prose

This world can be quite wonderful once you let yourself be a part of it.

Lollypop...the passion contained merely kissesplaced upon lips, neck and cheekthese young lovers of the castleof which our fairytale speaks...

The Inner Self...What makes us who we areshould be glorifiedpersonifiedand sung unto the stars!

... ancient days of sorrowancient days of pain-heartaches of the pastslowly began to wane ...(from gleaning granules)

Tiny GigglesSilly giggles of laughterI store upon a shelfI give some to otherI save some for myselfI am rich beyond all measureThough not with worldly wealthI store up these treasuresFor my heart and soulful health.

THE NEXT DAY WAS RAIN-SOAKED and smelled of thick sweet caramel, warm coconut and ginger. A nearby bakery fanned its daily offerings. A lapis lazuli sky was blanketed by gunmetal gray clouds as it wept crocodile tears across the parched Los Angeles landscape.When Ivy was a child and she overheard adults talking about their break-ups, in her young feeble-formed mind, she imagined it in the most literal of essences. She once heard her mother speaking of her break up with an emotionally unavailable man.She said they broke up on 69th Street. Ivy visualized her mother and that man breaking into countless fragments, like a spilled box of jigsaw pieces. And she imagined them shattered in broken shards, being blown down the pavement of 69th Street.For some reason, on the drive home from Marcel__ apartment that next morning, all Ivy could think about was her mother and that faceless man in broken pieces, perhaps some aspects of them still stuck in cracks and crevices of the sidewalk, mistaken as grit.She couldn__ get the image of Marcel having his seizure out of her mind. It left a burning sensation in the center of her chest. An incessant flame torched her lungs, chest, and even the back door of her tongue. Witnessing someone you cared about experiencing a seizure was one of those things that scribed itself indelibly on the canvas of your mind. It was gut-wrenching. Graphic and out-of-body, it was the stuff that post traumatic stress syndrome was made of.

if god is real, she put all of herself into this girl. she vowed to unleash a woman so violently herself, the sky would collapse every time she came to orgasm.

. . . I suppose one starts out, as a child, being romantic and dreaming of adventure. Poetic. Then reality comes along, and with it, a whole lot of prose.

A Coy Aversion...a fluttertoo shyto be seen...

Chainschains that hold me to the groundchains that keep me solidly boundchains that tether my heart to youchains that only one truth...

You hid in my ink and guided my hand. You stained the pages with your silence as God wrote the words, "Be still." Yet, my heart's blindness could only write in loud hues of red, "I love you.

At Times I Am A Flower...at times I am a flower ~singularly defined ...

Gratitude...here at home our faith dwindlespolitical division causes tensions to kindle -we should never forgetwho stands at the door -who shields us with armorand shall forever more...

Honor LostAmbulant sunshine piercedthe soot covered glass ~the feeble man wandered byin this ritual morning pass ...

they told her, __ear the reaper."she laughed to herself and muttered, 'baby, death ain__ nothing_ more than a quick fuck. a little bit of silence after he comes.

I am constantly torn between the will to be seen and still hidden so god damn well, a contradiction I never figured out.

My favorite place in the world is next to you.

I am a worried person with a stressed out soul, living a simple life with no capital.