Tate Blackman

She covered each eye until all she could see was a sense of security.
She stopped looking in the mirrors.
They lie.
The image over time becomes distorted, grotesque,
...

Sometimes at night I lie awake thinking how moons create stars
And in the deep dark night
I wish for you
I beg for you to shed your skin like insecurities onto the ground
...

He was laid in the moment
Against her chest synchronizing lungs into songbirds
Beating drums into ribcages
Like birdcages
...

She forgot to breathe that day
When guns turned men into weapons
And instruments were played
She was the thunder pressing electricity to his lips
...

How can man say they know me
When silently behind chipped waterfalls with cracked ribs I break boxes
I break through coloring book lines
But when man turns castle in the air smiles toward lenient young women
...

It began when men turned into weapons
She was a bible in an offering
She had this strange fierce sense of proffering
The day it happened began in seconds
...

He fell like hail onto her crisp paper
She chipped vases into his memories
Rubbing thoughts across those tall skyscrapers
She held sad thoughts of anniversaries
...

She would pour her dreams into sunflowers
She would take glow in the dark stars and stick them in her sky
Maybe the sun will charge them enough to see them at night
She built the constellations out of imagination
...

When fire strikes deep to men's hearts
And burn loneliness in towers
Our bodies will connect in different ways
Over time we will carry small parts of each other
...

How grotesque
How unseemly
The cheval glass portrays a man
Whom misshapen look fixedly upon myself
...

Honey bring me love
Take me to my mind
Crack my brain into two
Pour milk and tea into my figure
...

When she was a little girl her thoughts were always paper thin, they read just like a novel, easy to swallow. She could ignite a friendship with any creature on Earth, her Polly Pocket was an avid reader. Her favorite time of the day was when she could share her adventures with her mother, while it may be brief she found that worlds could be created to her wonderful mother.
Oh the day's would just swim away when she thought. They would take flight and become something new, something otherworldly. At night her mother would sing her songs about plastic soldiers and mockingjays and the night would always end with her mother's smile. She would say "Now Corri listen to the spirits when you sleep, they'll tell you stories." Now every night Corri would hear her angels speak sweet stories in her ears, she would drift off blissfully unaware of any and all hardship in the world around her. All that existed in her small sweet mind was stories sung by honey dripped angels.
Years later Corri would think of her mother's words, wishing to hear them once more, pretending that they were true.
At eighteen Coriander James graduated high school with the skin of her teeth, ready to face the world and all it's oysters. But she would never be prepared for what lay ahead. As she had aged her stories were but a distant memory, this planet had made her ill. She had been poisoned by bad decisions and wrong turns, neglect had turned her hard and cold. At age fifteen her loving parents had split up due to so many mistakes, her mother had suffered greatly. She was dying of so many things it was hard to keep count. They called in full renal failure, doesn't sound too bad right?
...

She saw the waves crash a storm against cheeks
Cracking hurricanes into men's eyes
Droplets of rain trickled endlessly into puddles of veins
Creating a reserve of rainy day puddles to look back on.
...