At night

You are my rolling hills,
Spread out in front of me like a majestic antiseptic,
A cleansing, yet stirring portrait of my imagination.
Once I fed myself entirely with you,
With your sounds and light touches,
Nourishing and revitalizing me until it was all light inside.
Now I am drinking you in, glass after glass,
reflections of celestial bodies and warm bodies,
Swimming in them, provoking me.
You are my dancing flames,
Igniting and delighting,
All along my ribcage, your railroad tracks,
I allow you to use me as a terrain to travel on.
If you are looking for a home,
I am waiting for you to ask me to come along every day.
Where will we be once the ground moves beneath us?
Teaching us lessons in gravity,
Wake up calls in hedonism and minimum wage,
It all looks like pictures of impossibility and shame in the sunlight.
I'll have to drink you all in tonight in order to keep you.

This bond

They gave me eyes to see the sun with,
But the burning, is getting old to me.
When you're standing at my door,
Saying you want everyone but also me,
It's when I use these eyes to see.
You're frame,
On me making me tame,
You in the kitchen, calling my name,
Pouring me a double, in our bubble,
Lovely dysfunctional,
My territory is yours to claim.
And you go out in the rain.
They gave me ears to hear the prayers with,
A thousand chiming voices.
But I don't use them as much as I do my fist,
Scattered across the country with no-named choices.
But when you look at me and say something, so clear,
It is then I use these ears to hear.
You're height,
Covering the horizon from my sight,
You in the kitchen, calling my name,
Pouring me a double, in our bubble,
Lovely dysfunctional,
My palm is home, my palm is home,
Tell boys we're alone.

Pretty Please

I hate love. Mainly, because I don't think I'll ever learn how to love anyone purely. The one person on the planet who has promised to 'love and cherish' me makes me want to scream and run away.

sod

I know you. I know you better than you know me. But I think that is because you are more transparent than mid-day windows. The sun that reflects onto you is not quite the same that reflects on me. Yours is much brighter, larger, and exposes more than it should. Mine is smaller, muted, and bounces light back into the earth beneath me.
So, I know you. I know your secrets. I know the lies you spread like sod around you. I am familiar with the verses you rehearse in your head, the snappy comebacks you'll say that day you finally 'fight back'. The worst part about knowing all of this is that you'll never 'fight back', but mostly because you don't want to fight, you like the system too much.
People confuse my passion for being self-righteous. They assume that just because I don't want to bond with total strangers, or call you my 'sister' just because we both have vaginas - that I think I am better than you. This couldn't be further from the truth. I am just not interested in you. There are more important things to me. If you trip and fall, I will help you up. But I will not sit next to you during lunch to talk about my pets with you for no reason. I don't care if my funeral attendance is sparse, because I will be dead.