Naked Poetry

I smell like deep woods and what it takes to climb a thousand pound emerald. Scratches because I’m sorry.

My heels are branded by a frosted flame that wants everything but me.

\My Type Of Angel - On your command

here is my voice.

I’ll send it to

you whole but

listen in fragments.

hold them still.

here is my music.

Sometimes–when I

forget to remain

calm before an

audience I force

myself to remember

every cloud I’ve ever

seen—–then I exhale

in their memory.

I’m a lonely soul.

Need someone near

to give some of my

hearts away to

but I’m not waiting

for just any angel

I’m waiting for a

specific kind of angel.

One who will hold me still.

Make Me Sing the Blues

Excuse me, there’s a white baby grand over there that I should be playing :)

I... wanna kiss your hand on a boat south of everything.

Even at ten, I’d beam at the chance to change someone’s past... I wanted nothing but to be a crystal ball.

Careful!

The universe and I have this treaty, see— says— I’ll let you be the voice of reason if every once in a while you become one with me.

Dear somebody, you would have loved it here. The sun rises whenever it wants and it’s not illegal to get lost at sea. You can look at the sun now—it cures cancer. And the only reason...