I was born this way ramble

I looked at my reflection,

side-long in the pane,

I saw black hollows

round the green membrane~

I’m evil, I thought,

then considered

stabbing the cat.

That’s not what I mean though,

that’s not where I’m at!

My professor told me,

that contractions don’t

belong in poems.

He also told me

to kill my heroes.

I think of you,

and the tiny suction anchors

that weave you to me,

so when I think

back on my life with you,

you are still here with me.

Are you a ghost?

An angel?

You are Elegua,

the Trickster God~

most potent in feminine form.

You scan the Cosmos

to find the yin to my yang~

and bring it to me,

so I can self-destruct.

I am a scared caterpillar,

screaming at myself,

“You are so slow! So slow!”

But it’s here now,

“Unnecessary but”. Shut up! Memory?!

Avoid melodrama!

It was never about the drama, sir,

it’s about the rhythm.

Life’s an art,

and I’m learning technique.

Or so I say,

so I don’t have to speak, but I sulk,

and sit in the starry-eyed corner,

and say to you from afar,

I want you to love me,

let me show you how.

She suffocated her daughter

in a trailer made of metal.

What is your intention here?

She asked.

Why do you want to save others so badly?

Because they need my help. They are in trouble.

I don’t buy it! She screamed, burning brighter, I don’t buy it!

Surrendering she gasps,

because I want him to pay for what he did!


What is a human motive?

I began studying spirituality because I was hurting so badly. I was depressed and heading down a dark road, even a depression-caused paralysis one day.

I began studying spirituality as a way to feel the exact opposite. How can I rise above this? Yoga and meditation helped for a little while. I tried to have another identity surrounding it, but I didn’t fit in with those groups of people, either.

Now, I’m learning how power hungry can feel and trying to find a balance. It is the art of love and transformation.

The black hollow of my sockets are there,

but I have mercy as well.

I sit here wondering how much of myself to give to you,

because in this space I’m revealed.

Will you read me, take it all in,

let it touch you,

and then touch me back?

All of poetry is about sex or death, he said.


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