M.S. Lorax

Dear my Dear,

You are a floating pebble upon the crest of a streaming creek. You twinkle in the sunlight and glisen into my eyes. At first I am blinded by your shine. Yet, as you draw nearer I open my squint and inhale your beauty. In this moment I am sent back to my morning coffee and into my bedroom. I am a ball of lust locked into my ribcage. Scrawling words of poetry into my chest cavity.

The air is thick today, and it holds my tongue long enough to taste the scents of mornings where our legs went walking. Smile young child, you are an astronaut with a guaranteed mission. Hold on with your finger tips, take a deep moment, and fall. Let it swallow you.

Forgive me for snatching this small stone off of the waters. I needed something solid to hold onto. 

I want you to feel me between your shoulder blades. I want my soul to burn through your sternum, straight through your spine, and up into you. I will hold you tight, like the ash turned to diamond turned to ash. Ill sing your eyelashes like reeds upon a string. Play me that note. Sing me that song. Show me the small bird that flies into us, flapping its wings to make our heart beat stronger. In this nest we cannot fail. Branches on top of our shoulder blades.

Underneath my skin there is a car with a Hemi buried under its hood. Roaring to the open road, waiting to run its true course. In this car is my mind, and my heart riding shotgun to the moon. I park my body upon the rings of saturn and let the rotation of the rings pass through me. I am pulled. I am being pulled. The gaseous nature is now being inhaled into my engine. Now you hear me roar. NOW YOU HEAR ME ROAR. I am filled with fumes. I am higher than the high school drop out. My car is the Deathstar and you are my trap. Run in to me. Let me pull you in. I hear your heart beating as you approach me. Let me touch you with my fingertips. Let me hold you with my freedom. Catch me my dear, for we are floating. Hold steady my wrist as we drive forward. We are the atom split in half. Drop us. We will dance in our crater, and sleep under a cloud of lust. Drop us.

A man and his dog sit in a bed as the man scrawls her portrait from the tip of a pencil. He draws her eyes with a light of hope shining in the irises. He says they speak to him stronger than the words of the Bible. He tells his dog ‘Its okay old boy, we will find our moment’ He continues the contours of her cheek and remembers this was where he used to kiss her. He touches the light to her skin as he remembers the way she woke. He pushes the pencil soft against the paper to recall how it felt to touch her. He remembers lying awake at night with her knowing she was his, and there was nothing between them except for the warmth of their bodies. The man puts his pencil down. He pulls his hat off his head and tilts it over his eyes. He pats his side and brings the dog close to his hand. He pets his friend behind its ear. The man starts to sing ‘Tomorrow we will find her. Tomorrow we will see her. Tomorrow we will hear her and she will soothe our souls’ 

And to your aching desire to tear me down, I say ‘No thanks.’

To all the greatest artists in the world, you are in my fingertips. You are in the soles of my feet and the tip of my tongue, that reaches out to the voices of the youth as they run about the hallways of my school. You are in the pencil that touches paper and the tops of desks, to etch and scrawl the words or doodles that speak louder than the essays we write. You are the songs that get played through out our heads as we daydream through the windows. I want you to know that you are in every vision of every child as we all become astronauts into this world. You can smile to know that every color and line is something meaningful and true. I speak for you with more conviction than any man could speak the word of god. You are as ambiguous as the sea and stand higher than the stars. Stay true my friends.

Slave for the sea like your hands have a need to be callus as bad as your heart needs to be heard.

Let the waves crash under your eyelids and salt your iris until you drip your own water.

These tears will be as pure as your hands, and as hard as your voice.

Drip them to your wounds and heal your sorrows.

We shall rise again, through our hearts and hands.

Sold to the sea like how the moon owns the tide.

She told me a story once, about a crayfish that was stuck in a can. She said it had backed in when a large fish swam by, and the area was too small to turn around. So the crayfish had two choices, to stay in that spot until he would die or learn to find a new way to turn things around.

It’s that kind of moment when your eyes are heavy but just wont shut, because your heart is still beating as hard as you are feeling.

Your mind is wandering cause your fingers can’t touch

the one spot in your soul that needs to be unknotted.

Hold the air on your tongue until it tastes stale, and the dog keeps killing your groove, asking for a toy to be thrown.

And your listening to music that sounds so sweet, though you dont know the words.

But you’re humming along acting like you know what comes next.

Dear Boba Fett,

I am sorry.

You were better than the death that was handed to you.

You were the biggest bad-ass in the entire Galaxy.

You never took shit from anyone, even Vader.

Your father died when you were a small child and left you with nothing.

You prevailed.

You deserved more.

Thanks for being you.

Sincerly,

The super-villain inside of me