Discourse


​Mouth full of ashes ,

and head full of lightning 

Turns out your life 

Isnt quite so enticing. 
With eyes so full of you,

Their teeth pronouncing you God,

Who knew the best of heaven,

Would be so shamelessly flawed?
Wrist twisting under the weight,

You’ve carried on quite so sedate,

You didn’t notice your arms full of strain,

It’s seemed quite so natural, 

to just be in pain.

-She will smile though her head is swelling,

Beyond her beauty what can be more overwhelming?

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Sante Muerte 


​She is all cinnamon, cloves, and Agave nectar. She is a mouthful of Earth, rich but hard to swallow. Maybe you’ll choke on her grit or be nurtured by her ancient soils. You can’t come at a serpent and not expect for it to strike and recoil. Maybe you’ll get sweet syrup from the spoils of her desert or harsh tequila to stun your senses. She is no island. She is no paradise. She is the savage beauty of the outlands. She is the wild west. She is the holy sacrament of blood and the curse of Aztec Gold. She is the outrage of her innocent people that were brutalized for the riches of her depths. She is the old world Goddess  they call her mother, the old tribes of Mexico. Her lands are stained with the horrors of her own people and you can hear her cries along the water at night as she mourns for her children’s pain. During the day you’ll see the remnants of a great empire that lived, breathed, you’ll see ghost rise from ashes and dust. You’ll see them dance in the age old regalia and sing the songs of the old language, that will fall from their lips like fresh fruit. Their brown skin will glint with the opaque golden glitter of spirits past. They will swing their hips with the heat of salsa, and stomp their feet to call of the death whistle.They sing her tears that run like just perked coffee and boiled dark chocolate, into a river of despair. They celebrate the lost and call them home to her. A nation lost shall rise again and today will be the day of the dead. Sante Muerte approaches with her bosom bare for all to see, fresh with the milk of her love, so that we may drink and heal. 

Brown to Gold, then Blue.


​Your skin is like the sun shining on sand, full of hidden treasures you have only to study to find. Full of soft multicolored crystals but blended to perfection. I always loved making sandcastles and playing on the beach. You bring to mind such childish carefree notions. Such naivety. Your beauty is a day dream, making the mind haze with such an immaculate distraction.Your eyelashes are deep Kohl mixed with the flecks of glossy obsidian. Stretching across the sweeping Persian desert dunes that you call cheek bones. Your lips are plump plum and burnt sienna waiting, no urging to be explored like lost forest trails that engulf their visitors. Your hair is a mass of wild Arabian horse tuft made for wind and the blind stroking of love. Or at least the imagery of it.You are a savage beauty, fearsome to encounter, riveting to behold, and so utterly tempting. You make the ocean look so welcoming. Beckoning like your mistress who has claimed so many souls. You are very misleading and always with the taste of promise, you seal the deal. 

-you scrapped the gold away from my skin and rubbed it into your glow like mineral pearls…scrapped till I turned blue. 

Lumus Maximus


I was bigger than life,

brighter than the sun,

Filled with all the enthusiasm,

That seems to burst forth,

on the first breath of spring.

 

I was a bright light beckon,

That I couldn’t see shining,

Beyond my own inner darkness.

 

From everywhere they flocked to me,

Like lost birds flying south,

And I nurtured them,

as was my way.

 

With no one to warn me,

Beware the lost,

That fly in from the dark,

They come for what they lack.

 

They come in legion,

Vermin, rats, and bats,

They come like hungering wolves in packs.

 

No one told me,

Even in the dark mass of space,

That what seems just a star to you,

Is a sun to another,

(A center of a solar system).

 

Here I was a lonely star,

And planets grew from me,

And moons once shadows now illuminated like bright orbs,

Then life, with trees and plants,

I became food for worlds of people.

 

They call me the sun,

And here I thought,

I was only a flicker of a flame.

 

My flicker is a supernova,

That wipes out galaxies and solar systems,

My light is the reason that they live and can continue to be.

 

They called me a sun,

But how could I know the weight of what that means,

When I have never encountered another being like me?

 

 

– the blind leading the blind

 

The Pathway


The spirit of death visits with such normalcy.

It comes like an old dear friend,

And sometimes like a familiar enemy,

We have battled with for a lifetime,

That we can leave with as equals.

 

Either way,

We can find truth in death,

It may not always be the truth we like,

But who can argue with truth?

 

You either make peace with the truth,

Or wander lost until you are ready to,

It may take a while,

But we all get to the same place,

Sometime.

 

-let go of your preconceived notions and biases, death is just another pathway, so will you walk on through?

 

The Haven


Growing is going to hurt you and those that you love.

Not all healing is sweet and soothing.

 

Some healing is violent and chilling,

It will make you tremble and writhe,

And those you love will hear you scream.

 

Some healing takes sucking,

The venom out the wound,

And vomiting your impurities,

Until you wretching up nothing but stomach acid and saliva.

 

Yet, once you have built that immunity,

You shall be protected from that illness,

As well as those that decend from you,

for generations to come.

 

-suffer now and create a foundation for joy later, each tear a brick, each drop of blood a room, and each heartache a haven.

 

The Cheater


If he is greedy for more,

Then let him have more,

But don’t let it be you.

 

Because what he wants to take,

Is beyond any measure of value,

You see, what’s done is done,

And life you can not undo.

 

You may think you are less,

Than his more,

But your are God’s infinite.

 

What you suffer,

God must too suffer,

Be kind to the God within.

 

-if it belongs to you, it isn’t going anywhere else, your love is there to stay.

 

Makings of an Outkast


People don’t like what’s different,

if they feel it threatens who they are,

in some way.

 

 

-oh, it’s very personal, when you are transcending someone else’s normal.

You threaten their very way of life with your progress .

You threaten their way of conduct because they have no will to progress with you (into what is for them uncharted territory).

Oh, you need to be a man?


Well, I need to be a woman,

The woman that is a wilderness,

The women that is a storm,

The women that is silent but deadly like a body of water,

The women that does not apologize for her own nature.

 

A women that is a Goddess,

A universe,

A world onto herself.

 

Is this really about your manhood?

 

Does my femininity overwhelm you so much?

Were you really so solidified in your manhood then?

Let’s not make this about our gender’s.

-My need to be a women does not come second to your needs to be a man.