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Coyote PaperI found a dead coyote,
It's skin all turned to paper,
So I took his skull and it fell
Apart in the sun
Farewell, SunWith a blade forged of sunlight, from the land with a sky,
Wielded with valor and courage,
You shall taunt the shadows.
The dark will surround,
Evil will hold you
You must have no fear, For
You are the one to meet it
At it’s source.
Now enter the darkness, and say your Goodbyes,
Farewell my sun.
The Clockwork ManNo wind stirred the leaves of the trees; the forest was entirely still save, for the clattering of a young girl. She was hopelessly lost, and been so all day since entering the woods. Her small feet rustled the leaves as she walked on timidly through the trees. Her fine dress was now torn and tattered by clinging brambles and thorns.
It seemed to be getting dark, though she could not tell for certain, as the woods seemed to play tricks with the light. In any case, she was now tired and thoroughly hopeless of finding her way out before the sun had set. She sat down against the trunk of a great tree and began to sob.
“What am I to do?” she cried. “I am so lost, I don’t think I could ever get out.”
“I know the way,” croaked a mysterious voice from up above.
Startled, she looked up to see an enormous, gnarled old crow perched in the branches above her.
“Do you really?” she said.
“Of course I do,” the ancient bird replied.
You FellYou stumbled and
and the parched earth met you
and held you
You stumbled and
and the rats
caught up and stripped
flesh from bone
You stumbled and
was I supposed to care?
My HateI hold a sword up against
Can't you see that my anger is infinite,
my rage unquenched?
Can you not hear me snarling
I would strike you down
given half a chance,
and for no more reason
than to watch you die.
I Saw Them Eat MunozSomewhere off, away
I guess, I saw them eat Munoz-
It was Tuesday, or was it Wednesday? Anways,
I saw them eat Munoz-
It was awful, I mean, really bad,
It was awful the way they ate Munoz-
Not much to do about it though, not really,
WindThe wind, sounding
In the trees,
Passes by without my notice,
Until later, as I think,
The wind, sounding
Passes through my thoughts
Masquerade.Slather; splatter; spread it on,
Rub in the liquid until it is "gone."
Every time I hide my face,
My true beauty seems to erase.
to love you is to lieto love you is to lie;
to deceive you is to betray myself.
to curse you is to send my heart to something else,
perhaps a ghost of what I imagined,
last spring, in the rain, under the full moon,
that open heart, willing soul, and I knew them both.
to love you is to die;
to trick you is to destroy myself.
shattered windows and bloodstains,
my mind torn from my body as I tried to
my stars all falling from the sky.
loving you is agony;
shunning you is pain.
not again, said my corpse,
my battered conscience,
this house is built on stone!
but summer brought heat,
autumn brought wind, and
winter brought the chill of death.
suddenly the fortress I had built was
gone, taken by new spring floods.
loving you is death;
hiding from you is torture.
who to blame?
my being, my essence,
swept from beneath by the hand of forces unseen.
my heart had no more walls, then,
my soul was sinking, and
my mind was weak from distress.
shining strength of twenty suns, I prayed,
allow this love to vanish lik
Light upon her skin.I want to be
In love with someone
And watch the light
Dance on the tips of her skin.
Like the sea,
I'll be the ebb,
And she'll be the flow
Moving together in perfect rhythm .
I want that feeling
Of confusing, alternating, maddening
Love to fill me from within
And to know how it feels,
To hear the words –
Beauty is so aimless.
It has no purpose, see?
So I don't see why it should matter
If you're prettier than me.
O FevraleWitching hour, welcomed with a sigh,
bare-breasted and ink-stained in the night.
Half in love in this half-life half-light;
pisat O Fevrale navsnryd, dreaming
of the gods. Wanderer, today I died and
died again, and whispered prayers
to clasped hands… until the nestled
droplets fell away like sunrays at dusk;
and when moonrise came, I sang again.
Yellow WallI write on the wall
to convince myself
all things can fade.
But this is of pencil
and my sorrows are
written in sterner ink.
A ThoughtThe best art is made
By those who care not for fame,
But who love their craft.
In a perfect world,
The Bard's name is a secret,
But his tale is known.
I love you.I am not myself these days;
I find myself, more and more,
in the fog of window panes and the
cold, misty morning air.
I am not myself these days;
I lose myself, more and more,
in the way light catches off
certain clouds of sunset: prisms.
What is different?
I love walks in the park,
clichéd as that may be,
and I enjoy the taste of the rain.
What else is different?
I am not willing, try as I might,
to accept or acknowledge that
the sins of my ancestors reflect in me.
Of course, this is all since I met you.
I wish, sometimes,
to feel less like a piano,
and more like a harpsichord that
only you know how to tune.
I dream, sometimes,
of what lies beneath,
and of why I can’t find
the reason for why
I love you.
In the water,
The rivers Daughter,
Won’t you let me
Come and sing now,
With you lady,
In the water,
Let me come?
Now good knight,
All in armor,
Quit your pestering,
And go marry
the farmers daughter.
But my lady,
Dressed in silver,
Just as I am,
Let me sing with you
All in armor,
Marry the farmer,
Live in the sunlight
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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