Pink piety

When the sky is painted deep gold with baby pink candy floss floating on its waves, I open myself up closing the gates of immorality inside my territorial mind until fluent light fills my veins, breathing soundly through my lungs winking a goodbye at the toxic that existed before.

Harassed by desperation

I walk down the street and eyes follow me everywhere. Every step that I take is reinforced by a blink or a wink that passes from man to man thinking that they are praising me with their leers and smirks. Unashamed among the footsteps of the ants, blindly tracking the curves in my figure, mapping myself in front of themselves, placing their claws on my neck taking me into a clouded haze where I only drown lower and deeper until I disappear. I walk down the street where cars are growling and fires are burning brightly, feeling their eyes clinging to me; they are echoing deafeningly, beating until everything else disappears. In a trapped maze trying to make my way through and I feel impatient dirty fingers slide down my support. Quick prodding poking, hurried desperate invasion that stops me in my tracks for a second but they have disappeared already. I walk down the street only to be explored by unwanted surveyors that I cannot grasp in retaliation. I walk down the street only to be harassed by cowardice and desperation that I definitely don't need walking down with me.

Polychromatic waves

It burns my skin seeping into the ivory waves that used to be sapphire daylight. I mixed the ripples with the scarlet rays until they bled yellow inside me blending with the dazed blue sky that spread out on my dented fingers. Small eyes peeked at me as I folded it, making the waves rumble and rush over one another until they moulded to form a shining silver that twinkled at me.

Thoughts

I'm draining into iron holes losing pieces of myself with each dragging drop of water that drips down my wheat body. Thoughts are tangled with my fingers, pointing and poking my scalp telling me to go left right draw a circle turn over reach out unleash myself curl up. It extends into my rolled stomach, crawling from my wrapped up palms and flowing into my legs that feel like they cannot support me. I climb into a deep dark hole befriending the wolves until they make my thoughts go away.

Hidden in henna

They say a husband's name is embedded in his bride's henna, hidden in the dark patterned flowers of her palms. Everyone believes it and I did too. Sometimes in the past when my palms were decorated in hypnotic patterns, I searched for him, a mr right to my mrs right, our names entangled together echoing in the delicately stained curves. But now its been years since I explored the dents and scratches in my fingers for a face masked under the effortless twists and turns. Now when I stretch out my soft pink hands they are bare of scented henna and I watch as his name lights up in my wrists where it is intertwined with my veins and beating comfortingly in the place of my heart.

Too bad they don't go by their own mantra

Their fluid judgements restrain you. Tie up your tongue in knots that grow bigger and bigger until your tongue vanishes in a mist of flames. You're wrong, they say. Closing off their iron gates bringing a barrier of intolerance ready to strike at the drop of a bowling ball. They preach tolerance but flood your mind with mocking that continues to beat in their chests like hypocrites swimming in a life which they feel is superior and desired by all. Don't judge, they say yet they stray away from the other calling them names cutting them out of their lives like women cutting locks of hair into a disappearing black hole. Live and let live, they say. Too bad they don't go by their own mantra.

Galaxies

The galaxies of my mind are filled with twinkling thoughts and everlasting rings that fall softer onto paper that flows trickling into untouched holes like water streamlining down a mountain. When I open my mouth to voice what's inside, it fogs up like the dreary dew hanging on branches on a winter morning. That's okay. I pick up a sword instead, cutting through the inky fog like a pen grazing on paper. I write down my thoughts about Saturn's rings and Jupiter's moons onto the crumbling wood, engraving my initials into it until it continues to blink brightly even in the darkest hour.