paradigm

used to pray

rosary beads

spider gods 

extraterrestrial

jiggly elephants

dark, gapingness 

wide-eyed

waiting for nothing

mandalas

the magical mystery bus 

the centre of 

meaningless 

but when moonlight

creeps down the staircase 

there’s beauty again

when flowers bloom

feeling sunlight, music

good sex

I believe if I shed 

it all, my skin 

white, shiny wet 

bones and pumping heart 

beauty is quick 

passing moments 

shifts in perspective 

beneath frail words

tapered lifestyles on screens

sculpted thoughts 

just wanna pop that 

juicy blackberry 

in my mouth 

and forget 

let go of it

a spiralling world 

of beliefs, pretty things

hold on to the 

shiny gold tassel of good

the kind ones 

soft hearts 

acceptance

we are okay

just the way we are 

without filter 

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The maze of me

rippling
throwing stones into an ocean
searching for the wander
that has been me

the twisting butterfly
can’t go back
once cocooning is complete
welling waves
get me every time
why can’t we stay
with the water
the sweet milky place
carving at the story
over and over
she teaches me
to love the act of letting go
it makes the sunset everbright
it makes tomorrow
less dark, less scary
I could stand beneath
volcanoes I’ve imagined
learn to harness
the intimate energies
working within my body
soft, strong
finding peace in distant callings
in the words between
long silences and longings

drifting
in that sweet soulspace,
pulling guidance from
the maze of 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?