In the Field

I am standing in the field once again 
Watching as the tall yellow grass sways with the wind 
Moving as if like a river 
I feel I am ready for death but yet no where near it 
Staring at the sky I think of your pretty smile and how you held me without a single thought of tomorrow
You are gone 
So why are you not gone

As the sun goes down
I stood there as I saw our love burn into ashes 
I watched as it danced across the night sky like a million fireflies 

"It is gone now" I say crying
Thinking god this hurts so much but it's beautiful to watch the summer night sky 
I will never be able to catch every single firefly 
Never be able to gather up every shard of our love and put it back together 

I am standing in the field once again 
Leaving my lost soul to wonder 
Was this summer or just decay?

Only for you

I am only moving parts 
I am only a doll 
only for you
I will surrender my dignity
and body 
to enjoy a one night-stand that will indicate exactly 
how lonely I am 
only for you

Only you 
have come here lurking for sex,
that is much like candy 
Only you are sweet 
for a moment 
Then gone
Only you

Only with you
I am no person 
I am no human 
only with you 
I will put my life and needs aside 
to bow to your every lustrous need

Only you have come to my profile
Looked at my photos 
and messaged me 
"heyy wanna some fun tonite?"
Only you 
showed the rest of the world what being gay is all about

I suddenly need to throw up

Some people get butterflies
I have monsters
They dwell in my stomach and when the
time comes they eat and eat
All the way up to my heart
Till I’m pale as ghost
And I suddenly need to throw up
Silently being eaten alive

Free writing- Colors and Perfumes

I shall leave the earth in a flash of color. I can’t write. I can’t hug. I can’t do nothing. Remember when I was little and I broke a plate? Mom told me it was ok, but I cried anyway. Because it was so a pretty plate. I shot him and hid his body in a ditch. The boy never learns. Binders and folders line the floor. Books and papers are in those boxes. I missed old TV. I love color. Dresses and jewelry. I loved watching my mom get ready. The smell of her hairspray. Her perfume. It stayed in the bathroom for hours. I miss my dog. I cry over words of holy gospel. I fear the Lord. I don’t know if he will love me considering what I’ve done and who I am. I love men. They comfort me. School dance. The light blinds me. My boyfriend bothers me. He annoys me. I can’t stop, I’m too fast. The train kept going. The grass is green. Roses are red. Flowers are nice. The tree was fragile, frail, and weak. Olivia Gatwood is a good poet. I love the way she speaks. The way she moves. How she brings action to the dead words of her poems. She speaks to my soul. I love walking. I love music. Florence Welch i very dear to me. She could almost be my mother. I’ve never read Mody Dick, but I want to. It seems good. I’m reading House of Leaves right now. 10 pieces of bread gets the birds going. The bakers moving. Writing is good. I’m good at writing. I want to cook more. Julia Child was a great person. I want to go to France, it seems like a nice place. The bakers yells, the markets are alive, and people are everywhere. The French streets breathe people in and out. I want to see the old buildings. The churches. The museums. I want to be a better artist. Picasso is my role model. I love him and his 6,000 paintings. I want to be Jim Dine. I want to love his poetry. To lick, fuck, and cuddle every word. I wan to crave his art. To eat, taste, and savor every single one of his prints. Bite into their fruity, voluptuous colors and lines. I hated taking swimming lessons at The Lodge. I hated boy scouts. I wanted to be in girl scouts. Selling cookies. I’d be happy eating those the rest of my life. I miss sand. Beaches. The waves are blue and the sky is a light blue. I want to be done with school. I want to use better words. Like lackluster or scatterbrain. Big kid words, I mean for god sake. Grow up. I think I’m ok at art. I love Andy Warhol and how he popped up. I love his art. I savor it. I love Janis Joplin. Her hair and her hard soft wrinkly voice, and 70s style. It was the 70s, but I still love her style. I love the 70s. The colors, hippies, and love is on my brain. I love the clothing, the mini skirts, the dresses, the boots, the hair, the hippies, the music. I think I’m a flower child at heart, but I live in the present. I remember Parker’s 7th birthday party. They had animals like snakes over because he was a kid and thought it was bad ass. There’s a photo that was taken there showing me, Parker,and others holding a super big and large snake. I remember in that moment thinking “my god this thing could eat me”

Human

I love the intoxicating
cold goosebump-like sensation 
of 

when a speaker's lips smack 
while he chats and preaches his speech into the mic
into the ears of the audience 
in a auditorium 

When the bar is quiet 
only soft music or TV plays 
The bartender wipes a glass 
and I sit in my red bar stool and drink

when librarians at the library would 
whisper their voice 
to break the relentless public 
silence that buried itself into the air 

or when the latest lover of mine 
would lower their voice to talk into 
my ear, 
sweet-nothings 

I love the muted atmosphere 
of art museums 
where the paintings are vibrant and bare 
and the only other thing apparent
is the tapping of other's shoes 

These are human things I love 
Human things that I believe connect us together 
with invisible strings
of human things

Crush

If one thing was to survive the end of anything, 
It would be love. 
The simple, 
complex 
feeling 
of when I see my crush  
in my Pre-calculus course 
Every time I see him, He stops me to say hi
And I want to say what's on my mind,
but when I open my mouth to speak I can only say,

hey, 

Smile,
look away and walk
sit down in my seat
and just stare at him 
when he stares at the teacher and the board 

And I think to myself
Build the courage 
tell him ya love him 
Yeah just tell him
and it seems so easy 
but when I approach 
my knees begin to crumble like saltine crackers you get with soup that get mashed in the bottom of a grocery bag
I get scared 
So the love for him stays 
in my brain
in the lonely moments I stare at my room's ceiling 
in a box that I will lock up and pack into a basement corner where I will unpack it one day and say I forgot about this and carry it with me like I do now

Pride

I am proud of who I am 
Proud of who I've become 
Proud of who,
of who I've ever been 
I'm never embarrassed

When the tree is finally grown,
is it ashamed of the seed?

I like to think that,
I have always been a seed,
fighting to be sprouting for new life

I am proud of what I've ever done
Every action I've made
Every bad and good decision 

Shouldn't a president be proud after winning war 
Proud of what they achieve, 
Not what they've done?

I am full of pride

Family

Suddenly I'm falling 
Feel like I'm slipping through 
the fingers of the world 
and I think to 
myself 
Here it is.

The end.

I have no family behind me.
Lose grip,
wet, 
I slip.  
Off the ledge

Then abruptly I'm caught, 
as fast as I fell
by friends

With childish feelings, 
of not caring 

We run through the parking lot 
The foreign exchange students, Elan, and I 
after brunch 
It was so cold, but we really didn't care 
Ran, 
jump, and 
twirl 

I flail into its arms.
Hair flown
Body twitches 
I dance to it. 

The feeling saturates me in
its greatness
Among the crumpling 
concrete and melting snow 
Saying, 
yes

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