inspired by charissa
when it's 1 o'clock and the air
smells like cookies
and i hide in my bhurka of hoodies
and fashionable scarves
i stare at the red grass that sits on
my mantle
and wonder why the grass on the right
is so much more dead
and the weight shifts to my feet and
the pressure in my numb toes
the wind was cold tonight
and my tongue was so slow
and the food was all meat so
i was all rice
being eurasian is such a strange conflict
it's like the way a frozen grape seems to
pop across your tongue
but not quite
(i don't think anything is really like that except
for a frozen grape, really)
and when i stare outside at the
1 o'clock darkness it seems like
all i can see is my failed porch-type garden
the sweet peas and hostas
that never quite made it
how will i ever be an artist
if my flowers won't grow?
and if i'm always in retrograde
how will i ever?
when it's 1 o'clock and the air
smells like cookies
and i hide in my bhurka of hoodies
and fashionable scarves
i stare at the red grass that sits on
my mantle
and wonder why the grass on the right
is so much more dead
and the weight shifts to my feet and
the pressure in my numb toes
the wind was cold tonight
and my tongue was so slow
and the food was all meat so
i was all rice
being eurasian is such a strange conflict
it's like the way a frozen grape seems to
pop across your tongue
but not quite
(i don't think anything is really like that except
for a frozen grape, really)
and when i stare outside at the
1 o'clock darkness it seems like
all i can see is my failed porch-type garden
the sweet peas and hostas
that never quite made it
how will i ever be an artist
if my flowers won't grow?
and if i'm always in retrograde
how will i ever?










