I’m a long way from the ocean.
For salty air,
I renounce my despair
and end up among the waves.
I can’t whisk away
every time I have a day.
Some days, I’m alone,
even though you promised I would
-how do I stand beside you when you’re always at the ocean?
we’re spinning round
brings us to the ground.
I have the heart of a musician but cannot stay in key to save my life. For years, I was distraught knowing there is a passion that I cannot fulfill, but then I met you. I have the heart of a musician; I hope he doesn’t want it back.
-the right key
He says that I have been making so many metaphors that I am starting to look like one.
I fall in love with those words, before asking for an example.
“Which metaphor am I becoming?”
And to my dismay, he can’t think of a single example.
It seems I’m always intrigued by the ones that say the right things,
but I’m also a sucker for things in writing:
Right now I am sitting in my car and wondering to myself:
Do I want someone who thinks of me as art
Do I want someone who makes me into art?
In case you were wondering, I finally cleaned the yellow glass lantern off my bathroom floor. I learned to love that metaphor, but not as much as the relief of trashing each broken piece. Today, two similar -yet unique in color- lanterns reside in the same place. They hold light and I’m sure they won’t break anytime soon.
I hope they won’t.
-more than a metaphor // refer to 12.03.17
Ripped, retro, ready,
she slips into her kicks.
You see, girls used to be pretty in pink…and heels, and
whatever else they say-
but today continues a new age:
one where rules are made to be broken and
fashion is whatever feels best on your skin.
My momma always says,
“Never leave the house without lipstick.”
I used to laugh before I realized:
some rules are not spoken to be broken-
and your momma is almost always right.
-pretty in pink lipstick
Red cherry romance
Red cherry realm
Red, I’m really ready
to ravish your realm.
I hold you by the stem
myself I overwhelm
I try not to taste
this ruby red gem:
Red blissful Cherry,
I say one thing
and mean the contrary.
So, tell me would it be a total waste,
to not divulge
in a little taste?
To not sink teeth into
Flesh I’ve known:
a flesh much sweeter
than my own
A flesh so ripe
holds nothing too new-
just a Red that is red
after a season so blue.
-the waiting game