phototropism: A Poem

crying is a freedom. so are
the legend-of-pop stadium shows
I host in the bathroom mirror.
today (it’s been
too long) I rolled my window down
and let the wind ruin me.
I came home calm.
I snipped an inch
of brunette cumulonimbus
from my head–an inch
he may once have loved,
held, smoothed. can it only be
twenty-four hours ago that I
caged myself with him,
tearless,
motionless,
awful chaos contained?
a dandelion
spits her seeds into the breeze.
I’ll do the same with mine.
a flurry of idiosyncrasy,
unabashed.
watch the sunlight on my petals, now.
watch me turn to it
and grow.
this is what I am meant to do.

dum spiro spero: A Poem

pour yourself
over your cereal and sip the brew

of you, press your pinkie
into the sponge cake

of your layers, step up
into three mirrors and

take off your pajamas,
shower in the revery

of coming morning orange,
hold yourself until your lungs

release the afternoons of
thumbtacks, whispering I

am an apple, dropping
from a flower,

worthy, red, worthy, red
worthy, from a flower.

A Young and Sleepy Syrup: A Poem

our remote visibility is like the universe
never turning nor deceiving
only sparkling as love and knowledge

every skin moment brushes patiently
his breath like the dew in the grass
my own like the moon and the stars
and the sky of sweeping royalty
never so monumental as the drops

may day never break for us

our brief span of time is like eternity
expanding and inhaling
knowing only what needs to be known

the purple endlessness of everything
drips like paint on the canvas of us
his only movements meet my sides
concise to hold together the connection
which has wrought of me a blanket

may day never break for us

the strength of hands is like gravity
willpower can easily remove you from
but here it is rare to be found

as i lie and hear the hums of other rooms
at the waking of the tides of the planet
and feel him stir, feel the world stir
for the first time, for the first time,
i only pray to god

may day never break for us

Explore: A Poem

My body contains a nebula.

My soul is exploding;

it is a celestial combustion.

The stars in my heart are shooting outward

at a million miles per hour,

electrifying my brain

my fingertips,

my toes.

My voice throws galactic lightning;

my eyes, stellar thunder;

they are supercharged particles of stardust, and not tears,

which fall from my eyes.

I am an astronaut’s painting, blasting omnipotent colors,

crackling with the brilliance of a billion suns.

So hold my hand, touch my hair,

rest your leg against mine so we might share our powers.

For you, too, are a nebula,

a universe,

with a unique light

that we can explore.

The Epic of a Girl 3: A Poem

Everything is moving faster

now than ever before.

It used to take weeks to build up

this sort of sentiment,

much less acknowledge it.

There used to be denial,

oppression, forced

and feigned ignorance,

no spare courage left to linger

in his blue eyes or the dance of his black hair,

and now all of that has been

defeated,

within the first day.

It seems I have conquered my own senses

for my own purposes,

as if this isn’t something

to be ashamed of

or embarrassed about;

almost as if

no permission needs to be begged,

and no fight

has to be fought

against my pent-up, squared-off,

sectioned and quarantined heart.

It appears that I can

allow myself

the small pleasure

of noticing the vivacious beauty

of his toothy smile

without feeling the worse for it.

 

The Epic of a Girl: A Poem

The Epic of a Girl 2: A Poem

soft, juicy, vain, and wise

sometimes
i will take off my shoes when i get home
just to feel the carpet beneath my toes.
sometimes i will paint snowy scenes
just because it makes me happy.
sometimes i will gorge on an entire package of
grape tomatoes, round and rosy,
sweet and delicious,
just because they taste good when they bleed.
sometimes i will ignore the commandments
and i put on makeup in two mirrors,
from which i can get every angle.
sometimes i let my thumbs tell me what to say,
because they always seem to know.
sometimes i wear converse
just to feel like i fit in. but
all the time, every hour of every day,
every day of every year,
and every year i have greeted by counting backwards,
that’s when i release myself,
soft, juicy, vain, and wise.

This Is My 100th Post!

Wow! This is mikkiaaron’s 100th post. Wow. The blog and I have come so far together since its foundation on January 21st, 2012. That’s 338 days, not even an entire year.

I would like to thank my dad for setting mikkiaaron up for me. Also, I would like to thank my keyboard and mouse who have always been there for me. WordPress.com, for sharing what I’ve written and making it accessible. And most importantly, I want to thank you, the readers, for reading, following, liking, commenting, and keeping me motivated to write more so that I could come to this day.

This is a beautiful thing.

However, it was kind of messy. When I posted my last post, the side bar thing said, “You have published 100 posts.” That was really scary, so I quickly scrolled my way to delete and less-than-half decent post I wrote a while ago so that the last one would be my 99th. (Disclaimer: I meant to delete that one anyway, so it’s not like I was cheating the system. Although, is it cheating just because I erase my mistakes? Oh well, philosophy is not my thing, as some of the readers who’ve been with me longer might know.)

So wow, 100 (give or take).

Thank you, readers. I love you guys, you’re the best.

Ciao for now,

Mikki