Tiny Thoughts.

53

521
This pulsating,
Deep within my empty stomach.
Virgin Mary,
Mother of god,
Do you regret who I have turned into?
Your daughter-son,
Of pain and regret.
Do I leech into your side like the poison crown bestowed upon our family like a birthright?
Do I remind you of what you could've been.
Is my presence an eternal scream of the youth you lost, of the youth you failed to protect in me?

522
Music and the world around me,
They were the only ones who didn't care who I was.
They would take whoever I became.
And love me all the same.

523
Thin club-
An offshoot of the Pretty cult.
We sit around long oblong tables-
Our hair,
It drops down to hide our torsos.
That is the one rule.
Hide your body.
These are sacred.
Sacrificials we dispose of unto an unworthy god.
Our hollow eyes:
We share in this fate.
Spiraling down the deepest hole of emptiness-
We slip and slide.
Slice through the walls.
We hold each others hands,
Only to let each other fall.
My bird wings-
The magazines call them dead weight;
So me and my friends come up with ways to mold them away.
Turn them into a dress,
Maybe a skirt,
A special blanket,
A foreign hat.
As long as it appears as anything other than that.
My friend Luna,
Her face, as full as the moon,
It resembles bowls of milk,
Fertile crescents holding the secrets to life long knowledge-
We play games,
In the forest, late at night,
Where no one may watch us. No eyes may haunt us.
We speak of a world,
Where we are loved.
Where the thin club has been taken down.
We speak of free nights,
With no briny tears- crusting away at the corners of the face.
No pinching and grabbing.
No visions of nude others, skipping away into our dreams.
We see no difference.
But my friend Luna,
She says that world will never come.
People's minds are too closed,
To boarded up with yellow caution tape.
She tells of her world,
The Earth she walks,
The universe that embraces her.
She speaks of unloving-ness,
Of chronic raven squawking.
Constant clock ticking.
Yelling in sync with the tock tocking of the midnight scale.
She tells of a world where the first word she spoke was 'nutrition.'
Luna,
My darling friend of lily pads and cosmos,
Leave this club,
With me of course.
Do not leave me behind.
We will leave this place like a clinic,
Somber marching into the world.
We will feel the world beneath our feet- we'll grapple the universe with our hands. We will not let each other fall. They cannot take us down.
My chest, it is bulletproof,
Your hands, they sting with work.
We can make this work.
We can make this happen.
I will protect,
You will build,
We can create.
We will not share in this fate,
Luna and I.
We will not fall to the pretty cult.
Beautiful is boring,
And goodness,
We're far from pretty.
And thank god for that.
Thank the universe for that.
Or else we may have never left,
That oblong table.

524
I saw Mary,
Staring back at me out of that rusty bathroom mirror,
She looked at me,
Scanning my self up and down,
As if she was searching.
More than I was searching.
Her gaze,
It was not uncomfortable,
It was not comforting,
It simply was.
Mother Mary,
Full of Grace,
Do you watch my day to day life?
Do you watch me- stumbling through the dark,
And chide,
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you can be?
What will you ever become?

525
I love to observe humans,
I have little knowledge as to why,
There is nothing particularly enjoyable about observing them,
Yet I observe them anyway.

526
And even in this moment,
I realize,
How much I truly do love being alive.
But even with the things you love-
You need a break.

527
You were never loved by your mother and father?
Your pain unnoticed?
Let the world love you.
Let the universe embrace you, handing gifts of nature, drugs, the pain of mint toothpaste. Drown yourself and look at the bubbles forming in the rays of sunlit water.

528
Who knew cold winter midnight could be the name of my long lost emotion.

529
My soul,
It is featherweight.
Delicate.
Lay me down gently,
So I may never feel the turmoil of the modern world around me.
Lay me down.
In the grave of my home kitchen.
The place where I had first felt my death.
The first tiny shatter of my heart's soul.
Bury it in the fertile earth of spring,
So that I may be reborn as one of the violet girls.

530
And we lived simple lives.
—-
It is so hard.
Living in an eternal winter.
When your heart and head long for spring-
Please!
A break!
I need a Break.
A Moment away from the dark.
Without a torch.
Give me a little light-
Let me feel the sunlight.
I know you are so close, my darling sun,
But please,
I fear the nights warmth,
I fear what happens when I am left to myself for too long.
Do not leave me my darling,
I cannot exist on my own.
—-
And since spring was never with me,
I let spring grow within myself.