a pocket full of mumbles

anatomy and atoms and atomies

-
our bones were made of
neon lights and
they buzzed with the
potential energy
of ideas,
tiny atoms of inert gas
colliding with my glass skin,
creating the pressure
to create

our hearts were made of
spare parts
scavenged from dumps
and abandoned bars,
where broken beer bottles
and bicycle wheels
somehow came together
and produced
life-giving rhythm

our eyes were made of
stardust,
collected from the wings
of lost faeries
who cried tears of silk
and sang songs about ashes.

railrose:

I know the fire
in your eyes
dies between
my stanzas,
but I’ll tell you
a secret: I write
to keep both
of us lit.

Borrowed

awanderingsheep:

he borrowed her book
and noticed it was stained with tears,
he returned it and
the stains had grown,
and the little things were
circled and starred,
so that she would know —

and she knew.

so this is randomly getting notes again… #throwbacksunday

also, happy Pentecost to all my followers — I firmly believe that even if you don’t share my faith, the Holy Spirit is still with you :)

Knowing My Place

you once told me
that my place was in the
kitchen
(or the
bedroom)
and for a while
I believed you —

but my place is here,
pen in hand,
taking on the world,
holding up
half the sky

you can make your own
sandwiches,
I’m too busy
writing.

Supply and Demand

the economics of love
cannot be taught
as an AP class in high school —
the market for loanable funds
becomes a series of love letters
and unopened texts,
the externalities of loving you
are neither positive nor negative,
for your shifting demand curves
make it impossible to tell
(the substitution effect
is what really kills)
but I’ve got the supply
if you’ve got the demand

thedustdancestoo:

as the moon rested
between my thumb and pointer,
i gently
crushed
                      it.

Lost in Translation

I’d like to learn the language
of your smile,
the subtle accents
that distinguish between
sarcasm and joy,
the tiny commas that
frame your
,mouth,
where I might stop
to catch my breath,
the syntax of your lips
and the semantics of your tongue,
your eyes possess a grammar
I can never hope to master —

I’d like to learn the language
of your smile, my love,
but I haven’t had the chance
to study
for so long.

when the universe cried that day,
it was like rain
except
the universe’s tears
were stars,
and we were surrounded
by a fiery inferno
of weeping.