bursts of orange

Cross legged, shoes on the ground beside her she stares intently at the sky, "with me friend it's always the same" she breezily explains, "Trouble sleeping only brings dimensions to my lucidity His breath on my back heats my insides How do I tell him I need room? That I am the irony bespoke in char coloured flowers I hope and I ache then shun serendipity I wanted a him before he came Now I want instead both sides of my bed the whole of me and the silence of REM... How do I tell All the hims ?" **Conversations outside and other things**  The Above Average Yearning Heart

He said casually over his chocolate cake "Do you see this glass? Glory is resplendent beauty or magnificence, a distinguished ornament or an object of pride. An object attains glory,  if it serves the purposes intended by its creator anything contrary robs it of this glory In our eyes The cracks in this glass make it inglorious... Because we are aware they were unintended In your eyes The cracks in you make you inglorious... Because you assume they were unintended Struggle as you might you are glorious So leave well enough alone..."   **Conversations over food and other things**  The Agnostic Theologian

We sigh pebbles of regret They trickle down only to be muffled by the carpet of wasted wants Mother always warned they would come Pillagers of youth Muddying eclectic energies She never warned of a lesser self Or she didn't know to So daughters waste away gritty magnificence For the sake of false deities Lie themselves into prosaic emotionality Because the glow frightens them As it was not foretold So daughters walk around dulled A mismatch of dormant and emerging Etheric, Astral and Mental energies Sent forth with no instruction in alignment... No instruction in being their best selves.                                                                                                                                                                         

In my Doldrum… This shallow of ennui I won’t come ashore until I catch a big wave To him whose demons are cathartic to my own That we may both be awash.

I have lain you down Underneath my avocado tree Next to my other broken crys I have lain you down but there you need not stay Return, Don't turn back I'll write you into my living, See you in foggy mornings and dusty boots a walking I''ll douse you on my lapel wear you in the ticking of my watch Till you're out of sight and gone for good Return, Don't turn back I'll sit down and braid those grass crowns you gifted me so often I was supposed to be part of a gypsy caravan  Not a solitary flower girl in much too chunky bracelets Where did you go friend? If I trail behind you will I pick up the path?

I am told not to punctuate my smileys But like the random capitalisation in my typing I always seem to speak in emphasis It is my constant internal climate A clime that dramatises the weather A clime that pops and crackles as it changes One never quite stable but always promising..

It's silly to leave your peace in the turmoil of calloused hands Admist the grooves of dried up blisters piled up on themselves from labours of love Labours through guitars, drums or bassed undertones and yet you find yourself trudging through the mud to be held in those hands The laying on of hands should heal, be the shawl that wraps you in feelings of solidity So why are you shivering in the cold? Is the journey the alms you must pay to stop the tick that makes you rub your female scar? You know the one.. The one that you've always had and seems ever changing The one you get the first time you are made to truly feel the weight of your gender The one that itches every time you are counted among this number The one you brandish as your induction.. So here I am soaked to my knees, rubbing at my scar, furiously determined to get where peace waits.

I find senselessness in the judgement of the layers... those that live on their backs It does not instantly invoke misery from that place my femininity lives Nor measures of wastefulness from embedded social neuroses It seems that my transitions happen in my laying down Somewhere in ceilings are the maps of my life Embedded in walls are the stacked cards In trailing sheets... Dented pillows... Bunched up duvets... I find the complicated dancing that turns thoughts into reality The freeing two step that guides her as she emerges from our laying down To a spring that has sprung just for us .

# BlackBeforeBurstsofOrange Your bitterness reaches into me in threadlike waves... Feeling around in my mind like antennae seeking out the weakness and fear, poking and prodding with fierce decision How can I battle an evil that rings such truth? Truth that lies beneath the scab of my seemingly fresh wounds, wounds once gaping tearing my insides with the intensity of their pain You seek to open them anew Awaken the void beneath them so it may swallow me whole and regurgitate me covered in bitterness and hate Bring back what once was... Throw away years of patchwork and seasons of re layering heaping myself in a stable facade Isn't it enough that no one sees me through the murk? Your bitterness reaches into me in threadlike waves... weaving in and out of  my subconscious leaving wispy emotion evoking thoughts in their wake thoughts and emotions that bring me to the point of ripping the scabs off myself The void may consume me but in chaos there is the calm of

Is where you are better for you? Where coloured sand bejewels the breeze Softly whipping through the air Whispering "I acknowledge your soul and I will carry it for you to summers beyond" To which you drop down Free to embody captured gusts of kinfolk and live anew

Are you like me? Cutting yourself with pieces of experience Pieces of eternal silence Wielding bloody bits of your twenties to make patterns for remembrance Vain and selfish strokes but like me, you pray real Or is where you are better for you?

The juices that i drip, like shadow on brick Seen but not felt Are you like me? Leaving organs on the pavement Let them use them to sound happiness lilting cadences of living Spray painting pulses on the wall See them connect the static to need Sparking voltages of survival But they walk by Leaving glances and sighs Stealing impressions and feelings But they walk by... The Juices that I drip, like shadow on brick Seen but not felt. Are you like me?

Studies of woven patterns Knitted into the grain of my quarter life count my rings Opaque Proud Conceited