Art is a language for sanity to grasp itself.
–Jaeljms11199
You hear your beating heart; it is the only thing you hear besides gasps of breath you take, in attempts to stay conscious. Heat radiates off you as your blood circulates, and your legs protest against the strain of torture. The flag is up ahead. How will you reach it? You have limitless options before you; each path has its obstacles, none are shortcuts. Should you stop? Others forage ahead before you, courage begins to ebb like adrenaline. Laughter of those who forfeit reaches your ears from behind; stampeding steps thud hard, as your heart does in your chest. A gulp of air and you hold your breath, giving one last sprint toward the flag. Lunge. It's within reach, brushes your finger tips, bumps your wrist, then gets caught on your clavicle. You take the flag with you, falling farther than you thought.
I do Not Wear Your Clothes, My hair is not your color, My identity defies fact, You may not accept my love. When you see me, Are you disgusted? When you see me, Am I an exhibit? When you see me, Do you assume I am wrong? Confusion ensnared me, The stress continues to build, Fear fueled my paranoia, Yet I am not alone, You may find weird You may find us different You may find yourself In us.
If You Could Start Over,
A) the days would start later with your window curtains drawn. The warmth of your aged bed competing with seductive scents of hash browns, French toast, and bacon sneaking through your door. Your body light and refreshed from a full nights sleep, ready for a hot wash. Happy to live and full of purpose.
B) your hands would stay steady and warm, as you walk by a pellet of bullets and screams sent from your living room. Understanding, there is no war here. It was just harmless noise from your twelve year old’s Xbox. Your shoulder tapped from behind, without the ache of your purple heart, relaxed instead of tense. There is only your love, not the ambush of an enemy.
C) a hospital bed would not become home. The world beyond windows would not feel so far. You could finally appreciate true silence, rather than the beeping of your weak heart. Maybe you remembered to be grateful, this time, you were the religious one.
D) grass, cats, and doorbells would fascinate you, and the tail you can never catch will become a daily obsession. Until you hear car doors slam, then you race to the nearest window to sing out your excitement in staccato bursts. Walk. Walk. You know it’s time for your walk. You eagerly welcome master home.
E) before the end, you realize you have missed your chance to choose. Or perhaps, you have already started over. The days would start over with your window curtains drawn. The warmth of your aged bed—
Let’s be Balloons
Paint your faces in favorite colors to shape moral and mask your fear. Let your skin stretch and flush against the scars carved by others. Tie your string around your necks hold your breath and try to float. Reach for the sky, jumping into a tree. You get stuck, dangling your toes--your tail because you are a balloon. You float into the heavens through trees and wires, or you pop. Your remains deflated dangling from the tree.
Jellyfish Melodies 