Baby
I am being
Tired of fleeing
Seeing the colors of the sky, but not living
And no one can give it to me
And no one would put it in my hands
Yet I stand

∆ Neural Alchemist | Self-mythologist ∆
I remember sitting down in an empty space
Unmoving on a cloud
I saw my future there
Declared it aloud
Finding my name is claiming myself
I love deep feelings. Feelings that stops you in your tracks. Experiencing feelings with self awareness is even more enticing. I can do this dance and really put my foot in it. Really break a sweat. With the wisdoms of the future as a tether. Although the idea of becoming the crazy lady who wears mumus, cheetah print thongs, reads tea and palms and can tell when you’re lying but makes a game of playing along, is mad enticing.
Today I decided to take time to myself; although I walked only down the street, it felt nice to leave X with X and I’m happy I toke this time.
I feel like X reflects my insecurities and he’s taking me outgrowing him personally. It seems his anger stems from who I was before the baby, who he wants me to be. I’m positive I’m just out growing him. We aren’t on the same frequency anymore. Pregnancy and birth has straightened me out. X’s birth gave me life. I am aware that I have an energy I give off but it’s because shit has changed. I’ve changed….
Regardless I know I judge him for not growing up, I just would really love for him to be walking our paths together. I told him that years ago when we were just friends. I told him I’d leave him behind if he refused to grow. He could’ve been….
I’ve decided to transmute the energy I’m trying to force between us; hurt energy as well, into something that’ll benefit me. I’ve decided I’m worth it. The life I crave to live I deserve it.
Oh iridescent flesh
what reveal you of me
oh moon eyes you never cast a blink
so nodding
accepting
the picture so loving
the picture of bristle fingertips
how high will you go to count
those of others those of mother’s
Oh patches of wild
you may never be read but all passes
all too soon starts anew
Bless I am on finger spawn
Electric trenches bathing my cervical
Back and fold I’m a circus; locomotive
Freedom brings Casanova, baby mothers, and virgin wings
Spirals of the world most foul
Dancing wolves who often howl
Woman body don’t give a fuck about that shit
Young self holds the messenger
Hidden burdens are turned to birds and
We learn to hold our sticks and stones and
We fold to break our own arms leading the way to pave
Make ends meet with woman’s meat
What a dog that eats dog girls
Woman’s bodies don’t give a fuck about rocking a foreign world
Key whispers from chosen Gods in dress