mayfly

Canada

i would prefer not to write a 'bio', thanks

Published Work

Open Prompt

Instructions for Best Results, Following Youth’s Deliverance

My youth was not safe in my hands
Now, it is eagry offered to you, The:
i. Red Light Kissers
ii. Initial Carvers
iii. Living Room Dancers
Or whoever the offer attracts (usually the most fleeting)

I owe my youth more lively hands
Hands that are:
i. More willing
ii. More impure
iii. That do not ache from immobility
Nor mistake carelessness for movement (appeasing will for love with lust)

You, limitless and fleeting,
without legs like bus ride shakes:
i. Take my youth from these stagnant hands
ii. Carve peace into my unsteady ivory until marrow comes to rest
iii. Hover between my stomach aches and migraines
Letting me keep your name a hum in my throat (sung boldly at confession)

In the name of my rickety spine
Let me be:
i. balanced by your toes
ii. frightened by your fingertips
iii. But still unsettled by my hesitancy
To leave his land of red light kisses (to offer my...

A Pair of Poems

Cognitive Dissonance, Overcoming Symptoms of You

Abandonment
Perhaps it is the taste of my indignity that I ache for in a lover’s lips
To bring familiarity to something so unknown as love
And perhaps I seek you as a punishment
That, once swallowed, will relieve me of my guilt
But, unlike guilt, you would not eat me alive
You will not suffer the taste of my indignity
And it brings you no guilt.

Alleviation
Perhaps it is the taste of my love that I ache for in your indignity
To bring familiarity to something so unknown as you
And perhaps I seek you as an exoneration
That, once swallowed, will relieve me of my guilt
But, unlike exoneration, to you, I would no longer be criminal
I will not suffer the taste of your indignity
And it brings me no guilt.

Tasting the Porcelain

The best sickness is bred in the first blink of morning
Mouthing “Don’t wanna throw up.” (please)

"She is no longer me"
I (pleading) promise.
If only to convince the nausea of my self-development.
I am no longer empty enough to make haste with my heaving
Though, I promise I am not still sick.
With hair glued to Her neck, I am just tasting the porcelain.

"She is gone" 
I (oppressive) promised
since so far is the bottom. (but so easy is the fall.)
I promised, that I've never cared for falling (but in love, oh how I do)
I, the unwilling host of Her sorrow, left lined in Her lead

"She has left me alone"
I (pathetic) promised
since I have brushed Her off my teeth (and scrubbed hands raw)
I promised that I'm coddled (without the need of crying)
She left me to dry (my eyes, of course)

in our separation, I’ve lost myself and I am sick ...

Tasting the Porcelain

The best sickness is bred in the first blink of morning
Mouthing “Don’t wanna throw up.” (please)

"She is no longer me"
I (pleading) promise.
If only to convince the nausea of my self-development.
I am no longer empty enough to make haste with my heaving
Though, I promise I am not still sick.
With hair glued to Her neck, I am just tasting the porcelain.

"She is gone" 
I (oppressive) promised
since so far is the bottom. (but so easy is the fall.)
I promised, that I've never cared for falling (but in love, oh how I do)
I, the unwilling host of her sorrow, left lined in Her lead

"She has left me alone"
I (pathetic) promised
since I have brushed her off my teeth (and rubbed hands raw)
I promised that I'm coddled (without the need of crying)

in our separation, I’ve lost myself and I am sick
I don’t wanna be (I promise)
She never did...

Open Prompt

Instructions for Best Results, Following Youth’s Deliverance

how did you let him do this to you?
gently
always so gently.

Why I Write

Why I Write, Explaining this Deadly Sin

(i write for sin,
for 'twas in those pleasures
i was conceived.)

in Gluttonous consummation,
indolent fingertips ache for words
to arouse you

where i cannot.
can't kneel and swallow. Envy
disgorges all consumed.

a word mimic
in the name of Pride. 
Greed for grandiloquence.

this, prose, allows
my Wrath to pass idly;
writing unconfrontational Sloth.

pining always about,
plainly, the most palatial pleasure
lust, lust, Lust

Darling, it seems
I am seven out of seven.
¹
deadly is love.

deadly is pleasure.
pleasurable is death. and so
lovely is sin.

A Quick (surprisingly optimistic) Quip

Zephyrus, I thought all lips stung a little
But, honey, you’re not the bee
And I ain’t all split knuckles, whiff-o-gasoline, and a hash pipe
But I sure do my best to keep my hands chaffed
Tell you a secret:
Last night that soft wind told me to moisturize
And, thank Jove, I did!
Cause your hand fits just right (in my hand, of course)
It wasn’t all black-lace, passion, and chewing tobacco, either
Nope! But I’m still buzzing a happy tune

My Current Lack in Eloquence and it's Causing (namely, you)

And, goddammit, every single time I see you
(for you are both my home and my furthest star)
Every time that you save my weary eyes-
Every.
Single.
Time.
Dammit, every time I see you-
I’m at a loss for words.

Skin, and the Removal of Necessary Organs

For all the lust we have for mansions, the small sleeping bag will remain unrivalled as camping gear.
A mansion gives nothing but space for your own body to run away from you.
All the warmth that our bodies pound into our flesh, tends to find the pockets of empty cloth and the holes between the teeth of the zipper.
I’ve never known a large sleeping bag to be any more rewarding than my skin (skin being the smallest blanket of peach fuzz, most unrewarding)

I’ve encountered the sleepless nights of mosquito bites and growing pains and itchy wool pyjamas.
So understandably, I’ve always said that upon being forced to forgo a sense it would be touch.
I’ve always said that.
despite my being wrong
despite all the pleasures that I’ve refused to feel.

As a child, I never refused touch.
As a child, safety is something you gnaw off other’s bones. As long as someone offers themself to you,...

Loved Blindly, Until Rotten

I’ve been spoiled:
From the moment I was loved, I was loved fully
Poems are written about me
Songs are sung for my pleasure
I have the world around my pinkie finger
Then spreading to my ring
And my feeble bones don’t have to feel the weight of gravity,
Don’t have to know the pressure of the ground
The silence of being alone
And instead of wrapping my pinkie finger in lace I wish someone would slam it into a doorframe sometime
So I could remember that I’ve never been made of stardust and I preach nothing but my fallacies
I’ve been spoiled and (my complaints being entirely due to these circumstances) I’ve become a useless whore
I don't know who declared me Creator of Beautiful Things
I wasn't built to watch sunlight 
Fuck, I'm just a lifeless resident of the stars
Stuck here where my fingers will crackle and my bones will snap
And then Gods will write about me
Of...

Roses, Love, and Other Stupid Cliches

The thornless rose will never be beautiful
A four foot roller coaster doesn't make me scared
But you
You make me shake to my very roots
You're the sharpest rose in the garden and you cut me right through
But I wouldn't trade for dull blades
I don't want settle-for-less flowers
My love isn't for the faint of heart
And neither are you.

Heaven's Day Off

I don’t think that god took his time creating you
I think the ol’ Senile-Cloudyheaded-Bastard knocked you together with bent nails, rotten wood, and half an inch of scotch tape.
I doubt you sweat glitter
Crosswords would never offer you even a word if you dared use permanent ink
I’m certain History has overlooked you
Don’t blame her
But I won’t
I can’t
Virginity lost her respect for you long ago,
Time finds it hard to even let you pass through,
Birth handled you brutally.
Understandably so,
But I won’t.
I can’t do anything but handle you softly.
Instead, I thank Lucifer that he’s wholeheartedly ignored you.
He’s done what I cannot
From across the room I will see the curl that always twirls it’s way across your eyes
The sun spot that adorns your cheek
The crisp lines of your shirt against your jaw
I’ve never been one to taint my mouth reciting:
“everyone is beautiful in their own...

PSA

It seems someone’s interrupting my PSA.
Hold your pens!
What did she say?
she couldn’t wallow in that, couldn’t write for herself?
Well Ladies
And Surlymen
Close your eyes, seal your ears, and follow the emergency procedures.
The sirens will sigh as you scream and shout
As you wail and cry.
This is your civil duty, this pitiful display.
Now write it down, and hate yourself.
Well Wallowed Ladies
And Wimpering Men  
I promise you,
There’s no better place than Wallowville
Close the doors and sit real still
Until your heavy heart digs your grave for you
Word wallower, whimperer, and wailer
Don’t give in, don’t change your ways
After all, you can’t even make it without crying for a day.
You dug your grave.
Now,
Die.

PSA

It seems someone’s interrupting my PSA.
Hold your pens!
What did she say?
she couldn’t wallow in that, couldn’t write for herself?
Well Ladies
And Surlymen
Close your eyes, seal your ears,and follow the emergency procedures.
The sirens will sigh as you scream and shout
As you wail and cry.
This is your civil duty, this pitiful display.
Now write it down, and hate yourself.
Well Wallowed Ladies
And Wimpering Men  
I promise you,
There’s no better place than Wallowville
Close the doors and sit real still
Until your heavy heart digs your grave for you
Word wallower, whimperer, and wailer
Don’t give in, don’t change your ways
After all you can’t even make it without crying for a day.
You dug your grave.
Now,
Die.

First love poet

It’s been centuries since I’ve happened upon any collections of words that fit my mouth eloquently
It’s been eons since my voice has carried the resonance for anything to ring true
So explain it to me
Someone
How the fuck is there life after love
And where will I find it
How do I do this
Doctor, give it to me straight
Will I forever be a first love poet at a loss for words?
Is this the end?
It is not cold ice and red hot steel in my eyes
No it's blood vessels and tears
My gaze strays from the heavens today
Not because I'm my own martyr
Because I'm ashamed to reveal my face to the divine
Steel thoughts are a thin plating
Feebly chipping off the feelings I hoard
Collected and clung to though they rot me inside out
Though no one will buy my piteous choices and horrors
No I don't create beauty, I create...