Project Rainbow

She taught me how to dance to the sounds of a womb The heart beating Echoes of spring  Metal beating  To the tip of my chest But in a soft soothing way  The way that a cold chair on a hot day surprises you  Sweetly  Techno was just what he needed on that warm winter night  And so he remembered  How she  Taught him how to dance Of loud music  Streaming in from all directions  Panning across the floor  Matching the light show only they could see when their lips touched  When they were enveloped in sweet harmony  Chests pressed  Nipples traced  A piercing twisted  Necks bit Hair tightly pulled  Because it was three am and boy Cinderella had to feel their cat  So with exchange of numbers he left  Never forgetting  How she taught him how to dance 

You should know  Your heart deserves to run free And if you are weighed down  Don’t wait for someone to pick you up  And if someone wants to tell you their problems  Respect it as a gift of trust  I set it down and let it rot  Because I cannot be the one to eliminate the smell  Instead I can wait  For the steaming shit  To provide fuel  For the sprout  To grow  -on boundaries 

A book about a girl with wonderfully smelling hair A price of glass covered by colored negatives A five gallon bucket of nutritional yeast Water fed by a hose and mystery chemicals They taste like salt water taffy and the ocean

They lay with their neck arched in a beautifully  peculiar way I have learned to hope for Scratching an itch soothing a tense tendon Kissing their soft lips in a tub of hot water They said the stream feels like a vibrator So naturally I crept closer Knees lightly touching Too afraid to lean in Fearful that the magnetism will push me away And down I splash Trying to hid my red face And failing I keep Zoloft in my front pocket for these nights

White wine tastes like piss in a nice way Weed shouldn’t taste like lemons but it does I rock but I won’t roll with you I take Zoloft so serotonin and I walk on a balance beam And I won’t take down my poetry I won’t take down my poetry I won’t take down my poetry Dedicated to you know who To make your heart a bit less heavy When mine is still at the bottom of the tegel sea

Frank ocean  Says the word Berkeley  And I ache and feel sick  Because the thought of you makes me sad how  Sad...a stage I am in  Moving from anger  To pity in a quick leap of feet  Every song, play, or fantasy  Has a root in personal experience  So thus art with emotion  Often is the most powerful  How do you expect your favorite pride of media to not include a bit of truth  And truth hurts  Especially when the mirror is too blinding  So let me write about my tears  Even if my pain pains you 

How do they feel In possession of the right To tell me I cannot Cry Exaggerate or extrapolate Inside my own head How do they not expect Me to explode From all the feelings I should keep in my head I am a loud person I am bright Colorful too In 6th grade a teacher at drama camp was upset because I dyed my hair And cats did not have purple hair Apparently And now you too Hold the black hair spray to my head And try to justify The pressure you want to release By blacking our who I am Despite my head telling me otherwise I am not wrong To be a human Who feels so hard Their heart drips From their fingers That also happen to write poetry About exactly how I feel Regarding You