Elegant-Esthetics

this is what happens when you cut rainbows apart with knives. this is what happens when you take a raincloud and smash it into the sun, when tidal waves reach the moon and the aurora borealis sink into northern manhattan. this is something that's a little bit more 'alpha to omega' than it is 'a to beeeeeee yourself'.   this is what a disney movie would look like if it had full nudity and a soundtrack consisting of the words 'fuck me' and 'harder' and 'oh, shit, i'm pregnant' you still don't fucking get it. this isn't what happens when a baby is born, this isn't about symmetry and rhyme and syntax or diction. this is wha

guess that the first day I knew it was starting to end was the day that I had grabbed my notebook and sat on the lawn. The grass was, obviously, green. And soft. I could run my hand over it and feel the dew, watch as the individual stalks bent at my touch. I sighed and kissed the ground goodbye, my lips stained green with chlorophyll. The sun was orange. Or maybe a yellow-orange, I guess. Anyway it was the afternoon, and I stood up with my notebook and walked back towards the house. First, though, I have to tell you about our tree. When I was little, my family planted an apple tree. I got to dig the hole in the ground and stick what appeare

always a bridesmaid never a bride until the day that her twin sister died they buried her well they buried her deep while her would-be husband started to weep "don't cry" she said "it'll all be fine, just take her wedding and make it yours and mine" he stared, amazed "i just put your sister in a six-foot grave!" he turned around, and started to wave "we're twins!" she said "and no one would know, i'll be your princess and you'll be my beau!" three months later, they wed after a short time he bought a ring said "here, we'll consolidate this fling" now they sleep happily ever after thanks to the death of her dear sister ambe

sometimes i think that when i chose writing, i chose the wrong form to find/of fine art. i'm not a painter. i can't take a splash of blue or a streak of red and add just a dab of green to create something that is beautiful, like a lake or a sunset. i'm not a graphic artist. i can't click-click-click-drag (okay, maybe that first part is a lie) and create something with beautiful smudges, vectors, or renders. i'm not a photographer. i can't make some( )one(/)thing pose for me, twist like this or bend like that.  i can't hide behind glass. i'm a writer, which  means that i'm using that splash of blue to tell you that her veins are

We had been painting sunsets on our faces and oceans over our hearts, drawing lines from veins to arteries to muscles to freckles and other 'imperfections', making waves in both the artistic sense and the sense of, well, we were changing things up a little bit.  We wrote saltwater promises to each other in blue sharpie, and I remember that I had grabbed her wrist and written 'always look to the sun' with a yellow sharpie.  I remember that when she asked why, I told her it was because the sun begins each and every day, and when it does it uses the entire rainbow and it's a reminder that there is always something beautiful to look forward to an

Do you remember those days that we used to walk through the meadows, grabbing daisies with our hands and catching berry-juice with our feet?  We used to head out there every chance that we got, just watching as the sun rose or set or sat in the sky, looking at the leaves on the trees and talking about how beautiful they are when they're just about to die, as though God had given them one last august moment before it was over. I remember those days, nights, and in-betweens perfectly.  I also remember the old movie player, that would run a reel of tape against whatever white (or close enough, anyway) background, and how we only ever had one mo