A salvo of magic into the world.

I’ve been sleeping terribly the last few days.
(or do I feel that way every day?)

I just realized why.
(and it’s a good reason why)

🙂

There are so many creative project ideas in my head.
(thatIwanttothrust a salvo of magic into the world!)

I want to do it all.  (I feel good)
and that makes me happy.

{that’s not a hyperlink, #beeteedubz.
#bluetext
#iwonderhowmanypeopleclickedon”good?”}         anyway

That’s why
I’ve been getting
terrible
sleep.

[HASHTAG]nightynight

Image128

Inside and inside out.

I fucked up. I made mistakes. I regret them. I am learning from them. I am losing from them. I am dying inside from them. Inside and inside out.

I thought I had figured out more about myself than I have. I thought I had figured out more about you than I have. All of you. But mostly you.

I look for the silver lining without getting carried away. There are shiny things to reach for and hold onto. Forgivenesses wrapped in all the things you don’t want done to you, all the things you don’t want to do to others.

I wade in the sludge of the black inside the silver lines. Before any changes can be made.

Triskaidekaphobia.

Coaster poetry for Michael Van Horn, who provided the inspirational word:

Triskaidekaphobia.

10, 11. They’re OK. What’s your name again? Your plastic limbs don’t fit in here. You’re cold and calculating. 9+3 = twelve. Twelve times I said I was done. with you. You and your 20 fingers. You and your 15 ‘little white lies’ to put me aside, and 13 ways to pretend you don’t love me. You said your favorite color was red. I should’ve known then. I should’ve known that our heads wouldn’t mend. Together.

Persipacious.

Coaster poetry for Christi, who provided the inspirational word:

Persipacious.

You say blue, I say gray. You see the sun, I see turbulence, vitriol, and mangled decay. You always wanted to live then. French Revolution. In your sodded petticoat and shaved matted hair, swept down cobblestone streets in this week’s ferment. Will you regret that you pushed me out the window? or do you just like the sound of “defenestration”, the way it rolls off your forked tongue? You use to scrub your eyeballs clean.

Sublime.

Coaster poetry for Rachel, who provided the inspirational word:

Sublime.

wait. yell my name in to the ceiling. I’ll do it too, with yours. but you have to look up. up up up up. they watch us through the rafters and let them go. the sounds. if. we push just perfectly. Do you hear them laugh when we pretend? Winks are echoed through eyelashes. eyelashes dance upon cheeks like trees on breezes. You are my favorite tree. I don’t give words to the truths I carry. They’re just for us. just for us and scream when I scream.