Tag: spilt ink

do you see the red stamps
underneath your own
on that screen?
dismembered mountains
pay the cost
to save the trees.

what about the wasteland you
leave behind?
a place called home.
we destroy others to destroy
our own: to crash cars 
because we smudge our
fingerprint stamps on screens
while driving.

we kill the mountains in an effort to save the trees // a.sm

i am not higher
in my silence; 
i am present. 
i am listening
to chatter that does not 
matter, to emptiness 
disguised as words. 

i am not lonely 
in this darkness; 
i am at peace. 
still in my shell, 
comfortable in nothingness, 
as everything dissolves 
into one
nothing.

meditation // a.s.m

lines from the world above 
break the surface of the sky and
shatter into a million stars. 

the north star is a lie.  
it’s a death trap; it will 
hook you, it will make you
bleed. 

don’t you ever wonder where
everyone has gone?
following stars that promise
them something beyond return; 
stars that throw your children’s 
entrails back into the sea. 

soon there will be nothing
but sandy bottoms. 
killing is what will kill us, 
eventually. 
and we will only know this
when it becomes too late.

a letter to the blue fin tuna // a.s.m

clockwork heart
beating to the rhythm of 
your affection, 
i am everyone else’s 
property but
my own by the age of
four.

a mannequin child
a dress-up doll, 
a dog small enough to 
carry in a purse. but
i don’t bark– 
i’ve been well-trained with
self hatred and
your back to my face. 

i bet you didn’t know 
you’d shrink– disappearing; 
the sun drying you
like a raisin until
you shrivel.
i no longer feel
so small. i no longer seem
so weak.
you no longer seem so right.
you are not my god anymore.
 
i will run barefoot
across the yard with
my hair down and shirt untucked.
i will breathe a little
too deeply and know for once
the only lungs
i can burst are my own.

mother // a.s.m

where have i slipped
between these cracks
that god intended for us
to sink into?
where have i gone to?
a place between my body and the sky. 
safe. 
soft. 

i can still hear
them, though.
laughing right
outside my window.
and my stomach against
this mattress is pulling me back
before i am ready to go.

i am never ready to go from here; 
where poetry flows in the streams,
where a mind is at ease,
where raw hands find peace.
you won’t cry in the night anymore here,
i promise.

there is a place of stillness within // a.s.m

i want to bleed tonight. 
when nothing makes sense
i want to bleed out because
my heart’s not beating right. 

i want to bleed tonight because
deep wounds heal eventually; my
favorite reminder that everything ends
up alright. 

i bleed because i need to know 
i am flesh and blood and not a ghost.

the night of 9/23/15: sometimes i still have the urge to hurt myself but i write about it instead of actually doing it. it is not the same. // a.s.m 

there are no words that i could write
to fully repaint that summer night:
the grass deep green, the sky blood red
the thoughts of death flooding my head

the ghost of your warm hands in mine
mem’ries of green eyes and lips of wine
the only thing i wanted to do
was tangle myself back up in you

i sat and watched the city lights
the day slowly melting to night
the way the moon shone– like your face–
drowned the city lights in grace

you left no beauty when you went
my mind gone numb, my heart left spent
i lost control, then came the tears
alone with all my greatest fears

those tears i shed, the guilt i felt
can’t change the cards that i’ve been dealt
and with each step your face will fade
one day i’ll breathe without you, unafraid.

it’s true, i still think of you: but i am getting stronger without you and soon you’ll fade // a.s.m

i long to be just as the earth, 
knowing words are merely what people say.
i’ve suffered through the pain of birth
only from her to be torn away.

my entire life i’ve yearned
to be near to her beating heart,
with time, with patience i have learned
an open mind is where it starts.  

it seems to us a mystery–
how can we hear our mother talk?
don’t rush through life in such hurry;
she speaks in footsteps as you walk.

all she humbly asks of us:
to look at every living thing,
to see the beauty and genius
 
and feel the joy to her they bring.

an ode to my beautiful mother Earth and all fellow living beings. what a beautiful planet we live on // a.s.m