There are no walls, only doorways within this satchel on the backseat. I live my life out of a mixed laundry bag hung over my shoulder, pushed in the corner of a quiet , stark bedroom, a cozy cavern in a friend's home, nestled under my boyfriends bed. Home is the look in his eye, and the laughter generating between a blond haired green eyed girl who has shared the magic of adolescence and family dysfunction for five years. Home is where my footsteps lead me, where the gas mileages add up to, and nowhere. I am a traveler. I am a nomad that gathers dust on the windshield. I can polish her up and dress her down, she is my home. I am my own comfort, my only guarantee. The horizon is not my destination, discovery of a place long forgotten behind the road and under my mind a mini memory of a wide eyed four year old with chopped bangs hiding behind the living room door straining towards hissed whispers and the spark of something breaking hanging in the air is what i run from.

Her Golden Hair

I wish I was her golden hair;
Falling past her breasts.
I wish i was a crown to wear,
Tall and sleek, standing over pretty thoughts,
Sleeping quietly around her pulsing neck.

I wish I was her golden hair;
I would whisper nighttime feelings, sing stories of quiet desire.
I could feel her fingers running over me, warming to the tip.
Light and sweet I could linger
Twisted on her slender finger.

Your Gift

Peonies. Giant, Willy Wonka fantastical peonies with a scent that dizzies and intoxicates to a level unbeknownst to any other living being. Like laying atop a garden of flowers, a naturally beautiful, living, growing thing that brings calm and brightness to any day or moment. Like being outside, the warmth of the sun on your body, the smell of the grass and the wind and the pleasure of gazing out into the lush green life that the world can give. Even this scene, this thought does not compare to the love I feel. Not even flowers, my favorite gift, my favorite smell, can come close to your scent, the gift of you that I am able to wrap up in my arms. Only the pure, organic way life flows through a garden can be a metaphor for how our love fills me and runs through my mind and body. This is the only way my mind can comprehend it all.

Flaw

The inability to control her emotions pulls her apart, suffocating under the wave of doubt. She drives herself into a sort of madness, feeling restless and lost. She loves him with all her heart, with a frenzy of meaning and devotion; but something else distracts her in her mind. Insanity is not out of the question…something must be wrong with her, doesn't it? What spell has been cast on her, what is this curse? She picks fights, she feels out of control. Her chest hurts her, her head aches. The weight of regret lives inside for days and days and days.

not everything posted here is literal

rattled

wrapped up tight inside
this tiny bubble in my belly
I don't care what my momma says
I'm along for the ride

may take up all my time
stretch me from inside
but what's the cost of love?
devoted to my baby

daddy says he don't know what to do
his girls gone mad
maybe he'll imagine I'm dead
baby girl where's your head?

whoa.

Ok so I'm a little behind here. Let me work on something quick!

Annuals

If I could change from one face to the next
I would do so from a flower
If I could be the other woman you chose
I would bloom forth her breasts
Her lips would drip with dewy pollen
She wrapped around your stem
If I could have been the other woman
I would have said no
and planted a seed of 'do right' in your mind
If I could change from one face to the next
I could show myself what I lacked
for you to pluck her in our garden.

9.7

So many miles are worn onto your brow
I fail to be the strength your shoulders shed.
All I can do is be a body in your bed.
So many tears I would cry
your arms I could pry to wrap myself in
if only to keep you from the pain you now feel.
And what do I mean to allow your love and your sorrow
to run like a stream
down my spine
and seep into my heart?

Ex

He rested his head against her neck and his hand rested against her chest. He pulled back the fabric of her dress and ran his fingers against her skin. His eyes were glazed with a heat that burned in his pupils like coal; her body was ambrosia he soaked in through his fingertips. She lay back and stared at the ceiling. He loved her for her body, for her sex. That's what she thought, at that moment, seeing his face. She realized then, this grappling with what it was to be in love, to have a deep love for someone, was all in vain. She took for granted that the men who she fell into relationships with were boys, not yet adults…not quite children. They fell in love with her. They lusted for her and this power her body held frightened and saddened her…she was trapped inside of a mirage.
Is this all you were thinking about while I was away?
He looked into her face and slid his palm over her breast.

A Letter Through Her Throat

I wrote you a letter
In the shape of a blade.
The letters are stainless,
The punctuation is final.

I wrote you a letter,
In the form of a knife.
Paper cuts haven't been so deadly
Since I sharpened my words for you.

My tongue is red,
It can lick your wounds
Gushing like emotion
Onto this signed confession.

Your blood is red.
Blood has never been so red
Since my words cut through
Your throat, so white.

Pandora

She wandered the city like a lost soul trapped under the world near the shadowed rivers of death. Her body felt like decrepit dress draped over her decaying soul. What could save her from the depths of hell? The seeds of Hades stuck in her teeth and made her mouth dry.