tattoo me/you

the plot. ecstatic

A while back i was wearin a floral print shirt i bought with a gift card leftover from the holidays, and found myself perspiring through another busy day, what with the excitement of life in this little city, and my sweat commingled with the pattern, the print from the inside out, and the material began to stick to my skin. i tried to tug it away from time to time, whilst talking to people about their problems, then had to take my coffee break early, smiling as i excused myself, when to my dismay i found the print had firmly rooted itself into me, and my upper body was one big floral tattoo, a colorful garden up and down my arms and fingers, across my shoulders and breasts, around to encompass my back replete! i quickly made my way, unaccosted, out a side door to exit the building, and running home from there i had many uninvited acknowledgments and gang signs flashed my way by passerbys, all in the breathless spirit of the life of ink, and finally i got over myself by a chain link fence a few blocks from where i lived. as i caught my breath in a lean i saw the clouds open up to the sun, and closed my eyes to feel the sudden warmth spread over me and fill me with a feeling i have never before known, a sorta ecstatic love! last thing i remember i was leanin more deeply into the chain link, which was giving into the weight of me, the side of my face and body getting waffled, one eye fixed within a quadrant of link. i opened it to see within, a community garden with plots for anyone who cares. i always wanted a plot of my own, beside pumpkins, green pepper and garlic. now i kinda sorta do! i seem to reside there, and they tend to me, watering and cutting me back every so often. i don’t mind my rectangular confines, so long as sun can reach me and provide the ecstatic love, here where the plot thickens, in the heart of midtown, i have lost interest in anything else.

people kill beautiful things pretty well

beat up by life? K by K

Let life just beat you up the way it does. When a flower stretches up out of the soil, it’s growth lends itself to danger. When you were just a seed and just a bud germinating underground, in your mommas belly, you were pretty safe. Once you grow up you’re liable to get stepped on, mowed down, picked, torn asunder. People kill beautiful things pretty well. We put them in vases, we crush them behind glass.

This culture this world is suffering an overabundance and equally lacking. I cannot tell you why because it’s too much to hold! Are you like me and one cheerio shy of an oh my god what the fukk is going on? The asphalt just imprisoned my garden. Our secrets will never be safe.

Lemme go deeper. Into those places where you feel you make sense. Spend more time with friends,  more time creating, add a little family and kittens to the mix. The strongest connection oughta be the one you have with yourself, your spirit, and whatever releases you from your ego, humbles you, makes you small enough to relax into the systemic. Some call it god and i don’t mind either. We all need somewhere to extend our child.

Stay your beautiful self
Don’t let them kill you

Then let them…

Die another day. The sensation of coffee down your gullet. Wear yourself out with your kids, your work, your monotonous chores. Go off to social sunsets and live to see another day.

The sunrise will feel better if your aching into it, arthritis summons compassion for self. Asthma summons compassion for yourself. Panic Attacks leave you hugging yourself. Fevers bring your attention to your self. Heart attacks make you focus on caring for your heart. Strokes make you remember how to learn. Cancer makes you grateful. HIV gets you pushing for your dreams to come true. Depression makes you stronger. Anxiety gets you to relax.

I will hold your spirit over here. Carefully.
Will you hold mine? You don’t have to. I can just hold yours.

Expect nothing outta anyone
except yourself

Expect greatness out of everyone
and yourself. You star
you!

Accept yourself. Love yourself. Grow up and
Show people your colors. They will grab you.
They will not believe you. They will argue and you will suffer them, too.
They will suffer you.

Open up to whatever you’re out there doing.
And let them take you
out.

like flowers

When I wasn’t busy fighting for your attention, I was championing my own, to exist in space undisturbed by visual and audio cues. Social media was some hallucination. You could call it a hallucination inside of a hallucination. Any moment one could lose one’s body and have to shop around for another one. Humans are like flowers and get erect in the sun. Out of bed. You cannot always see the roots. Black flowers like skin color get the shaft. White flowers went to weddings and funerals. Baby’s breath was a delicacy, trembling in a fragile atmosphere. Fertilizer might help like steroids and hormones and minerals and daily chewable gummy vitamins. But sun and water usually did the trick by themselves. Only for a while, though, cause ultimately we all got mowed down or strangled by some or other weed. But hey. No worries. We will rise up again. Hopefully our passwords will still be saved so we can access all our friends.

roses

roses

I will bring some classical music to the backyard. There are roses bold enough to cross the chain link where the grass meets the alleyway, and yes, I have seen them stop there, stumbling drunk down the alleys in the middle of the night, clothes torn, not knowin where they’re going. The aimless ones are beautiful to me. They have the courage to live today without any direction, the courage to go wherever the streets and alleyways take them. The roses are bold and red. Dark like blood. They cross the chain link and into danger. They are beautiful to me. The sun pulled them out and into themselves, the sun moved them, the aimless ones… the roses.

what 4 waiting

this orange flower 

was all green all

closed up

 

just another bud

all night long

waiting on the sun

 

cold and frozen like

she forgot about her

true self her real

beauty her

glow

 

what 4 waiting

we might have forgotten her, too

and the sun, too

 

waiting….

what 4?

 

she opened

her heart her

true self

sun kissed orange

to the world