Thursday, August 17, 2017

alternate universe at (i know, tumblr, so lame, but, like, selling ourselves is so embarassing, and, at the same time, i'm not ready to give up being a whore.)

Thursday, August 10, 2017

white is my essence.

this part i'm about to write lines for, it comes from
something i feel is
in you, this vindictive mother
from the middle east somewhere: i wanna see you suffer like how
my children have had to- if i can see humanity

in you, i know you can do it; i know i can
banish my shadow to the other side. i don't have the time to trust that shit.

this is me doing black magick and calling it something else romantic, like, white
magick, 'kuz, if i
trust it, then that's taking away its romanticism,

and i know i wanna stay in the honeymoon phase forever.

i'm giving you material manifestation, baby- that's when giving counts
as a birthday present. you've always

wanted this so shut the fuck up and get hard.

*fin*. she was talkin' to me, the west. you know how mothers can be.
givin' me grass that ain't candy.

disappointment i guess you see in me when i be
twitchin' my whiskers, dunno

what a hunter is except what ya s'posed to run from. something tells me: it's you. a part
of you unknown to you.
"i don't want any bunnies eatin' my carrots y'hear!"
ya chase me wit ya rifle, than remember some other place

you happen to be in at the same time. "i know you wouldn't eat all of my carrots, though. please come back.
your ears... so cute, so tiny."

ya makin' me naive, me bein'
the silly li'l bunny i am, don't know any better
than to attract myself to danger. i dunno how to avoid

winding up being unrealistic.

white as the man that told ya to get out of here what's yours is mine now, white as milk,
white as snow.

that's me being what the clouds are:
i learned a word from your language and now i'm everywhere, stretchin'
across the blue skies, infinite cotton ball being gently torn. loomin' over.

i can't stop your coming inside me: already tasted you- sweet, i would
swallow forever, named you butterfly.
already looked and, upon doing so, saw

we've shared one another in past lives, meaning, however
it once went down, it helped lead up to my survival today, and it's advantageous of me to seek more of this.

and you as well. you as fucking well.

see? now you got me mad, i used the "f" word. now i'm starin' your tumor down. takin' it away from ya, doin' the dirty work, the surgery. it's not
embrassin' for me to be an MD in front of you, only

in front of the other MDs, so here i go, confidently.
the tumor is the part that doesn't get me. you're its little bitch. it's the part of you that dislikes my
pink lips, pink nipples, when, just the other day, when just

givin you a ride was all it would take for you to get
i love you unconditionally, all my pink parts made me a prize in your eyes.

white is my essence, is what the tumor says to you about me, robust listless n' disillusioned. white makes
the rest of the world toxic, makes us go mad. just bein' honest, broski, is its afterthought.

white is sheltered, yeah you can be loud an' proud 'kuz ya bougie, always
got a roof over ya head no matter how you screw up; to which i reply: never thought i'd see the day when my suffering
would be comparatively overlooked, dismissed as privileged,

'kuz ostracism, my personal cancer, what
has made me a refugee in my own right, don't mean shit next to how you see shit.
my ostracism is too new.
my ancestors, the seed we all sprout from, stole this land and brainwashed me, i'm so privileged that i'll deny that this is actually something that's actually happened.

you put words in my mouth like that. you say you're straightforward...why can't
you just say, "i'm afraid to trust you"? why we always gotta put blame on one another?

love you for everything except your tumor, the way
satan hurt you, papi. wanna nurse you back to health but i'm no mother, just

a witch, and only 'kuz i like adventure.

my discipline is all about removing, binding and burying your tumor, so that we can move on,

dunno how it'll effect the rest of you; hope ya won't become a zombie. we'll see.
offering to the elements, getting myself to let go, and accepting loss, hasn't done
as much as i want it to do. i wanna be completely free of this.

*buried*. and now we are both awake, multi-colored, set free. we are all multi-colored. i see shaman.
love you for everything and even your tumor
now that it's just a pet you once had, papi. (last part was just a dream.) 💔

Monday, August 7, 2017

picture book.

this girl's name is white, five years old, from the suburbs, where all the houses are uncomfortably close to one another. girl you'll still be a virgin even after you fuck a million guys.
house is looked in on but she don't care- too young to be rewired by paranoia. got "circe" tattooed on her ass. got "animal mother" buzzed into her hair.
too young for the news, computer, or thinking money is anything other than stupid. all gets her angry at herself 'kuz she dunno how to pay attention, or how to retain information, unless it's the kind picture books are made of. all she wants anymore is picture books...she knows that's where god is at.

the kinda girl you'd expect to never figure out potty training even though she wasn't a crack baby (per se).
girl that you laugh at because incidentally exposing failure 'kuz inhibition isn't her forte is her ultimate truth.

she looks like meat with hair on it and is that. if you drew her, that's what you'd make of your drawing. example: she talk about sex. she fucks everyone very subtly. does she mean to? (bitch ya know ya mean to.)

she's a brat, at the end of the day, which, to some, means she's abusive.

kinda girl that, while sitting on a toilet, gets distracted, and presents either breast to an imaginary friend coming down from the heavens. an old friend that isn't real anymore. long hair envelopes her- spider choosing her. she likes spiders like she likes doggies.

"i love you, here, lemme show you," she says to him. they take off their glasses to see that they're really seein'.

she's singing about giving him her milk like a lullaby, except nothing comes out of her nipples. this isn't somethin' he did to her. just somethin' she wasn't taught how to do. therefore, she will never be able to give him life, and he will not be able to serve as her reflection. this is somehow how she was taught to communicate and is the only thing she cares about. he wouldn't be mad if he opened his eyes. if he made it to that point he would just know.

girl isn't afraid of going crazy. isn't afraid of death, rape, or selling out. likes the ocean, likes high places. she's pregnant with wondering if, since she's so unafraid of things that seem authentic to her, if it's really fear she feels in regards to anything else.

"just wait momentarily," she says to mr. spider. "it's just been a minute. i just need to warm up. get this thing to work." she's still bein' spun though it's more like being embraced by heaven. he's still there with her.

then she, or, let's be real, i, pull down my diaper in which a stillborn bird, so serene, is bloodied, sayin' "mama". practically a doll with its batteries gone haywire. this isn't my period but i guess hey no biggie seen worse.