Maybe I can bloom into my imagined homes of green gardens and gentle streams filed with jewels for the pleasure of little hands. Precious hands. May I walk among those waters to offer glittering light to the wonder of my little loves? Come. May I call you ‘precious’ and love all your happy times and … Continue reading Crazy House Poem #3
Tag: anxiety
Crazy House Poem #2
It’s hard to think deeply unsettled as shells half-baked and empty on the sand. Only fingers can change my view. Otherwise, I can only wait the eons between high and low sea tides. Even then, no life hangs to my sides, though it was life that I came to be.
Crazy House Poem #1
I’m sure, once a cloud drifted through asleep on drafts of dreams, warmed by dangerous desert lands where the hungry ground eats clouds for life. But in that brief cool morning, when sun was kind and vicious lands asleep, the fog turned golden, alive in delight that the warm dream could come true.
The Worth of Dreams
Those who have reached the dream cry hope, while those who grow old in the gray light of poverty shake their heads. So shake me loose. Where is the middle ground? Or is this overcast life it? They say dreams are fickle, corrupting, even. As much to peel you back for spoils as to give … Continue reading The Worth of Dreams
Off Kilter
I crouch in a dark room. Sun closed off. Sky closed off. Curtains, keep all sight away, because my chest is painfully tight and a hole is burning through me for no reason, and it blisters against the thoughts screaming "Why?" But there's really no answer to that. Or an answer too large to hold, … Continue reading Off Kilter
Shade of Summer Days
Tell my why I prefer naked moonlit nights to the shade of sunny days. I'm not white, I'm the color of murky ocean, curdling beneath me with drifting globes of jellyfish. I dream of peeking down below at all the things that grow there. I'm meant to lounge in softness, killing dragons, slaying monsters, in … Continue reading Shade of Summer Days
We Friends Don’t Talk Anymore
We don't talk anymore. Whether it's because you're hiking different cliffs followed by almost children, or because I'm too aware of the threat of your sex to what I need most. I don't know. But we don't talk anymore. I admit, I still wonder about the path you stood by and offered to me with … Continue reading We Friends Don’t Talk Anymore
Light my Nights
I find the sound of your tiny snores ease my darkest nights. A profile of long lashes and bits of polished sky-- bits of me. But I couldn't be this beautiful. I want to hold you like in the days when you despaired whenever you couldn't hear my heart, but you're older now. And no … Continue reading Light my Nights
The Passion Confused Boy
I often wonder to the scrawny, passion-confused boy I left behind. The one who always fights with his music--banging on the keys because he's angry--angry at everything. I often wonder if he is still angry, but that is what makes me wary of him; forever wary of him. He was a knot of a person. … Continue reading The Passion Confused Boy
Costly Flesh
I want to be slim as a curve of skin; want to bask in white sand waters. Sun me, you costly coasts, and let me try out just once, comfortable flesh. So comfortable that I don't feel naked in a swim suit, nor mince my steps to control the jello I've had since 13. But I'm … Continue reading Costly Flesh
Author T.S. Lowe 