How I’d wish instead you were fertile magic that I can pluck from and plant the things I wish to see a difference in

Little things like stumbling over my words whenever I’m processing my thoughts and larger matters like curing global warming and solving civil unrest

Sure all the magic would dwindle with each transaction

But at the end I’d have what I always wanted: utopian level peace 

Peace

Peace

Must be an air sign with its cumulus clouds, purpose unbound, teal skies, exhales not deep sighs, fresh cut grass, icey mountain caps, feather hoverboards for pollen to float on, 

Much unlike, of course

My soft underbelly

That’s carried many

A butterfly 

Colonies really

That have metamorphosed 

through timelines faster than my own

Listen close and you’ll hear

tumultuous waves of emotions

Crashing against my lining

Now finding your temple on my skin I feel so open

Hoping that the storm can be put to ease

So I can breathe again at full capacity, 

spread my lungs to flee, wheeze my way out of worry

Man if blurry was a feeling

I created so much space to store it all

Now I want it back

From my navel I stretch out my umbilical cord that fed and nurtured all the things, a horde that can’t be digested

I’ve learned my nerves can’t be converted into energy

When its only belief is cloaking all that’s in front of me

The guilt that resides from when I told my first lie

Embodies no nutrients for this machine

Thought loops were my favorite snack

Apologies accountabilities unsaid unnamed, no qualms

Embalmed is shame that’s staged as figurines

doesn’t ask for more room

It claims whatever vacancy just a cell wide

Till it multiplies, imperialize, until there’s a cell in my mind

My soft underbelly, so tender

You imprint every touch

By default you learned that you only need half the amount of oxygen that most folks get,

Just in case an off guard moment doesn’t show your best

I hide you, I disguise you, stifle you, bribe you, starve you to what avail?

But smite food of the soul + food for the mind + food of truth shit it all runs stale

Lost in a vastness, this cannot be the way 

I poke you, prod you, shake you, break you, hate you I cannot escape

Here theres full totality, the light struggles through opaque 

You’re the con to my body + why I can’t wear a body con

I call my style fupa dupa fly,

Averts the gaze of all eyes

To focus on anything else besides what’s at the core of me

Abhorrently I drooped, exposed rolls 

My soft underbelly, you are the result of many things,

Self soothing, loathing, lack of motivation,

Why cant you move and seek property in my tits

My ass got enough going on but you can move there too if you’d like

There’s only two features allowed to be big on a woman

It’s unspoken but its true 

Not our feet, our noses, our arms, our legs, our foreheads, and definitely not what we hold inside

My soft underbelly, this is a letter to you

I hope your tears will make room 

and wash away 

What is older than my carton of milk

I’ll peel back a bit

Let’s start with what’s older than my furniture set

Paint chipped and all, and tree rings of antiquity that were handed down to me 

Out from the mouths of open pores pours out 

Old cocoons, tombs of blame, the rest of its cre has no reign

For space must be made for a child to come one day

And that child will be peace

There’s no place for you here anymore, contents that dwelled

You were the softest thing on earth, no longer will you give me hell.