first lotus flowers
in the garden of eden.
The petals sang floating
golden string choruses
of a thousand cellos.
The nectar inside was the taste
of a feeling when you touch
fingertips for the first time. And it
happened—the whole world was gifted with new
sense—because a child was brave enough to climb out of a valley.

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insomnia pt. ?

i was on the bus

i hardly ever take the bus

i looked up from my book

and out the window

in the corner of my eye

i saw your name

 

well not Your name

but the same name

you use

and then

like the man in my book

who saw a face in the ocean

i saw your face

in the window

well not Your face

but the shape of your face

reflected and refracted in the light

of the window

 

and my heart

dropped

a visceral, volatile drop

the feeling of a freefall

but in my chest

down to my stomach

and then i knew

it had started

i knew i was fucked

 

 

insomnia, cont.

anxiety isolates

the biggest smile

from the bluest eyes

 

reaching and reaching

falling away from breath

the moment before touch

 

whispering in my own ear

a troubling warning

of a never existing harm

 

the scolding mind

the pushing heart

expelling energy

into all the wrong caves

when it should be soaring

over a sounding sea

bk 2017

 

 

FML

when you start

falling

in love

it’s so hard

to fall asleep.

 

the warm light

birthing from my chest

spreading all the way

down to the ends of my toes

is a sunrise

in the middle of the night.

 

I bury my face

in my pillow

basking

and squirming

in the muchness

of it all.

 

 

it’s a whim of wonder,

a feeling I had forgotten

and

a sense of shame,

for being all consumed.

 

I lie awake

dreaming of all the things

that might be said

but mostly

I lie awake

terrified

because I’ve placed the power

in your eyes

and now you can truly hurt me.

everything happening all at once

my world exploded

not into a million little pieces

but into great shards of excitement, fear, pain, stress, disbelief, and love

 

and I find myself thinking:

has my luck ran out?

is this explosion the beginning of the end?

has the precarious balance of my life

been distorted?

 

or is this another awe-inducing moment

that lends itself to a happy ending

of a book that will never be written

but probably should?

 

Time no longer passes.

I use my time,

I experience my time,

I feel my time.

 

I might feel like I’m drowning.

but breaths I catch when I pull myself to the surface,

fill my lungs with the sweetest air

that I will ever taste.

 

I’m not living to write a book about my life.

but my thirst for experience is creating a life

that a book could be written about.

And I feel proud.