The Model

When I made funny faces
and the boys laughed
at me naturally

I thought
they were laughing
with me for so long

When I thought
to show off my ballet skills
to help them understand

my saute they laughed
but I wasn’t making a face

I wasn’t normal
my brain still doesn’t
process what IS
in time with the world

then they told me to move
off the couch
told me I wasn’t worthy

when i bit back
they called me out
as a dog

and then they labeled
me The Model
for not knowing my place
in the backround

i tried to get smaller
but my mouth wouldn’t
listen she was so pissed
but I wasn’t ready yet

words came without confedence
so the bigger
the louder my mouth
became the smaller I felt

honesty,
I’m still fighting this war
against my mouth
for talking before my body

and against my body
for thinking she should
be backround

and so
to breathe

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On Funny

I am not funny
in the moment
when I try to be
I don’t write anything
my funny is accidental

I am too sensitive for funny
so I don’t hear my words
until they’re outside
my head

into your ears
laughter floats
into your mouth
bubbles of funny
pop out to surprise me

refections of your
laugh make me laugh
but
my funny is accidental

The wick

Shattered on the roof
a candle softens the shards
so it’s possible to place them
into posable figurines

She likes the idea
of molding choas
into a soft ball and
shaping impossibly dense
human bodies

Decides to hurd them
into empty armies
helpless with their heads
so full, she smiles

until the wick times out
and Kaboom!
the world is blown apart
with the dark and her hands
shattered up here
on the roof

Don

In her sleeves drowned
bees drift in freeze dried hair
Someday fear will come
she will not die when it’s fair

When words fester 
chaos can be counted on
to show up dressed as grief
Curled into sleepless nights

under your sleeping bagged eyes
uncomfortably restricted thoughts
tossed dreams against your lashes

As she begins to absorb your passion
clarity and strength
emboldened in hilarity 
honoured to carry you
under her eyes
sleep well
wise friend.

Arm Hairs

Under the yellow moon
shadows are mistaken for life
our heartbeats set a marching tune
leading us to exposed, fatal heights

We stand on the edge arms raised
palpable darkness arrests our bodies
In alignment without praise 
our  arm hairs whisper love stories

And when they turn to hold eachother
of course  they’re already falling
emboldened by stars as their cover
Like entwined comets exhaling

To come Toe Gather

Through the light in his manic eyes
the confidence of of the going to die
scared by his will to live
we hide our eyes with tears
hide courage in backlit text quotes

a blink of humble through
the distorted bubble where
news hurts in 30 seconds or less

and happiness is more
than my visa can afford
who claimed the work flag?
stole our fingers and free time

credit buys our toes on a beach
with an all inclusive beer
documented for future vindication
because if nobody sees your not really amazing
too safe life
did it really happen?