Valnatix

Insomnia: twinkle twinkle little pain I see you've come to play again lodged here in my soul so tight turning brightness into night twinkle twinkle tearing ache please let me sleep to never wake…. …now I lay me down to sleep my life in tatters at my feet.. if I should Wake before I die I pray these tattered wings can fly.. twinkle twinkle empathic strain I never want to feel again trapped here in this world so cold where self is wrong and Us is gold. twinkle twinkle falling tear.. how i wonder why i'm here..

one day I will tell my daughter to touch herself before she ever lets a man do it for her, to learn her body-secrets and the shape of pleasure. I will tell her that San Francisco always keeps your heart. that her skin is a blank canvas, that hair grows, the value of the right kind of disrespect. that the older we get, the more we need the people who knew us when we were young. I will tell my daughter to give away the secrets that keep her up at night, and that there is never a wrong time to love someone, but sometimes a wrong way. I will teach my daughter to travel without makeup; that sometimes forever means morning and sometime

I. If this were a cliché, A poem, or both It would be about sparkling midnight skies and heartbeats and flowers and sex. There would be oceanic eyes and rain that tastes like tears. We’ll throw in anxiety-riddled murmurs and metaphorical bullets and allusions to sharp objects for pity. This is not a cliché anymore. So instead I wrote about the flavor of emerald and the fragrance of April hope. I painted pictures of a perfect pencil, poised over a blank page. II. If this were a romance, A message in a bottle, or both It would still be cliché, to capture electric fingers and longings locked away with skeleton keys