thought bubble

 

blood vessel veins spanning the climb. i scratched my notebook with illegible facts about the insides of our bodies. how my lungs sigh with the terrain. how they sigh heavy with unreturned feelings. my right hand sharpied  with the statement, “you choose the version of life without me.” actively. present tense. the sun is blazing the fundamental truth. grasping. that your heart. beat. beat. beat. beat. is temporary. and so is mine.

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Blowing Bubbles

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These rad bubble gum pink pants bring back my childhood. Cue nostalgia. The past few days I’ve been practicing mindfulness while hiking Griffith Park. The birds above and scratchy grasses of forging my individual pathways have been calming and inspiring. The pull of bright fabric amidst the force of nature. This abundance. This happy and carefree person that views herself in the sky.

***

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sun bathe

ripe skin on dry dirt. i turn my back, sit with my spine. sun bathe some deep sighs. befriend the afternoon lizards and spy on the happiness of leaves. the hello sway. transiently unfold my heart in the subtle heat and number the forehead wrinkles smiling in the pathways. i become a repeat offender of not brushing my hair. letting the tangles whisk in the brass ground. red hair dye and fingernail gunk. arriving slowly. meeting you in my mind was a mistake.

fervently, mute style

24. hush hide

DSC_0058DSC_0093.jpgDSC_0077.jpghush hide. kiss the tide of cadmium. mustard doors. leaning on spokes. trespassing the tender circulation of inner organs. pushing blue blood and blah blah words. “love.” the delicate petaled touch in our mouths. polka-dotted minds with many-hued days. the breathless wind wound on the tip of our tongues. pallid eyelids surviving the placement of warning signs. pretending they aren’t there. overwhelming. landscapes whispering tender bewilderment. “love,” i remember when you almost said it.

xoxo,

mute style

19. summersaulting

*as you crunch down the last cinnamon apple chip you realized you love him. the sun on the floorboards warms the thought. your toes curl the wood as you rise on relave. the numb dust on the window pane sweeps the idea of a boy with a bear hug of hair at the end of these words. feelings are all hot air anyway. breathes better (released).

the last person to hold scissors to my hair was my south korean friend on my dining room floor. newspapered ink on my knees informed me of the politics of homecoming royalty. i rubbed the mistaken popularity from the ridges of my skin. and then i trimmed my hair in the fourth floor sink darkness with art scissors. rubbed my eyes raw and bloodshot in the mirror. a man died on the train less than twelve hours ago.

so i wound up amongst sleeping commuters and reconsidered thoughts. the fondness whittled at daybreak. a finalized disappearing act. lungs of lies. breathing breath. the perfect combination of solar and sea. struggling against an intimate stranger. desist debauchery. a whirlwind now within me. summersaulting rocks and other dangers of youthful heartbeats.

maybe it is because i didn’t cut the shoulder pads from this button down; with the pinstripes arranged as the memory of my family in our dining room with stenciled menus slurping  ice cream. maybe it is because the lighting is vampire dim in this restaurant; the fixtures swirled like a tim burton illustration. maybe it is becuase i am having trouble spelling because. the reason. the one that has a name. needs to be effaced.

xoxo,

mute style