limestone

i want to live as a rock

the beauty of compressed minerals

lasts forever.

it is one that doesn't always shine,

exteriorly.

even as they crumble,

into shattered light fragments

remaining stagnant in particles,

they are gorgeous in anticipation

of the moment in which they will

bond throughout to witness time

together

in different design,

in several shades.

they fall into natural combinations,

committing to one another until

the next occurrence of weight 

breaks the elemental epochs

hugging lime&stone together -

shattering, once again, 

into several structures

of the original that was a 

shattered structure itself.

& they are always seen

& they witness everything

& they wait without wristwatches as they defy time.

clandestine compliments,

secret scoundrels,

mixed mineral 

beings.

i want to be like you,

i want you to be like me.

indecision

her shoes: red, they hugged her dainty feet bright and tapped against the floor as she anxiously grew more and more aware of him watching her. through the stench of beer, sticky with traces of spit and ever clear, he narrowed his eyes and watched her in an intrigued daze. her ivory dress made his fingers twitch as they wondered how soft and silky the fabric would feel gliding in between them. he asked himself if he had the balls to ever reach out and try it. no, he didn't & his beer was empty.  he needed to find something else to drink, slowly he turned his gaze from her, secretly asking her to stay right where she was, "don't move, i'll be back soon…" he needed something stronger if he was going to talk to her. fuck. he wasn't going to talk to her. either way. he needed something stronger.  the room was crowded. it smelt like sweat and vomit. a girl next to him sprayed perfume and giggled as she stumbled in drunken blue heels and an intoxicated black dress. he turned his head back, she was still there: drinking out of a red dixie cup and smoking pot. he wanted to breath her in, place his lips against hers and suck, hold her inside his lungs until his head felt dizzy and she grew molecularly embedded in him. he was high just thinking about it & he needed that drink.  in the kitchen, he found a friend, who was only his friend because they had gotten drunk together once before until they passed out and ended up in the same bed the next morning, feet in each others faces and the stench of the night before staining the sheets. this friend was willing to share liquid wealth and handed him a bottle of something clear & brown & bitter. god how he needed that drink. the music was beginning to sound too loud and people were starting to feel too close & he didn't mind at all how much the liquor stung his nostrils as he took his first swig. he walked, pushing his way through a crowd of loud laughing faces, distorted like grecian theatrical masks. they looked odd and boring, figures framed in a feigned way of existing. he shifted his eyes, throughout the room, searching through faces, taking small breaks to gaze at the popcorn ceiling as the heat from the tennesse whiskey traveled down his throat. he looked at the floor, the wet shoes shuffling and dancing like puppet-fools and his heart thudded and extra thud as he spotted the fire red he, moments before, had engraved into his head.  those red shoes hiding those small feet and how he desperately desired to slid them off and place her flesh in his hands and kiss her pretty toes. he knew in his soul her toes would be beautiful and he could spend hours just touching them. the whiskey was kicking in, an so was the excitement over the nights they would spend laughing in each others arms, how simple it will feel, how smart she was and how much she would make him laugh, he was sure she was the one who would teach him & teach him to love, with her silky dress and pretty toes. he walked towards her. the ivory clinging to the curves of her hips & he couldn't help but reach, holding his breath as she turned her head. her head, how it hung awkwardly in the new light. the drink in his hand felt heavy in confusion, eyes dilated in disconcerted disgust. he excused himself, said he thought she was someone else & took a drink & the room turned black & the music grew softer & the people weren't so bad.

old news

the letters of my name are printed in an aged ink on yesterdays paper, they smell like sweat dried with a heavy heat. the touch of your fingers over my bones break into brittle pieces. they fall into the wells left by others' caresses before you, those and how they fell. its a timeless story, with interchangeable pronouns. it reeks like the wretched scent of hot vomit lined with a double of whiskey on a thursday afternoon, in the bathroom stall with someone pissing somewhere not private and near you. like you'd give a fuck and honestly could use a glass of water to wash it down. where's my face playing under your closed eye lids? can you distinguish it and draw my features like your own staring right at you from reflective surfaces, trace them with elementary mediums, pointed fingers on a floating canvas. traces of nothing. we aren't really artists, not yet, how could we possibly claim to know and interpret what it is to be alive? we're dead. holding hands with the reaper himself as we walk day by day, feigning an agenda to survive. we wouldn't know of anything better to do for ourselves. we're just old news. interchangeable you's and i's.

it's hypocritical how you lack taking this situation literal you live off a manipulation type-federal built on the elimination of the minimal driven through tribulation of the criminal minds leaving indentations on the political dime foundations rather analytical fueled by observations of the critical eye opening donations of a truth that's no lie one that as i say i swear my life by as it'll cleanse the mind of every lie stained onto us with permanent dye prisoners we try to escape this state of an imprisoned life. 

no dictionary or anything like that i typed in a "freestyle" type nature. it's dorky and lame but it's my first real attempt in a while.

crossouts

from an article written by cesar milan

and a dog food add.

For a friend.

desiree ingram

we were born brown

several shades different,

yes.

but we were born 

the same.

though your skin is slightly more

cocoa butter

than mine,

we are both

still silk & smooth

under a finger's touch.

the same that strokes your hair

you burn

to make straight

as i mutilate mine

to curl.

we use the same means

to temporarily

destroy ourselves.

               (similar ways)

like me

you speak

with a spanish tongue

like he

and she

you are the same

though to them, you

do  not  look

that way

          - the same.

you are.

you roll them rr's like

your cumbia hips,

mixed

with ancient africana

wonder

it booms in your blood like

crimson thunder

under the sun

i rub oil on my body &

lay beneath Huitzilopochtli's rays

for an entire day until

[ding ding ding]

done!

we are one

we are the same

the same shade of beautiful brown

                   

                        of beautiful brown

the same.