Lynielle

She forces her writing. Leaving it bitter and salty to open ears. She knows no other way to write -For now -- at least for the moment Everything is use -- reused Recycling is urged these days. Becoming an artist Famous for plagery, That's the Dao of today isn't it? Ten year olds in tank tops With bare bellies That beckon a pedophiles paradise, All in the name of beauty -- Or Brittany. Birthed by the media, Sold in magazines, In markets, In retail, To place dollars, From dolled-up pre-teens, Masking insecurities, Into our economy. Turning Big-eyed school girls Into sausy red-heads To which perverts May fantasize their

I lay in lady's ashes Succeptable to thoughts Resonating nostalgically. Still thinking of you. How it is to know you Seeping through my skin. I feel your breast, And you touch my heart; Hanging me in a heaven of our sins. Adam, allured by her song, Flaunted the devil's fruit. Reciprocating temptation Swaying the tides with his breath.

I think of you when I'm lonely, Sitting with a timmid posture, sinking into my seat Ankles crossed -Cosmic communication, As if you linger in the stars.

The clearest thoughts are conceived at night. When the moon vacants our mind with its radiant glow That opens our pupils to the slightest degree So we may percieve the shadows. We are the night lurkers, That wander through the narrow streets. We are the drunkards. The tokers. That take what compassion, What comfort bare's in the moon. We are the lovers. That tuck strands of fallen hair behind perked ears, And stroke the pulse of her neck with our finger tips. Embodied passion, That grows in our silent solitude of the day, Expelling itself by night.

The burning cigarette light’s the sky on its inhale. The waterfronts draft is cold and pale like your heart. I should feel great, wrapped in draping linens. But I feel dirty inside. Another stub in your pile of cigarette butts. Wondering if this is what a whore feels like. I am below you in so many ways. I am a lucky lady but I am dragged along for the ride under you. A deer in the headlights that you have conquered, Another road kill you have crushed just to drive away.

Time Reverses, Watching headlights pass Flash -- Industrial bolts blind, Minuted Pupils Leaving us alone in perception. I stand here. My body solidified by the the speed, So I trangress into the scenery, Becoming but a bee buzzing in the background.

You're ubiquituous, Blossoming despite the storm And I turn a blind eye But my body soaks you up ~Osmosis At a scientific level. I can't defy My deaf ears Closed eyes But my body ~ Crumbles in your presence,                        And my tongue swells. I walk away, Because my blood boils And I wouldn't want you To see me blush.

To my brother Bush And his happy hubby Harper, I oppose the establishment of government. Whether it be democratic,  Fascist,  Or an autocracy. First off let me state the following: There is no democracy that is free, even in the free world. Chained to veins of majorities That contains the sins of history embedded in their genes As their sweat secretes, They spread disease epidemically, Marketing: Oppression,        Projection, As a cure for your insecurities, And you, Taught through institution To abide to seniority, Will let yourself be undermined, And undermined your ability to rationalize, Let yourself be hypnotized,

She stumbled onto foreign ground, Bate to hungry eyes, Feeding their needing glares, With her beauty. Trapped in the emptiness of her soul, She bounded to them, They being a like, Trapped in empty sorrows Of an incomplete soul, Searching for something, No one can give, But can be taken, As a token of validity, They stole her from humanity. In the cavern’s darkness, She fed them her grace, Leaving herself no familiar trace, Of her spirited upraise. With stolen jewels, They littered their souls, With rotting wealth, That killed the baby Buddhist on the rise, He never rose in foreign site, But he drained her dread

 His pale hands like albino spiders weaving a web of words on the paper, the letters writhing like the bugs trapped in the webs. The rolls of paper he had already written lay like corpses in the square shelves, each one wrapped in ribbon and stamped with a seal. The room was silent except for the soft scratch of his pen as it flew across the yellowed paper. He wasn’t a record keeper, as that implied a man hired to record the ebb and flow of the kingdom’s assets, and he was no such thing. He was the History Keeper. The one who made sure Father Time didn’t completely destroy everything. He made sure history stayed the same, no

Through androgynous hips I leak power Over thought, As the line blurs It becomes curved Depending on the day of the week, My back straight I articulate In a monotone tone Just where my genders flown, There's no classification for me Why yes Technically I am a female And I'm extremely cool with that I'd rather be me Than be stuck as a man In your gender classified Barbie / ken doll mold Roles of societies norm–perfected, I have rejected My pink dress And I will not Wear a blue suite I'd rather wear my purple With its rainbow back drop And stripes of black With a sweet pretty girl seated on my lap.