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cirque de la nuit

Blush Crush

It was a scorcher of a day.
My friends and I were sprawled out on the hot plastic mats next to the track behind our high-school.
Classes were out for the day but practice hadn’t started yet.

We splayed on our backs, our heads almost touching and stared up at the Colorado blue sky.
There wasn’t a cloud in sight

“Do you have any girl crushes?” M casually drawled.
I could always be honest with friends back then,
the kind of friendships that last through fire.

“Of course.”

Even then I made no distinction on that issue.
I was never attracted to women.
But I admired them, was inspired by them…
when Nikki Giovanni smiled at me as a teen, my cheeks got very hot, my nerves got tangled, and I lost every word I’d ever learned.

What is that, if not a crush. and what is a crush if not dazzling admiration.

I told them who my girl crush was,”But you cannot tell her.” My glare was not as ferocious back then, but i tried.
“She’s so beautiful, and talented. I think she’ll be better than me at pole vault….but mostly she is kind and sweet. SO kind. I wish I could be as kind as her…”

“You are” my friends had chimed in. Because friends know what you need to hear.

_______

I can fully admit that right now my girl crush-in magazine form– is Loam.

It’s just lush, and gorgeous and reads like a dream, all fluid and familiar.

It vibes at an atmospheric frequency and I’m currently crushing hard.

shhhhh.
Don’t tell.

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Away

*this one is for anyone who has lost someone… that is still living*

 

 

I fell to earth with wax on my wings
and you stayed above
golden and prim

the impact knocked the breath from my lungs
and the forgiveness from my tounge

How I hated you

I rebuilt my life with bricks, mortar and
a sad bit of bitterness
knee deep in the rawness of earth

while you smiled above on your pearl-lined streets
my name, a sin on your lips.

The seasons shifted seamlessly
my hands toughened in the winter snows
and my skin thickened in the spring rains.

I thought of you basking in the warm sunlight with less vitriol
and more resignation.

I made my muddy world cozy
and created a home on the promontory
facing into the harsh winds.

There finally came a time
when your feathers rained from the sky
and my old wounds bled for you

I wondered if one day I might invite you in
out of the cold scrupulosity
into my imperfectly lush world.

 

Auf Wiedersehen

“Why linger where you aren’t wanted?”

Indeed.

You will always be the villain in someones story.

But there are no virtuous victims in this life.
Only victims

So you may as well
light your cigarettes on the bridges they burn down in front of your eyes.
Whisper only to yourself, “I am not afraid of the depths”.

Viaducts were built by the conquerors.
The creators learned to swim.

 

 

**Sigrid is a great artist to check out when you are feeling un-apologetically you….**

Malaise (an ode to hormonal based anxiety)

Once a month for about 5 days straight, I’m ensconced in an eerie malaise because the entire world is horrifically skewed towards a random skin color, white and it seems an impossible feat to bring a sense of cultural, ethnic, and racial equality not to mention the injection of religion which don’t even get me started on religious folks i grew up with the churchgoing happy ones who donated time and money to helping the less fortunate but would still completely cast out and deny their own flesh and blood should that deign to express any non-religious based sentiment or lifestyle…..but not just that along with the world being a mess i have to fix myself and how do you do that when all you seem to be is a collection of stubborn vices, unwritten stories, and an ancient soul I’m talking a soul so old it was carved from the very first geologic formation and then i get angry at myself for being myself and angry at everyone else for also not being myself and then comes the fear in the pit of my stomach, rising just beneath the rib cage what if this time I truly am slipping into insanity coupled with a depression that will turn me into a less talented Sylvia Plath that will never write a magnum opus because i’m crippled by those vices that no being or god can absolve me of and i surf the tide of fear straight into judge and blame because how dare my partner not have the same drive, dream and goals as i, i who was raised by parents who challenged and pushed me so hard that I am independent and motivated and don’t need reminding or poking to do the simplest of things…those same parents that loved me into a tight cocoon so painful it took a dip into a spiraling depression to make me pursue my own happiness…am i happy, but am i really happy and should i even aim to be happy or should I aim to be content and pursue happy, is it obtainable for someone like me, or am i driven solely because i live on the cusp of happiness if I obtain happiness completely will i cease to exist, will I cease to be me and how will i know when I’m really really me, and how come i am not working harder today, i worked so much harder yesterday and now my mind cannot focus on a simple task for more than 5 minutes, but its not ADD because I don’t believe in ADD, its fine for other people, but not for myself, because I’m too lazy to have ADD which doesn’t exist, but i couldn’t have it anyways as evidenced by my supreme laziness that allows my home to be a wreck sometimes…I need to write, I have to write, but i don’t want anyone to read it because if they touch it if they peruse the text then the story no longer exists as it does, perfect in my own imperfect handwritten world with yellow crispy pages. And aaaahh i feel a little better now, i feel more solid and balanced now, I feel back to “normal” now. As normal as a chameleon can feel.

Thanks Mother Nature.

 

Neon Black

The kind of black I am
gives people pause

the kind of black that..
well

fades into blackness

you won’t see me as black
and you won’t
hear
me as black

I’m far too dark
to ever been
taken lightly

I’m the quiet black
the creative black
the eccentric black

the undiscovered black

the uncharted vacuum of black

the kind of black that inspired rock and roll

the kind that punk rock wears
that blues black

the kind that hovers
just below the surface
of every deep seated roiling emotional outburst

The kind of black
I am

makes all other shades of black
pale
in utter consternation

“How can I be black
when I act/talk/feel/create/groove
like that?”

The kind of black
that looks in the mirror
in the dark
and sees only
a neon gleaming smile.

 

 

Glowing Cheshire cat created with acrylic, neon & glow in the dark paints on foam board.

Princess

Strange child

with fingers in the rocks

collecting ants

and rescuing roly polies

Wild child

sleeping on the floor

barefoot on the concrete

smelling of chlorine

with sunburned eyes

writing of castles in the sky

and dreaming of a crown

Innocent child

Determined child

thinking a crown

doesn’t come attached to

a wedding

a marriage

a life that is not yours.

Become a

strong woman

creating crowns of paper

and words

that lie weightlessly on her head

her calloused fingers

adorned with spoon jewels

feet no longer bare

but still starry eyed

 

 

 

 

Don’t Think

You cannot fathom
So don’t try
Please

Trust me
Believe me
When I show you

The jagged scars.

Even if I don’t

Even if you never touch the
Pulsing wounds in my soul

Please
Still

Believe me.

I am The warrior.

The dull red blood
Of men who opposed me
Adorns my face

The crushed bones of
The undead
Grinds beneath my heel.

When I welcome you
Inside my Nefreteri palace.

I want you

To wear your leathery skin
Or taste your salty lips

The needs of my kind
Are few

Red Bone

At night the world shivers
and shudders
with cold exhales
of uncertainty

Its skin ripples
and heaves
with tainted perfection

undeserving penance paid
for our existence.

we were young once
digging red earth
with our bare fingers

searching for stones and bones

what blissful oblivion
is youth–
when you don’t have
to know
and if you do know
its a tragedy of horrors.

Now we search the world over
trying to obtain
a mere semblance
of the peace
of the curiousity
of the freedom

we found in red bones.

 

the kiss

I almost forgot

on my way to bed.

I’d said goodnight and
given a light
quick kiss

the dog was weaving around me
between us and ready to
dash up the stairs.

I’d given a smile
and was on my way
tripping on the dogs paws

I thought of my hands.

“use your hands”

I walked back over to him
he was surprised.

I leaned down
gently placed both hands
on either side of
his face

his beard full and rough
against my hands
my fingerstips brushed his cheekbones

I dropped my lips against his
slowly increasing the pressure

it was a purposeful
intimacy I’d almost forgotten

how to create.

the rain

It was raining that morning.
But it started as a light drizzle,
basically just bits of water
kissing your skin
as they fell to the earth.

We decided to go for a walk
to brush off the sleepiness
that clung to us like a dream.

He was wearing his flannel shirt

before we reached our destination
the rain turned into a pour
and we were drenched

huddling under a tree

I was upset, and shaking off the wetness
saying we should run for cover.

He looked down at me.

“We are going to get wet either way,
we might as well walk in it.”

And that told me everything I needed to know
about him.

Neon City

Take my hand
Please

ignore the dirt under the nails
and the blood dribbling down
down down
and dropping
from my pinky

Just take my hand

Follow me.

this maze of a city
is the labyrinth that protects my

scarred up heart
but if you trust me

I can lead you through.

don’t ignore the snares
or skip over the trap doors.

they hurt for a reason

wander into the dark with me
feel the stony uncertainty that permeates
damp air.

When you’ve reached the nadir

you’ve found my peak

and we can look together over my neon city

Cobain Flame

He drank 4 vodkas
with orange juice

and I drank a bottle of champagne

as our lips loosened
an entire city was constructed
theoretically with sturdy
wooden beams and
exposed brick surfaces

our architecture of conjecture
was imperfect
yet ideal

as you age
you reflect
on the future
and you collect poise
for whats to come
you regret your fate before its happened
by fearing the ruination of
what could
be

I could live a thousand tomorrows
stretching into the uncertain void
one solid day at a time

or I could snuff out
like a Cobain flame

paused in tragic infamy

But though my head aches
and roars with throbbing regularity
I will not regret
the impulse to
consume life
whatever the consequences
may
be

 

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