The Dreaming Corner ~ vol. 03

-do not
tell me
who i should be
do not
tell me
what to believe
do not
define
who i am
because
i am not you
and you are not me. You Were Not An Aquarium BoySea-glass became your bones,
brine your blood, and seashells
melded into your skin.
You were not quite an ocean
when you said "This is your sign to love me."
My body was like a building;
tall, cold, almost unbreakable.
I was metallic and sharp,
towering over your waters.
I remember taking your hand in mine,
conch and coral shells scrubbing
my skyscraper wrists, and laughing
about how one day you would
submerge every last bit of me.
Your lips, riddled with argonauts,
found my cheek and I cringed
at the coarseness.
You asked if they bothered me
and I finally told you "I
think I love you." you float like a feather, in a beautiful worldno one knew her, and no one wanted to.
she spent 9am nights with sticky tears pressed to her
cheeks, foundation smudged on her face,
yet she refused to believe that happiness would
replenish her in any way.
stubbornness leaked with the same rancid smell
every night, a white sheep in a fog of thunder clouds.
it was like a pale storm
had passed over her pupils,
forever rainy days
with no sunshine displayed in the retinas
for the hungry children of the sun to croon over.
she told me once
that she never wanted to be happy again,
never wanted crinkles to appear in a haze under her eyes, because she believed happiness was stupidity; blank words on paper and wet paintbrushes with nothing to paint.<da:thumb id="502682974"/>
the arsonistit is what it is.
I want to set that phrase on fire.
Pour some gasoline on each letter
till they reek of volatility 
till they are itching for ignition, for agency
to burn and lick and singe.
I want to catch her mind alight,
each redwood-high issue to smolder
and I want each eye to brighten
like a freshly-stoked furnace
her words to be shot-off sparks
glowing in the night.
for every shrug
I want dynamite to liven
up the shoulders that have
lowered with the eyelids
till the whole body is a half-vision,
my kindle, these half-dreams
and one day I’ll find the match
to set the mind to passion
and she’ll wake up with a woosh,
a wild wonder.<da:thumb id="471095099"/> BreatheI swallow anxiety
with last night's leftovers,
while they lick cream
from embroidered silver spoons.
They do not passion me better,
they sink me to ribbons.
So I will peel sunshine
from my windows and whitewash
my walls back clean. I will
straitlace my arms to obedience.
I will breathe and breathe
until I do not have to
anymore.<da:thumb id="491228648"/>

GuessingWith all the confusion
the haze I get
when i get in this daze
just like before
with a boy i never had
yet he had my all
i don't want to guess
but i almost don't want to know
how does he feel?
is it all just a show?
a small part of me
almost wants it to be so...<da:thumb id="478971066"/><da:thumb id="498815376"/> but i hold my hands out, ad infinitumpolysemous kneels and jaded,
i curl ambiguity against
the collapsing walls of
ambigram.
letters folded into wings
and gone again.
(maybe they're fluttering,
gliding, soaring, drifting (away))
i cannot fly and
nor can you.
and my voice is clawed
into the branch where i was born
and i am not st. vincent;
i cannot birth in reverse.
no matter how much
i try to carve the words
out from my jawed
insides
out.
but this love and sadness
is baroque, climactic
and dramatic.
i look for you
in the attic of my mouth
and the basement of my hands--
i hear you in the corner
of this dystopian (uni)verse
and know better than to reach
for you now,
the room will only fall in on us.
<da:thumb id="475047026"/> Sleep-Sloped (DFC 2014)phantom dream,
slide
harsh fingers down
sleep-
sloped skin.  lullabies
long forgotten, betrayal of self--
tonight,
you are an icicle
lodged between bruised ribs
melting slow.
nameless, you whisper
sweet nothings, breath on seashell curves;
bone-weary, veins fill thick with thin words.
in the morning, i wake thawed
save the imprints of your promises
wrapped like threads
on this
fraying heart. Renga tree - warmthheat in the dark
fire burns in hearth
and heavens


The Dreaming Corner is a feature series highlighting pieces of literature
that have touched and inspired me, making me want to share it with others
in this wonderful community I'm proud to call my own little hub.

Please, give these writers a minute of your time, and enjoy

With love,
Lady-Yume




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previous volumes:
★ vol. 01 - ★ vol. 02

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