LINES

this is not for anyone, just a way to voice my questions and plead once more for something clearer. The part about the angels was God's confirmation through a man at the park who's first words (in broken english) to me were, "You have very strong angels." and i still smile to consider that i keep my guardians in-shape.

draw the lines much deeper
carve close to the muscle
i want to see the fences

bright imagination; still too far
never dared these depths

the strongest shambles of armor
and firm assurance of body-builder angels

sorted out the 'if' and 'don't'
you must realize color
but i'm still waiting for definers
i am a woman.- i guess you already knew

how holy are bills in blood?
can you salvage the cocaine?
my list continues on

never doubt the people
or question humanity
i'm struggling with holiness
waist-deep in pig-shit pride

my pedastal would smash
if it was off the ground
instructors are the drug-lords,
thats enough in shards

i like the shocking titles
the glow it gives my face
but when its me and the four walls
can't pretend there is no 'them'

waiting on the borders
darkest black, please
and simple things; like do i feed the hungry?

i know where to stand on something like pawn shops,
but where is your commandment
on taking the gifts of a theif,
and is this so much different?

do my eyes scream loud enough?
is telling right or left crossing into sin?
when to be a friend is an alibi, do i walk away?

i don't want to live it
experience is scary, open-house for error
make a list- typed, so i won't slip
highlight all in bold

love and justice don't mix,
but combust with deadly fumes
how can i declare to care
grasp the hand who's twin sells the death
and really love that too-thin woman, fistfull of a wrinkled twenty

father; do i feed the hungry?

When?

for that lady who still makes my eyes fill up, when will you be ready? do you know you will never escape the streets, never rise above the sniff on your own?

talk is tiny and i'm no doctor
you’re bleeding on the floor
nod, re-fill my cup
act as if i understand
my four walls
often vary but they are always stable
honesty won't let me say its sympathy
clear strong words pulled from that strangled throat
“I’m not ready.”
i imagined last words to be quivering, shaking
“I’m not ready."
teetering between profound and real
your slow suicide attempt filling up my nostrils
head-ache in the making, successful to impress
history of broken bits and standing-up the ambulance
wonder how familiar paramedics are with 'no'

“I’m not ready.”
who told you to be patient?
who said preparation? cliff-jumping is exhilarating!
addictions are immortal
with lungs like infants, never give you peace
hope shouting, 'you can't. trash to try,
you will never be enough.'
look down at my own callouses
the bleeding, leaking sores
some so deep and cracked
mirror in my fingers,
so much lace we add, its hard to believe your logo is a pus-y blister
“I’m not ready.”
maybe its the same with all dying words
replay again and again until they lose their force
all the pauses in between, the question we both beg
the path isn’t far, just very, very long