How Different We Are Not

My pen won’t be sated by blood pumped by the heart of another. The best tales are filled by laughter, wails, pleasure and agonies birthed out of flesh and spirits that lived them. You can’t suffer my hurts for me, I won’t weep your tears for you. But we can carve our feels into each other’s bones, and share with the world until all see how different our hates and loves are not.

I write crimson words
full of dark moons and tamed screams,
you should write your own.
I want you to art with me…
in colors that soothe your soul.

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

Heart and Wit

Love me with heart and wit,
or not at all.
I have no need for make-believe
You should know that

no fairytale high-
heel will ever be
worth my heart,
blood, bone
(or my foot).

Your silver-tongued tales
please the flesh (for a spell),
but fantasy isn’t enough
to make a heart beat


• for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55 and Poets United.

click here for the rest of the visual inspiration