kitarawindsong

WARNING WARNING The following are my truths A bit of drivel that's dribbles out of my pen A bit of brightness beneath inkblots This My spiritual light It may not shimmer in similar hues as the light in you But it shines to respect and reflect the truths you feel must be heeded So Listen close if you feel my company is needed as these rules will not be repeated Rule number 1 Love- When someone is able to slip strange pink spectacles over your eyes When their frequencies frequently find you feeling fine You will never have enough to give. You'd evolve to match their strengths Expand to fill your fullest formidable form Real L

Nothing stands between myself and I but puddles of irrational thought. Haphazard, expertly unplanned the crescendos of your bicycle punctuate the pinging precipitation. "It's dripping wet and so am I, but I couldn't be gladder. Listen to the rain and hear a symphony of clatter." It pulses on Rain beats Coercing myself and hips into dancing nervously on street corners through puddles and gutters. "Under these wet clothes and all of this dirt I have wash off the last of my hurt." I spin drowning the white bikes noise in this movements melody, until myself and you are damp enough to finally feel th

Innocent as I was, I used to tell people That I wanted to be a butterfly If I ever grew up. I think this aspiration still stands. But those embryonic thoughts Have left me pregnant, With ideas that I can grow Much more than wings and colour. I can spread further Than all the wishes I've revealed. Since the day I started to live I've been standing. Just not on my own yet. I know both my legs, Just not how to run. Truth shot through my heart and head: Straight through it. Fluid Made it hard. Weak about the knees I've easily outspoken All the lines I've since tried to open.

My room is tinted red, yet I know it's not my own. Though it houses my father, and his older, kinder self, the walls won’t wrap me cozy. Instead, they only cough out homesick melodies, that I have super glued to my lungs, a la phlegm. It seems reflections are my road map, and the way their colours melt, and twist destabilizes my hope; of finding a bed, and pillow that smell just like my mother. And so I'll revert back to being a spider, lying still beneath a tented mess of cobwebs. Until a fly might brush against me, a fool to suck dry, and fill me for a little while. Kiss my salty cheeks and coo into my neck, u

I was eating pencils and Small black rubber maggots Off the paper like a vacuum Chewing the fat off some under cooked ideas And winning Looking’ just like a ‘96 thrift store baby Pigtails and all Night before this sparkling muck filled afternoon I rid myself of all my trinkets Played origami with my safety net And laughed a lil’ then I was introduced To my new pal “dirt” That’s when I felt my paper/lead mouth That’s when I became a vacuum Yeah that’d be right round when I sucked.

I had a mini flash back To my dream inside your head Where I had a Dream that I was your cigarette And you sometimes pressed your lips against me And I’d mingle with your blood and bone Shamefully unstitching all them flecks and bumps And little bitty broken bits Until that little spark we had Gets sucked into my thin beige boots And you toss them aside And let me hitchhike on in your lungs (a little dusty, yes, but cosy and full of you) In short hun’ I guess I dreamed you smoked