hazecitron

call me
sometime
Adam in
the garden
of midsummer eve
today
just wanted to feel
that round plastic on
my hips one more time
droppin' tears
droppin' seeds
suntime, this is it
when I'm
most alive
keep dancin'
to throw
'em off but
gotta cry
as soon as
I'm alone
afraid to get cut
open again
I told 'em
to take it out
what the fuck else
could anyone want
I cannot
I brushed my hair
today in the mirror
in my bra
and underwear
wet dreams
reminded of a time
in high school
young
doing my hair
makeup
kilt to my knees
multicoloured
ribbony scrunchies
blue and green
eyeshadows imagining
to myself
someday I'll be older
grown out
pretty
have a boyfriend
a motorcycle
it's funny
better in some ways
freedom is how
you perceive
your life
I can blend
disappear
I know
stay strong
but damn
five surgeries in
and hey
I got this
kinda don't
shaking
I'll dance one more time
and I'll cry

how ya feel?
how ya feel?

playd8

smile bright 

god is sunshine

melting laughter

out the gutter 

something right 

weak hands 

kisses, hugs

keeping straight faced

getting high 

rolling circles 

round my cuboid 

you’re not a big drinker 

and I get so serious 

don’t know what time it was 

lookin’ so perfect 

high hopes

though there’s fire 

burning in the distance 

forever after 

doesn’t exist 

groovy 

baby spin it 

forget 

like the first time 

like the last time 

right now 

right now we got sunshine 

god is light reflecting

off your eyes 

Dreamscape 

They touched pinkie

to thumb, an alchemical

devilish hand gesture

peering through masked eyes

dark figures, religious, occult

running for the elevator

can’t get out of this one

fast enough

finger-slamming the button

“C’mon, c’mon!”

two floors up, eyes wide shut

Tail lights in the forest

white van, he’s handsome

park alongside a trail

hop out to take a piss

we were roaming

we were vagabonds with

candid grins

we took photos

naked in the moonlight

Blue ocean brimming

old man, glass eye, wrinkled grin

he took us out in his boat

magic whirlwind of white

water splashing

hundreds of feet high

swirling, we were flying

subconscious vessel story

into the deep Jung depths

of finding one another

peered into your soul for

just a moment, or was it hours

we held hands

even though we were sinking

we were dreaming

just falling

Citilily

autopilot
cruise control
white sandstorm of thinking
busy, eager, 9 to 5ers,
crowded, climbing, piling 
stacks of buildings
swaying slightly 
condensed culture
in a tin can
pour it into coffee
longing for a forest
moonlight, florals
naked skin
readjusting freedom
break out of the slime shell
shaking loose of patterns
space in stillness
ecstasy in breath
I find surrender when I come
into my body
slipping sideways
in my soul

Heartbeats

slippin’
I’ll just keep on
stay with this
ice snow drifts
wheels runnin’ in the dirt
want me to fix it
I’m tired, a kitten
alternating realities, this
psychosomatic whirlwind
it’s feeding
the lights could be dimmer
draining,
succulence
plant ginger, plant garlic
perhaps it could grow
in the frigid window
really
just focus, breathing
avocado stay moist
one day, just maybe
you’ll become a tree
our thoughts turn
to words
symbols, reality
sewing seeds
when we talk about
escapades, reveries
little curlicues of stories
open to windows
to worlds
thank you for sharing
music with me
your soul
your laughter
have a nip
a taste of that
sweet nectar
with me

Paper Doll

I’m looking for my paper doll. The one that I’d put super hero capes on. I’ve had it forever. Tucked away in a little box somewhere. Where the fuck is she? I used to draw these Wonder Woman outfits, sometimes she’d be an Amazonian goddess.

It really was the coolest thing.

I can’t find her anywhere. My little paper doll. The one that used to be so strong for me. These little outfits that I’ve drawn. They’re not big enough for me.

I drove this puttering, white convertible in my dream. She wasn’t a doll. But she was paper. Flip flapping when I looked into the mirror. I had this crinkly face, but not like wrinkles, I wasn’t old. I was her. I was paper.

I’d park the car and open the trunk. All the outfits that I’d dream up as a kid, they were real and I could put them on.

It was in the middle of the desert. There was this spinning contraption, this hobby-horse of sorts. It had these streamlining, spinning whirls of colour. It was this levitating sort of alive box. I was headed straight for it in the middle of nowhere. Like it contained all the answers.

But that image kept distracting me. My face as paper. I guess the more I focused on it, the more this world would shatter. The corners of reality coming undone. I stopped trying to get there. I couldn’t control it anymore.

I pulled over and starting tearing at this paper all around me. The skies, the distant contraption, whatever the hell that thing was. It all came undone. Then I started tearing at me. Pulling and ripping apart the very fabric of my being.

It was just this whiteness. This blank. Nothing.
The peace of it.

I found the doll. She always looks so different than how you remembered her.

I’ll rip her up into a million little pieces and let the quails eat me.
What happens when I don’t have the totem anymore.

When I am her?

Everybody’s gotta learn sometimes 

  

Change your heart, it will astound you.

Attachment to a specific outcome, expecting things to turn out the way you planned will always cause you to suffer. The more I think something is gonna go a certain way, the more intrigued I am to watch how it unfolds through a series of events I’d never have been able to imagine.

I saw a guy once with “It changes like the weather” tattooed in a rough, dark typeface across his forearm. I fell in love with him immediately. I never got his name. I expected that I would at least talk to him. We never made eye contact.

I always liked breaking the rules so much growing up: sneaking out of my bedroom at night, blowing cigarette smoke out my window, walking out of class. It’s ironic how I spent so much time crying and fussing over all the moments life took my rules and smashed them in my face.

Like that time I thought he’d show up.

When my steaks weren’t bloody enough over that campfire and under the moon.

Or when she didn’t lunge herself at me and tell me I was her one and only forever. 

That’s okay, let it get weird in this chapter, see where it takes you. I used to do improv when I was a teenager and one of the biggest rules in the game is: always say yes. As soon as you break down the scene and try to control it, “No! We’re at a gas station not the pizza parlour,” you lose your captivated audience. 

You’re the actors starring in the movie of your life. Your higher You and your little you. You know when you say “I can’t stand living with myself”? That’s the higher you having enough of your ego. Two partners on stage disagreeing about what they’re doing. Let them hold hands, feel each other out. One needs the other for survival. We created this dualism in order to evolve as beings.

Have fun with it.  

Only your little you gets upset about how the way things should be. When you allow yourself to just be, when the story is all out of loop but you’re still stood there smilin, damn is it ever pretty.