| The latest attempts to burst out of my head. |


whitesheets.threeIn the early morning I am completely vulnerable, having just wakened from sleep; I am tender, unprepared, unfocused. An easy target for the memories, wide open to receive in full what the shock keeps me from feeling later. So it is, as the sky sprawls in sleepy pale rose like babies' mouths and the blue of the questioner, that I am broken open in gaping segments, pulled away one after another in an onslaught like Hitler's armies would have creamed their uniforms to see.whitesheets.three
Picture the coast of my native state, soft and crumbling quietly on its own- now aided by the corrosive catalyst that is hurricane, one after another,


HoneyDew.AppleBeeDear AppleBee, I'm scaredHoneyDew.AppleBee
of words Like Naked,  


where home and historygreat storyteller,where home and history
talk black to me:
comin' from mother africa, we was slaves long ago--
da necklaces we wore back den to show our pride, our wealth, became nooses.
young student, talk white to me.
I am not an African slave.
I was born in Louisiana in 1989 and the hardest work I've ever done was babysitting three small children, cleaning up after nine relatives with no reprieve and raising my mother and baby sister
when Mommy was too tired to do it herself.
[statistics:]
there was a Daddy in the picture once o


fille druqkswhen i close my eyes i dream of ecstasy kisses: the faintest suggestion of fingertips slow and sensuousfille druqks
tracing the edges of my pores so that they gape open wide,
hungry to suck,
to become black holes to which pleasure gravitates (none of those DARE classes mentioned the beauty and quite frankly, i think they keep secrets so they can keep the drugs.)
i dream of staccato singsong headrushes
brought on by bright blazes of snow on glass tables, inhaling ice till i'm diamond hard and frozen in the shape of flakes: shifting, changing, evolving only to melt and
d r


moscato, part twoexchanging my warmth for sunlight on grapes: i think it's an even trade.moscato, part two


breathe intime has cultivated me into a purveyor of scents and memories. over the years i have collected fragrances from townhouses and towering apartment buildings, flats and third-story spaces designed to resemble italian villas;breathe in
we moved a lot.
at one time there was a house that filtered sunshine in ways church windows would weep to witness, and at another, a house where i learned how quickly "upside down" would come to define more than the position on the sofa that my mother told me would give me a headache if i held too long.
i remember my granddaddy's house smelled of Jova


starved of fleshi am becoming a monument of constantly procreating osteoblasts stacking and clusteringstarved of flesh
and thickening into walls and rods and long lines and curves of off-white infrastructure, great dirty-colored tunnels where marrow midwifes birth erythrocytes bathed in hemoglobin afterbirth one after another.
by now the population per capita should have reached maximum levels--
enough to warrant mandatory executions (in the form of T-cell attacks),
but this nation's leader is greedy.
he wants more traffic on the venal highways, more round red businessmen; he wants more neural CEOs talking too
| The latest attempts to burst out of my head. |
| Email: phoenixmothmoth@gmail.com AIM: whitesheetslim Skype: freezefirst MSN given upon request. GTalk: phoenixmoth@gmail.com |
| 51%
41%
8%
|
| sometimes when i'm staring at these boxes where i'm expected to say things about myself i blink. because i mean, what the hell do other people care to know about you? how do you know they care at all? i don't. and i don't like risking things like that, but since it's here. i'm nineteen. i'm transgender. i want to know everything. i collect beauty in all forms. that includes but is nowhere near limited to people and music and pieces of glass, names, accents, hair colors, nail polish, silver things, shiny things, voices, the sound of someone moaning and eye colors. music is everything to me in ways that force human language further and further into the recesses of my mind in favor of other people's sounds. i live in louisiana. my favorite band is tool. i love anything to do with maynard james keenan as well, so of course i love a perfect circle and puscifer. and yes, i'm all too blissfully aware that there are other members of all three bands. i love them too but maynard is special (ed). my hair gets frizzy and feels like sinking my hands into cotton when i don't feel like straightening it. which is often because I actually am incapable of doing more than washing or detangling my own hair. I can't style it or any of that shit. i'm a photographer. i love taking and seeing pictures. i love freezing beauty for all time. i adore vanity and arrogance makes me weak in the knees. i have an oral fixation. i am obsessed with certain people's mouths. (i also have trouble not having something in my own mouth but someone's going to take that the wrong way, so i'll parenthesize this part.) i'm a great singer, but you'll probably never hear it because i'm afraid other people don't agree. so i only sing for people who strike the nerve. [like people who are in need of tenderness.] i'm not very funny and not very interesting unless i'm listening to music. then i become exotic and thrilling. i suppose. i am mercurial to a fault. I LIKE TO TYPE IN CAPS when i get excited and that is fairly often because i am childish and easily excited. especially when it is because of something related to music. i love other people's scars. particularly from something like a cut. yeah. that kind of cut. i want to kiss them. brush my lips across them. trace them with my fingers or my tongue (let me taste your secrets). i have a pair of white and silver headphones that make me think of angels even though i don't believe in angels. i don't know what that says about me. i describe things in color but i am not an indigo child. i wish i was. i'm dying to be perfect. i'd tell you every secret i have if we had time. tell me a story. tell me a truth. draw me a picture. sing me a song. let me build you. let me break you. give me something new to know and love, because the old things...they're disappearing too quickly. oh, that was so real. |
| Please take a look at my forum! I'd like to know what you guys think about the topics there. |
--
Tinúviel elvanui
Elleth alfirin edhelhael
O hon ring finnil fuinui
A renc gelebrin thiliol
so that's why I keep randomly showing up and leaving....I just don't wanna get in trouble lol. I don't think you really cared but just so you know. XD
--
You better come clean because your friend just spilled the beans.
I like your ID write up.... it's really nice.
--
so impressed with all you do.
--
dA is for the literary arts, too.
Banned from dAmn.
Is this the same club you've been banning people up from speaking their mind, one of my friends nonetheless. I'm not sure what the full story is, but if you have any records of convesations, the friend's name is FluffyInDrag. I'd like to determine for myself whether she deserved it or not.
--
-Rainbow-RoXas
You wish you were as colorful as me!!!!
Jojo: YOPP!
Me: Yopp?
Jojo: Yeah, it's a yogurt, haven't you heard of it?
Me: Well... yeah, but what does that have to do with the storyline?
Jojo: Oh, nothing, I was just hungry.
Me: ><
--
Bulimic rainbows vomit what ?
Coconut pupils never shut ?
Sea shells scream celestial code;
Melt on the shore in a flame snowglobe.
Burn Piano Island Burn !
[I packaged my heart and fed-ex'd it to the octopus queen]
-- THE BLOOD BROTHERS
--
Dylan was here
--
I
--
My footsteps on the ceiling never leave a trace,
A thousand little thoughts I've wanted to erase,
I'll sleep under the rug if I can find the space,
My mind is blown in stereo and dripping down my face.
--
dA is for the literary arts, too.
Previous Page12345...Next Page