Tag: spilled ink

a drowning desire
to dream, you touch my
shoulder and push me to
sleep. 
spin cotton candy from
my spine, pour words over
me like maple syrup and
i will taste them, like
black and white memories,
when i wake.

i’m sailing face down
on this ship,
with dinosaur theories
on rippling white waves, and now
i’m running fast
on Italy’s shores;
running towards
crystal green promises
you try not to blink
away; 

running faster until
i’m flying
above rooftops to
my grandfather’s heart.

biology daydreams // a.s.m

blank stares 
don’t exist anymore. 
there’s always something
new, something blue, something
read at 4:37 p.m.
that has yet to be answered to.

no time
to smell the roses,
fit your family in
a cubicle and get your
hands back on that keyboard
and your ear to that phone.
you have lives
to improve to be
just like your own.

hi, tech // a.s.m

Be like the Earth. She doesn’t care if you love Her or think She’s beautiful. She continues existing the way She has always existed; She continues doing exactly what She has done since She was born. Some people revel in Her beauty. Some destroy it: they tear Her down and tell Her how She should be and try to change Her to meet their needs. But She does not change; She does not bend. She continues to be how She always has been. The streams that have always flooded continue to flood. The forest fires continue to burn. Droughts continue to dry the land. We blame Her for being herself, for refusing to change for us, and yet She continues on. 

Be like the Earth. It is okay to catch fire– it clears crowded places and makes them clean. Let there be drought and flood to allow seeds to germinate and grow. The universe is inside you– do not fear these times. Do not dam the floods within you or try to put out your fires. Let them cleanse you, let them grow you, and no matter what, continue to persevere.

Be like the Earth: cause earthquakes in cities you never wanted built in the first place.

Be like the Earth // a.s.m

i am falling apart:
a 1000-piece puzzle 
even i gave up on
half-way through.
you are the wind, blowing
my pieces every
which way and
i cannot catch them all.
the universe is shining
in my eyes,
so i let my hands down
to my side and watch
myself go.

thank you for tearing me apart. it allowed me to become someone new. // a.s.m

they put my
heart on a gold platter 
for you to hang 
next to the deer and moose
heads on your walls. 
my tongue, my lungs
severed and garnished with
flowers and herbs 
for you to consume,
your stomach acids slowly
breaking down the only 
cells in my body that
allowed me to sing.

you took my voice away // a.s.m

all is right
and nothing’s left, 
it seems i’ve lost my
art. 
no blood pounds in my
forehead, the seas within
are calm and i
have nothing left to say except
how lovely it is to really
smell the autumn air and
not be thinking of
how to write about it.

when the words don’t flow // a.s.m

i was myself, once.
like i’ve been before;
a phoenix, fire of 
autumn leaves regurgitates
me. 
i find my voice in the songs
the river sings, 
memory like the currents. 
constantly moulting, but
keeping them in a scrapbook– 
moments with blank spaces 
in between 
stitched together to make
a quilt.
i decompose. 
sometimes i bloom with the azaleas
in the spring.

anatman: “I hardly know who i am. I think I must have been changed several times… I’m not myself, you see.” // a.s.m