Poems · Stories · writing

Upended Voices

Really all I’d like to do right now is laugh.

Just laugh and laugh until I can’t remember what I was sad about anymore.

Sometimes I think if I laughed enough the whole sky could come down and I’d jump around in puddles of cloud, and the blue would be like an ocean that never boils any fish or bleaches any coral.

Once it was nighttime I’d be able to collect stars like little lightning bugs and put them in a jar, and I could swim through the inky universe and pretend I was just another galaxy floating by.

I would especially love to hang out with the moon, since she doesn’t give sunburns and always seems nice.

Anyway.

I hope it rains tomorrow.


Random prose?

Poems · writing

Dreaming Electric

Sometimes I wish I were an android

My only worry to look troubled and pretty

Wondering if there were more to me than circuitry

Tangled wires and synthetic skin,

Obeying a creator’s every whim

And, what, be a surgeon? A maid? A mother, to children who have nothing left in the world?

I wonder, would I be content with the part that I played, or would my heart remain, rebellious in its strain, chasing dreams that always seem so very far away.

Disillusionment is a jealous game, one I try not to abide in,

How easy, then, would it be to forget any sin, comforting knowledge in the fact that it was all part of your program. Life as a joke. Possibly a gift. Depends on how you look at it.

Cracked rib cage,

(Iron bars)

Heaving lungs,

(Rubber scars)

Beating heart,

(Prosthetic pump)

All parts of me nothing but a lump of machinery. Imitating life.

And I don’t think I could ever really know, without searching in the depths below, whether or not I truly have a soul.

Today, though, today I will stay. I know I’ll find out. Either way.

Poems · writing

Indefinitely Lost

Try to count the stars, I dare you.

Let them pull you

Up and down and inside out;

Drowning you in their magnificence.

Conveniently I run from love,

And there it always finds me.

If anything I will hold your hand,

If nothing I will wander.

Filling these brooks with words and strife,

Each minute taking longer.

Life is ticking with ironies,

Most of which we can’t appease

Exposed to it,

Like the photograph we develop

Sitting too close, it envelops you

Slinking around, up from the ground,

Push the knife deeper into my skin.