work,
sleep
work,
sleep,
work,
sleep,
work,
then work again

stuck in this digital timeline
the days never passed
it’s always on repeat
like time is a concubine
living with wealthy billionaires
working endlessly day and night
making her ends meet
so nobody will know what day it is

who will make this world a better place?
huh, the rich only care for themselves
we’re disillusioned to the fantasy that money
will fix everything in a flash
a bandage on a wound, as they say
but it leaves gaps and crevices
it will never be healed from the blood it leaves
the blood will always fall like rain on a wedding day

i am not a robot who will end up in a dumpster
if i am no use to everyone
if i am no use, what i am then?
a entertainer?
a maid?
a office worker?
a human?
who i am?

home is a cage
slide out the window
find a different way
run with the wolves
chase the child

it won't always be like this
ceramic heart
cosmic bruise
lovesick in a hotel wildfire

chemistry begins with
orbiting the moon
he calls her a river

swallowing down mistakes
she cares a little less about everything now

blood on the mattress
young blood

breaks in the sun
mean pure dark is yet to come
--nightly things

as long as she gets by
despite the crushing weight of gravity
she will take swan feathers
and wedding days to bed

but never take the blame

It’s plastic bags & paper napkins that taught us left
from right.
Saying grace at dinner but not in prayers.
Teaching wholeness & caring words through these paper napkins,
can't you see,
your words were too light.
Nothing seeped through.
We could spend days wading in rivers or
Driving through fields.
Catching the sun turnover,
shadows of trees hitting your face,
Light, dark, light, dark.
The smell of dirt soaking through your skin.
We had all of this time.
But we never had the chance to learn anything that would fall through your paper plate,
And hit your heart.
Nothing that would turn the moon on its back.
I feel so sorry.
Now we’re all too heavy to catch the sun.

Every child grows a pair of wings.
Some are just never taught to fly.

My body craves it, but I don’t want it

Every time I think of it, I sense the bile in my throat

Don’t give in.  

“I love the feeling, the burning.”

Can’t you tell? I’ve been raised like this

Indulging in the emptiness

Nothingness.

Eat.

By birth most knew
This name of stern
As mentors too
Some take this turn

Few tamed in domicile
Less in passive right
Age takes this notice
Not wisdom nor sight

Whose care can nurture
Great strength in a foal?
To yield such future
Mere presence can scold

With great hope so few
Enjoy this manly art
That horses will march
Long after they depart

I await this fortune
Time takes my reign
My worships in court
Years cannot regain

How will my horses march
On life's steeple chase
Without their father's hold
From this their tender age?