Be My Socks

I woke

up to the

memories of

pain. Like fresh

feet on a

sticky floor,

I wanted to step

to the ground

and feel only

the smooth wood,

but today was

not that day.

 

Advertisements

My Dream Last Night

I dreamt of a

beast last night,

a beast that had

fallen in love with

me,

a beast that terrorized

the town until I

loved him back.

I reluctantly put

my hand in his,

and maybe I loved

everyone else

more than myself,

or maybe deep

down I longed

for the fiery passion

of the beast,

because love is

suppose to hurt,

right?

 

 

That Quiet Buzz

That sound of all

the things existing,

like the robotic hum

and clunk of the

dryer I use to listen to.

 

But no,

its not really like

listening.

It melts into me

until I don’t

need to  hear it.

And when the sudden

silence jerks me,

I’m left wondering

what feels

so empty.

shoes

Her shoe broke

on the brick

sidewalk,

a hollow heel

followed by

a hollow trot

like the sound

of a horse.

‘Thats so punk’

he told her

when she crossed

her  legs revealing

the wounded

sole.

She stared at

the coffee drop

rolling down

the edge of the

table.

How bizarre it

was to her that her

scattered stains,

loose strings

and hollow heels

could be anything

other than the

manifestation of

her own demons,

that perhaps

it could

be something

 

punk.

My star

FullSizeRender.jpg

I woke up this morning feeling utterly useless. I’m ashamed to admit how insecure I am in my art and in myself. I’m ashamed to admit the horrible things I say to myself, how I am never happy with the things I make. And this morning as I creep out from under my shell I feel the overwhelming urge to share these things I never dared to utter. So please listen to me, please someone, something take this horrible hate that lives inside of me away. I am so tired of hating myself, I am so tired of never feeling good enough. I just want to be loved. I want to be loved by myself. I want to paint beautiful things, I want to create earth-shattering gorgeousness. And today I feel so extremely far from all of my goals that they appear as small as a star. Will I ever reach my star?

Pink Cellophane

Mythical brightness

in pink cellophane

glistens around

a spiraled sweet.

Do you wish to hear

the whispers of

crunchy plastic

as you untwist it,

undress it?

And when you

bite into it,

how refreshing

it is to find that

it tastes all too

familiar.

Salvia builds

and the sweetness

touches the back

part of your

mouth that

makes you

smile.

 

Its gone.

Broken Doll

Reconstructed porcelain

doll, painted eyes

and beauty in her

fragility.

But if you were

to reach out to

stroke her cheek,

you’d recoil, only

to find a red drop

march down the

creases of your

finger.

Beauty she has, but

smoothness she lacks.

Perhaps she’s better

off sitting on your

shelf, a glorified

book end.