Author: L KC

I’m scared of pretty things because I know I’ll never be one of them. As I touch my bumpy skin, dots of red flow across my face like a river. I know I’ll never be beautiful. I’ll never be beautiful.

As the world shapes itself around efficiency, as the organic hands of workers and artists get replaced by the dull churning of machines, I find it most peaceful to embrace stillness. I want to be the grass sleeping in between the sidewalk as people walk and bustle around it. I want to be the unmoving thing, the tree standing as the temperamental weather dashes back and forth from rain to sunshine to hail. I don’t have to be moving all the time. I don’t want to be pushed toward the pace that others expect me to live in. For now, I’ll be idle, existing in a plane between the busyness of society and the complete serenity of nothingness. 

A snake can shed its skin

But it cannot shed itself

As harmony wears thin

It wishes it was someone else

The snakes to uncoil themselves from my neck
And the dragon of perpetual sleep
To smooth out its black scales,
Unclench its talons,
And with them,
Close my eyes

And his face shone like

A dim fluorescent light,

Flickering and sputtering

Like a bloody patient

Beauty will save the world

The way that cacti will save the balloon

A bird in flight is golden

But if its wings are broken

It shall be discarded

For ability is token

I etch into sand,

Not into stone.

It looks prettier that way,

When nature reaches forth

And the waves smooth

Out every word.

Everything is blurry.

The serpent,

It stings my throat and chest.

I just want

To be the same as you.

If I could,

I would carry you far,

Far away,

And steal your body

And your mind,

And become you.

I would be perfect. 

Undulating, stardust loosening

From the sky like dandruff

Bleeding purple, sunlight trickling

In too far, it hurts us

Dissipating, stratus weakening

On the way towards Earth’s rug

Breathing shallow, ether crumbling 

Over us, no more luck