Mine

Smudging blood on my papers,

putting lavender in my books.

I always use such extremes when claiming things.

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Getting High

I started smoking again just to prove how over you I am.

I found 5 pointed stars in my bed,

Tore my sheets and poked microscopic holes in my mattress.

A dip in the terrain for every night you’ve spent.

I sleep over 3D maps and contemplate earthquakes now.

The mountains you created make knots in my back,

My lows don’t feel so low anymore;

While the highs,

Hurt a hell of a lot more

Than the lows

Ever did.

Fishnets

I wish my jeans were smaller

that I would speak less about things I don’t know about.

Even with my size

I feel I carry such heavyweight;

In my words

or my expressions.

I walk with my head down

and I have a nice curve down my spine.

I’m always carrying a backpack

and my shoes are too tight.

I crash into strangers

because I think I take up too much space.

Blue vs. Orange

I went to an estate sale.

A woman was selling a baby blue guitar.

“It’s yours — I’m moving to Aruba.”

And off I went with baby blue in hand.

As Blue as an Aries,

was the name of the band.

There was a boy in navy blue swim trunks playing in a South Jersey blue hole.

I blushed at the site of him — pink.

I put down my guitar and started to paint my hair shades of blue.

Streaky and soft,

like watercolor ink.

I found a man in orange,

offering me warm bearded kisses.

I didn’t want them but I was cold.

“This could be a good move for me,” I thought.

I went to the bathroom to wash the paint out,

but the whole room was blue.

Silver

I don’t feel pretty when I wear my glasses;

I wear them anyway.

My hair’s getting long now

The weight of my head

Makes it pin straight

It goes right to hell.

My skull feels swollen

I can feel calcium trying to mix with oxygen.

I’ve learned to not say hello to people who aren’t worth a sliver of my time, or

More appropriately put;

A single strand

Of my silver stardust gorgeous hair.

Enough

I missed the night.IMG_3698

I smoked passion flower,

left a water bottle open in my bag,

slept with lipstick and glitter

for 12 hours and it’s still not enough.

You were in my dream–

at least a part of you was.

My childhood fish friend decided to move in with me.

It’s always dark now,

in every dream,

Blue, Black, Grey silvers of light

form the non-existing moon bounce off of puddles and trees.

I want to hide.

I want to be seen.

I don’t know which one I want more.

I am surrounded by vomit,

hay,

and sleepiness,

and disappointment.

When did everything I write become so dark?