The gloss in the sun blinds me golden
while the threads of my voice sew silk.
I am the galaxy I create
and I shuffle stars to extraordinaire
against the backdrop of humanity
to coat in luxury
the inevitability
of my scarf of impurity.

The tender souls of the world I fall for
but with my tools of knitting, I have a net.
I am the safety I own
and I hot glue satellites to my kingdom
as I braid my strands of ability
and breathe a sensibility;
the inevitability
of the common beauty.


How Bad Does It Have to Get?

I laid on the grass of the park late last night and I looked up through the branches of a wide tree and thought, ‘ This will be the last time I am in this country in August.’
I laid so still in that thought and it rambled into the stars I could not see.
The stars I knew I would, this time next year.
I know I will get through this.
It’s a low I suppose I had to get to, in order for me to really change.
There is a lot of fear but a question of wondering I have, is this really an adequate low?
Am I going to fight against it? Am I going to be too strong? Where the bottom is bottomless and my emotions must be strained more and upheaved more. Where my life has to completely flip upside down, parts where my entire vision gets distorted and not just foggy when I wake in the middle of the night because I cried myself to sleep the night before. It’s perception. If I thought this was flipped up already, then the process to change would have started. Has it already and I don’t know it? Wouldn’t I know it?
How messed up does it have to become, for me to believe it is what I need to change who I am?