Current Residence: Texas|
Favourite genre of music: rock
red lanternsMaple leaves, an autumn scentred lanterns by autumn-spirit
clings to your manila paper skin.
Irresistible luck; tomorrow dies in your veins.
It's all an act; a ruse, cliché monologue.
We play this part in front of others,
trying desperately and sadly
to convince our families and neighbors
that we're just as straight
as the other kids around us;
going to baseball games and having fun,
puffing on cigarettes that
we'd rather throw away, in a ditch;
forget about misogyny, glossy lips.
It isn't fair how society forces
both girls and boys to take on
specific roles just because of
how they look on the outside.
Adults don't care how we really feel..
Underneath these costumes, we're dying.
"Boys shouldn't wear makeup.
Girls shouldn't be tough.."
Whatever, you see, I think
we were all made different.
So I don't see the point of all this.
I'm not denying anything, dear.
Life is too short.
Why can't they understand?
We trade glances behind our parents' backs.
At the lotus lantern festival,
I see you and I want so badly
Sunflower SoulTucson lullaby, Spanish verse;Sunflower Soul by autumn-spirit
I couldn't forget you if I tried.
Even though it was just a bar
where we met in an insignificant
backwoods town; even though it was just
a wrinkled t-shirt that you wore,
it made your blue eyes stand out
and I was hooked from the start.
Southern boy, it's hard to know you sometimes.
Your childhood was rough;
your daddy mean and your
mama never said much,
not even in defense of
your unique personality.
It was tragic how they didn't get you at all;
always had you pegged for a freak,
even your parents believed you had
been brought down from heaven by mistake;
dropped on a stranger's porch.
It was weird but we collided
when a truck almost hit me.
Pulling me back, you said,
"Didn't your mama ever tell you,
'Look both ways before crossing the street?'"
I was embarrassed, my cheeks flushed pink.
But you gave me this fearless smile that
won my trust almost instantly.
"Wanna drink?" you asked, motioning
towards this place called Jerry's Grill
on Sierra Street.
5th Avenue Dream45th Street is nothing but a wish5th Avenue Dream by autumn-spirit
made on a drunken Saturday;
incoherent and insecure,
missing someone, not knowing
where to go or how to make
the darkness a little brighter
with just a plastic flashlight
and some matches buried deep
in your pockets from that
dinner meeting a week ago
at that fancy steakhouse.
When you thought you were
through with all this nonsense;
unrequited, one sided conversations
and his absence made evident
on store bought lilac postcards,
just when you thought you'd had
enough of high school crushes;
handsome ghosts, coming back
from another era; 19th century politeness,
Roaring 20s jazz eyes and hombergs;
this kid who made you fall in love
years ago revives the once silent
theater in your chest.
Oh isn't it unfair;
how you never get it right,
move on, be a grown-up
for just one day?
Oh why did he have to
come back from the dead;
make you think about
Washington cherry blossoms,
chemistry notes and
the cool tingling on your lips
when he bent ov
MetairiePretty eyes; electric night in the city,Metairie by autumn-spirit
Tennessee dare-devil in 90s baggy jeans.
You make me blush in my daddy's old truck.
Rest stop; motels lining the highway,
this is where we grew up, Southern fire;
you and I were born to run free.
Lost time between 5th grade and high school;
I don't want to be the reason
you leave this town behind,
chase your dreams all the way to Memphis,
forget the 19 year old who
held your heart in his hand
for a moment of weakness,
of teenage wanting gone wild
and a last minute kiss.
Rocky soil, tumultuous past;
it's all so confusing when
you're told not to feel
at an early age, an age
when all you want is to
believe in Neverland, fly away.
And nobody can take our childhood from us,
not by force, not by belt whips and
curse words slurred in the kitchen,
the strong scent of moonshine.
Cowboy pride gone down the drain;
my daddy was a mean old man,
but I made it out of his brutal house
in time to find you and
after all, I'm never letting go.
Trademark Jesus; Bib
pills and powdersthe taste of medicine on his tongue is sour,pills and powders by smallsincerities
bitter and ugly.
it seeps into his bones and
but i never saw anything wrong in the first place,
and if anything were ever unnatural,
it would be the way his eyes
hazed over and unfocused
under the influence of a thousand drugs
that tamp down his brain,
until he speaks with a deadened tone,
and finds cracks in the wall funny.
a spoon full of lies makes the medicine go down-
'of course, if you take this,
we'll let you out.'
just swallow, swallow,
i haven't seen an ocean-hearted boy in
four years, two months, and seventeen days.
they replaced him with a blank-eyed fake,
a doll. pretty, but empty.
i never liked dolls much.
once upon a time,
this boy was my best friend.
my heart ran away.home is where the heart is,my heart ran away. by smallsincerities
they whisper, nails dragging harshly across the pale skin
on the inside of my arms-
and i don't mind, because at least then
there are other things that hurt more,
much more, like the
criss-crossed tracks of syringes,
marking their travel voyages,
mapping out a galaxy on the parchment stretched across my bones.
you've been here, here and here.
up and down, up and down, up and down.
down, down, down.
you never managed to get back up, did you?
if home is where the heart is,
then mine is buried in the center of a white-washed forest,
swimming in a sea of blood-
but i'm still holding it into my chest with both hands,
because it's precious; please stay heart,
i won't punish you anymore.
it clawed its way out again, anyway.
so i sewed it back in,
but the stitches were all wonky,
and i never learned to use a sewing machine.
i was always better at destruction than creation,
but it's still disheartening when something you tried to fix
falls apart anyway.