chiaroscuro

 frost coats the surface of my emotion steadily falling snow dots the frozen water, lending it an air of mystery, intrigue, depth i see the fathomless abyss, the temptation despite the looming thalassophobia my fingers are pink with exposure, my mouth parts with damp heat every breath i gasp in sends spirals of snow into my veins i wish for oblivion,  wish for exhilaration there are metal blades on my feet, i wobble across the ice unsteady on my feet, knees knocking, breath stuttering i want to chip my teeth on the ice, i want to lick the frost and be immobilized i want ice to silver my tongue  black ice, reddened ice, the snow that dots my hair and tumbles around my huddled shoulders the other bank beckons  it's too tantalizing, the concept of opposites, foils, an ear reddened by blood and so i skate across the lake, feet pumping, eyes wide, fingers stretching  the ice quivers under my weight, water buckling and the sheets shuddering but from the way i'm shooting across the su

unexpected dagger born not really out of spite or mean-spiritedness just something hurtful  cutting to the quick from one whom I had just been lauding  dramatic irony i was just remembering something from the blur of the witching hour i hate how mundane it all is the argument, the single line  but what hurts more is the Pieta watching and who only held the child and not the stricken fallen.

i examined my nails. they were okay. just worn from where i hemmed them to rounded, if a little crooked edges. sometimes there would be a flat plateau where the nail clippers cleaved a line instead of rounding an edge.  there were my lunulas. little moons. the one on my thumb was the biggest. it looked like a moonrise. i had five moons on each hand. a celestial body buried under chapped cuticles, chipping nail polish. i had painted my nails weeks ago.  i used opi nail polish. i had coated each nail in three different polish. a pale blush base, then a shimmery overcoat, and then a dusting of glitter for the very top. it made my fingers twinkle whenever i waved them in the air. it distracted from the uneven cuts of my tips.  sometimes i would paint them iridescent, other times very dark. i had a black/brown polish with no gloss. it swallowed all the light and gave length to my thin fingers. spider hands, i had. i didn't wear that color often because i chipped them too often and it le

today i flew over a freshly birthed heart made of green and tussocks fresh flowers budding in dew richly perfumed graces wispy as all the swathes of silks in the world i would like to be a little less ambitious centered around some less wild mania let me find some golden-eyed child chase me into the fey hills of endurance where ruins whisper and stones sing where the kindest things cradle  and the harshest evils murmur

One day I will be braver I will gather the courage within me like sunshine submerged in the heart of small growing green things and let it flow out from me   It will guide my footsteps to a steadier, brighter future than my current platitudes    One day I will be braver and I will sing the song I've been humming all these years maybe with a dance for accompaniment's sake   Letting me breathe for the first time in years a peachy tint to my lungs and my tongue and my lips   One day I will be braver and I will open a funny little door and poke my head out, bird like, chick like so I can see the sun and smile at its grace.  

 there is a white background behind me.  the absence of darkness compels me forward, up stage left.  I am surrounded by the scribbling of a lunatic a twitter post written at midnight.   The pencils quickly sketch me from the waist up I have no feet or ankles or knees no flared hips that the old women worship no legs to propel me forward, up stage right.   My diamond chin, the slant of my nutty eyes Nutty but like a paste, an almond sweet flavored flatly break the crust, like you do under the river bridges and smile, like you do when the money's tight.  The hair billows, pensive and thoughtful and empty a space to be filled in, upward strokes, downward strokes a swimmer going upstream, against the grain it falls over my skull and lays across my line of sight.   I see nothing, for I am a silhouette against a cross-hatched background the noise of the paper and the lead makes me scream I'm heard amongst the silence that is this white space and perhaps for a moment I can break free

 there's something to be said about the despair in your smile like rainwater dripping off of firewood the piano is wailing as the sirens blare in the distance the bartender is barking at you as you lurch from side to side   the city smiles and your hand in mine is calloused and warm I hold onto it for if I let go I will fall into myself  into myself and my misery  I'm not sad, a pillar in a temple is not sad it's more of a resignation, an acceptance a star-crossed letter delivered to you by hand slowly i pick up the pieces and I learn to walk in the footprints in the mud by the green pond where the ducks swim and the herons sleep.