i speak softly because there are no walls
at least the echoes haven't haunted me yet
i don't keep secrets, can't get that deep
i thought i left you
but here i am
eyes bright
keys on fire
im not high
not drunk
but i can take myself back there
my ego, black ice when i talk
fill my mouth with ice chips just to stop that feeling when something's in there, but wont GET OUT

this doctor loves lace, but wears corduroy
and says
she doesn't believe in bad drugs
are you fucking serious bitch?
but i smile
cuz i know she's real fuckedup, like i could be, again, again
it's a choice now, when to turn it on

tarnished

thin layers of gold on my wrists waiting for notes of b minor

but I'm waiting for the tarnish in f sharp

until the edges fray bronze or silver-green, ill be left with that feeling

when only one violin string plays till silence takes what it wants

his silver molars are the only tough parts on site

inside, lava

outside, gold-plated compassion

like dressage, he is more carriage than horse.

but I'm a shark on repeat 

a sapphire shark built to bite only enemies who bleed out completely

when veins go soft like decrepit leather drooped over the back edges of a horse 

when it stops flowing

when oxygen couldn't even revive the dried up loose ends

whipping, whirling, sporadic fantastic

its bucking to itself to death

and the dried up leather falls of the horseback

picked up and dusted off

after draining beauty, it remains 

its functionality intact

it has a head 

and its eating

it has a fist

and its meeting

it has a game

but thats fleeting

sometimes theres nothing left but the meat

and my wrists will never ever ever ever ever ever tarnish

but his teeth will fall out one by one and he'll loose that mouth of his

the one he uses to pick and choose the way he abuses with his words

yet, in this world, he is rewarded by fellow cowards

tarnished and soured

i only love you when you melt

im angry

but only when it suits me

im hungry
mostly when its easy
im a 5 when its 10
im in heaven with no end
justification has a spelling
i cant remember telling

what arts appeal is
x
x x
x

when forced disclaimers




come with the start



dont wanna live in this part
where fairy tales are life plan
one woman and one man
...and a blow torch
...and no remorse
im spoon, you fork
knife, knife, knife
no wrong, no right

Ask Einstein.

My 2 yen.

End systematic hatred.

#1 is to contribute to a system (bigger than a group or belief) that educates people enough to be able to critically denounce racism, sexism, and I would like to think, materialism. -----> Vote for candidates who support well-funded, well-rounded, diversity focused education, as well as rights for teachers to make curriculum in this way.

#2 Support the arts. Why? It may seem far-fetched, but, would it be hard to believe that some people turn to fucked up groups like the KKK, ISIS, etc. and other hate groups because of simple psychology of not belonging anywhere else. The arts, yes, even if they arent 'making money,' give people positive things and groups to be a part of and to express themselves (yes even the sad, crazy, morbid stuff) in a non-violent way. When we ignore this part of ourselves, we ignore our very being. Ask Einstein.

Opened

i got nothing but mystery to join my blistery, bitch-bleached views
on why my male coworker told me not to use the F word
Or to act like a lady
Or close my legs when sitting

news flash
my legs are open for
what ever business i am in inviting that day
and i would rather walk away
than kiss your ass,
Or should i close my lips while sitting on my knees, too?

like every other creature whose outline features tits n butt
im in the business of making you think you know what's what
thats survival and thats "just the way it is"

screaming babies
eventually
stop.

but ive lost motivation in this maze
and i have no edgy way of saying how f-wording-ing sick i am of pumping up the M-word ego just so i can get S-word done.
does my sailor mouth ruin the fantasy?

thats right
i forgot.
everything the light touches is yours.
ill let it all go.
ill seek your approval.
ill patiently listen to your lifeless rhetoric
ill smile when you make conversation you seek no response to
and when your hand bushes up on me, ill let you feel me
ill even let you kiss me -- but just on the cheeck, of course. i am a lady.

born thinking i belonged to myself.
make my own money. buy my own clothes. get what i want.

but thats meaningless, until i am what he wants.

miserable now

a baby above me actually cries
my screen door could keep no rapists out
how, how, how, how
is it possible Morrissey is so blisteringly hot
born with it all

cursed to merely comment,
consumed
the life squeezed out
zap! i've electrocuted myself with my phone charger again

Photos and Foreigners

i found some writing i did last year when we were dating and i was still in school. remember i took all those photos of you in black and white photography???


Well. I just found this. This is what i read to the class when i presented all my photos of you. I think you should read it. I don't know if I ever showed you this?


it's called "why andrei"

In his 21 years of life, he's probably experienced more, fortunate and unfortunate, than the average, middle-of-the-road American.

"To everyone else, I'm just a foreigner," he said to me one day.

And it seemed to be true.

I see it happen. The way people marvel over his accent, ask him if Russians really love Vodka, and look at him as a fixture

of entertainment. They ask, "where are you from?" "why are you here?" "how long will you stay?"

The questions pile up. It seems to be first nature to wonder about why, what and where then actually wonder about who

this person might be.

But none of this ever occurred to me ... he fascinated me first with his similarities to myself, and after, I began to learn and grow from him.

Not wondering about his differences of linguistics, ideas, and emotion but finding that i prefer them.

He was something complex and sad and odd and understated and honest. He was something like me. And so, "the kid from Russia," who hasn't seen his parents in two years,

who has nothing truly familiar here, who learns something new everyday is the subject of my photos.

And in these photos, he is still himself, but he's not from anywhere, he's from everywhere. The photos represents emotions instead of numbers and figures.

They represent sensation instead of conscise meaning. They represent the real emotions we all teach ourselves not to let out for other's to be a part of.

He represents unintentional bravary, complicated inner dynamics and even the reckless beauty I see within him.

This is Andrei. These are my photos.


He is my muse, and it is my hope that not everyone has to go goes through as many douchebags (or bitches) as I had to in order to find the person who inspires

them enough to be able to take 10 presentable photos in 30 minutes after you (being the dumbass you are) exposed the whole roll of film you were going to

use for your last photo assignment of your life.