I suffer from the chronic consequences of elongating my own obstinacy.
Every single coordinated action rises from fear
So my heart can drive in the name of patience.

When an equivocal mind is fed ambivalence off silver spoons,
the inevitable death from starvation will arrive.
For I will never taste the conclusions
of my own vulgarization.
Ambiguity is no nourishment to satisfy my soul;
Though being consumed is quite finger-licking.

I’m chewing on my own becoming.

Will I have the right to be fastidious about
my growth?
If dipping myself in gold would be more
palatable to the one’s surrounding the table
only I sit upon?
Another round of silver contemplation and napkins please.

Desire has its fingers in every single fold of my being.
Yearning for the relief of connection
that brings me down to my knees
in front of my own femininity; the temple of my womanhood.

War is over.
The men can come home to their wives.
Who held their breath,
counting the hours like prayers
awaiting their arrival.

I want a love I’ve waited lifetimes for.
A love that stretches thick among the stars.
I want to touch every crooked fold in your being
imprint a sliver of my light on your darkness.
You hold your heater in my defense.
ready to black the sky on those who attempt to dim my light.

I’m built to consume, to ravage.
It’s in my destiny to be reborn by something delicate as a kiss.
Shall I always want more?
Like the kidnapping of my heart

As if, it was never mine.

I am an assertive being.
destructive.
mortal.
Extremely impulsive with frenzied thoughts.
I am a woman with affection that only exists
inside of my bones.
lethal.
This affection confused as violence.
frenetic.
I do not express it with lip stains on envelopes or heart shaped doodles on letters.
It’s a demonstration of my eyes piercing into yours.
Willingly suffocating in the thought of you.
Repeatedly carving your existence in my head.
This planet will come for me and continue to spin
but here he is, a mosaic of my memory.
A love that tears me to shreds.
strips me bare.
I am in my purest form when I’m with you.

There’s enough language inside of my mouth to be understood.
I unhinge my jaw
my tongue rolls out
you can see the words sewn into my muscular tissue.
sentences lodged deep into my pharynx.
I clean my act, flash my cheekbones.
So there’s enough language inside of my body
to create the thought in your mind that
“I’m okay.”
Pain masked in articulation.
The lack to find all the points in communication.
The curse of comprehension.
All while sitting with what doesn’t exist outside of the novel continuously writing in my head.
There’s enough language inside of the world
to prove that no word can describe
my intelligence of my own being;
with coexisting with people who become illiterate
to the dictations of my mind.

By the time earth is finished making it’s.   rounds
on all sides of the sun
my brain has already calculated twice a billion ways to stretch myself thin between
the moon and the stars.
I’ll settle for the ambivalence that links
my emotions and the atmosphere;
to submit to the gravity of what the world
could be.
All while knowing who I should be,
I float higher and higher in the opposite direction .
So the empyrean can cradle my chaos,
quietly without judgement.
The only reason I live is for the credible fact
we will all return back into stardust
and be spread out equally between all corners of the sky.

a candle dances and burns in a distant window
while the city beams as if the night
never needed any light.
As if the flame screams to be what illuminates
the crossroads and windows.
Bound to its wick.
A candle who wants to be a star, to join the sky all eyes find peace in.
Longing to be more but still fulfilling
it’s sad purpose.
Tears of wax, only full of potential in the dark.
The city hums an artificial tune,
the candles wails the song of your essence.
Yearning to explode in the sky though
condemned to glow in isolation.
a candle dances and burns in a distant window
to give all eyes a warm welcome.
while the city beams as if the night never needed any light.
Dreams of ignition without restraint.
Still only wax and wick.
Destined to soften, burn, melt.
Still it shows off its light.
Not because it’s seen.
But because it cannot help but glow.