MagicallyCapricious

As I lay with you tonight, I will look into your eyes as I do every night, cool and grey like the winter sky. Your skin soft under my fingertips, soft as the finest silk but distinctly alive, breathing, flowing.   With my arm over you, as we settle and bond, I think every time about your energy. How alive you feel in my arms, how alive you are in my mind and my heart. How cool your sweet skin is against my cheek, my lips, and how hot your blood flows just underneath.   Your soft hair, your smooth cheeks, your soft lips, your clear grey eyes. Alive, alive, alive and here with me. So sweet your words and gentle your touch, so loving and thought

My self esteem is like a sieve Trying to fill with water With every step it’s hard to live With no support from another. I keep expecting her to come home The engine growling up My mind denies that I’m alone Living with a half-filled cup My difficulties, irrelevant When compared to one another’s And you who carries with consent The carriage of your brothers. And my mistake, I have to say That let the happiness flow away Surely, though, you’re here to stay And tell me it’ll be okay. The softness of the warmth you bear A comfort, rest assured Luxurious, rich, but oh so rare And that of paradise’s bi

My death will not be one of glory. I'm too tired to put in the effort. Nor will it be a death for someone. I'm too tired to care. I don't want to care anymore. My care is pain to me. The more I care, the more it hurts, and the less I can relate. The more I try to make things right, the more the chaos is apparent. My work is undone, and my care worthless. Chaos hurts, and I am just a small being in the tide of entropy. My efforts are lost in the waves. I don't want to care. I'm too tired. I'm weary of this and I've forgotten why things matter. I love and I feel like everyone else, and I don't know why it hurts so much. Why should I be this

My mother told me long ago to be kind to those I met.   I didn’t know their stories. I didn’t know their lives. Treat them well, she said.   I gave the bully an eraser when she had none. She scared me and made me cry. “Coward.” I drew a classmate a picture, he tore it with scissors. “Dumb.” I gave the new girl a watch because I heard her say she wanted one. “Faggot,” she said as they called me names.   They took and they took and gave nothing back. My crayons were missing and I stayed behind when they all went to play. I stayed away.   I couldn’t hear their laughter as I cried and tore m

My hands have cradled ash and bone and scattered both asunder These hands that break and mold and mend make images of wonder.   My head is death, my hands are life, and both bring to my heart The pain it feels and awe it seeks in chaotic, beauteous art.   These fingers pry and dig and scrape away at all I see I saw no light, though I was blind, I saw what was in me.   A beast of eyes and teeth and hands that grasp and pull and rend A search in vain for aid, it seemed, for pain without an end.   Soft skin so torn as ashes were and shattered was the bone My spirit burned to nothing, oh, and there I was alone. And soft as ash you came to m