my bones on your bonesWhere is the moon?my bones on your bones by silklilies
I lost it when they ate my mouth. The
incompetence of my body is as patterned as a
drug habit, moving from morning abstinence to
to nightly desire. My mouth, gone, with
nothing to remember it by but sores and
And I can do nothing about it.
I look up and my throat stings with the rain.
I am exposed.
(Her eyes are the color of used pennies,
rotten leaves, caramalised sugar, breathing fish;
they make my stomach forget where it is,
amnesia becoming an internal distraction from emotion.
So strange, how one usually takes a body for granted
until it stops breathing.
possessionShe never loved me.possession by silklilies
The woman peering out from under her lashes, frowning slightly
with the lips pricked mauve and maroon, she was the Charon,
the sweet divinity of autumn leading me into the freezing
carved pillars of an uncertain October. The bruises of the season
came early; the tears formed in clusters, like pearls
just as July closed its mouth and I opened mine.
I was screaming.
She never loved me. She never wanted to.
The moony-winged shade of her eyes,
a grayish blossom of hair amidst the rest of the white,
blue and yellow
the spray of soft scent
as I leaned into her neon heartbeat
all glowed. My oesophagus burned
like she was made of chlorine. I told her,
my throat seizing, that she was beautiful.
My choke edified that she was glorious.
Another lurching sob informed her
that she was classic, unbelievable and brilliant.
The shifting of a muscle that was merely biological in most species
|'Cause I dig... <3|
|A hero, if ever I had one.|
MovementThere’s enough anger in the airMovement by FuzzyHoser
to strangle anyone. Anyone can
say they’d do this or that. That
isn’t the point here. Here and now
makes our tomorrow. Tomorrow
is the focus. Focus on that – that
we need tomorrow. Tomorrow
will be our truth. Truth is noted
after the fact. Fact isn’t respected
in the now. Now is when we react
to what happened then. Then was
the foundation of it all. All must
recognize what is needed. Needed
now is ground to stand on. On this,
plant yourself – yourself, and not
someone else’s voice. Voice instead
your hope, your rage. Rage against
the wrongs, with your rights. Rights
ought to be as free as breath. Breath
should never be taken by hatred.
Dear Parents:Strike the soft skin of your children; leave marks.Dear Parents: by FuzzyHoser
Go on: show them how hard they must become
to be like you.
Mold them to be mindless: coach them to react
with fists; make them believe that words have
Shape them into an almighty monster: modern man.
Destroy their purity and imagination by damning them
with absurd words of a god who previous men
Teach children to follow a leader, and to not ever
break the circle they belong to, so society never
Above all: train them to question love, even your own.
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.
I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze
like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.
Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;
safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
The Town WitchEvery town has its witch. At least I think they do. I know ours does. She isn't scary like stories say she should be. She has a face like my older sister's, the one who isn't married yet, with an eager smile and bright eyes. Her hands though are like my Momma's, calloused and stretched with small roots under the skin.
Her cottage is just outside of town with a small path that runs down to the sea. Her garden is full of overgrown plants that Momma would always "tut" at when we walked by, but it's full of herbs and flowers that she tends with care. She always smells like the honeysuckle that grows around her door and like baking. She bakes often, with her windows thrown open, her singing drifting through her garden all way to the road, the thick sills stacked with rows of cooling pastries. She always leaves batches of small, sweet buns on the outer edge where us children could easily reach. Not that she ever let on that she knew we were taking them. It was the great game amongst us, pret
|I'm around if anyone needs to talk about anything. I miss being active with you guys and a part of your lives, so any time anyone needs an ear - I'm around. And if I don't know you, you're still welcome to give me a shout. Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes, and I never mind listening (or reading) anything.|
|I can't always keep up with proper thanks, but know that I do thank anyone who reads anything of mine. |
Also, you're already welcome. So no need to thank me for a thing. (: