childoftheuniverse

I am wild. My skin is dark with mud: moss dreaded tightly into my hair. I am thick with the jungle and I can breathe her in. I've found a waterfall and pool after hunting along a stream for days. I strip down, curiously aware of my own body odor, and quickly replace the thought by the fresh peel of water splitting along my sides. It's cool [the way mint feels in the winter. guitar strings sliding in tune] but that's far away, now, i'm closer to a waterfall than anything else.  So I slide myself onto the rocks and work my way under the falls. The water rushes over my ears. The sound shocking; I practically lose gravity. After regaining my com

In grade school someone was trying to teach me grammar but during break I attempted to break down a run on sentence of basketball Capitalization pass dribble and glide into his hand to pause just a second comma, then slam it back down period. But while attempting to bracket   (the boy with the ball) he shoved an exclamat!on mark in my eye. I couldn't write poetry then because I didn't know what a similie was so my eye bled instead right through the last half of english. Now i still can't use a semi-colon; properly.

     You catch me off guard - tall and strong, framed in the doorway - as I lay half covered along the spread of moonlight.  I'm startled for a second by your entrance, but it's you, so I'm always half expecting you to show up at any time.  The flash flood outside has left you soaked and wanting; rivulets of rain still run smoothly down your cheek.     We stare at each other across the room, then, feeling through the heavy darkness between us, we move together in unison, finding each other at the foot of the bed.  You embrace me, surround me, leaning in to catch a trace of my scent - or perhaps the way your cheek feels against my ear - leav

Andy: World's worst poet. A hillarious jackass, and an absolute hero. Adam(aka Hollywood): Whispering roughly in my ear with handfuls of hair. Adam(aka Pogo): Diving into bushes with me in the neighbour's lawn. Abe: The way he sees another world hidden under the ordinary. Andrew: A perfect couple months in the weave. Becki: Catching me on the bus: her passion and drive. Budd: Pencil marks on a childhood desk, and a ceiling full of stars; for challenging and uplifting me. *** Conner: That sweet Husk in his voice. Chris: How his honesty is an intimate affair: scribbling secrets into margins. Chandra: For changing my life, for the good

set in familiar locations I've never been to. I play hero roles and don't care about anyone I'm saving.

City grates slate me this jaded disinterest in the inner city as each year I grow more foreign faced, distanced, from that which creates me.

It's dangerous these days running with scissors when we expect so much from children. Suzy tried to grow up too fast and bought a real sharp metal pair. ...poor Jimmy, otherwise never would have been blind. Until he was 83.

the way people move through you, leaning in to tell the stories of their lives by the places they've met you in.  except you know there's been words whited out, sentences removed, and whole pages glued together: secrets scrawled franticly onto transit stops or dropped from wallets while crossing a set of railway tracks before an early snowfall