The oldest breathed water and wouldn't stay in the sea. Sprinting across the crags, he lived puddle to puddle. Why not just stay in the ocean? But I think he was broken.

The second found cadavers that walked and talked and kissed but were dead. Second would give them pieces of his soul so they could glow, but soul isn't sunlight.

Third lived in a cloud fishing for people. When he caught them he would reel them up and eat them. Little stink pieces of heart and blood dripped from the vapor. I would have liked Third, maybe. At least he knew there were worse things than being lonely.

Fourth lived by an ugly statue, a humpty dumpty god. At night he burned his hands in fireplaces, and in the morning he pieced the monument together with Third-World tools. Noon, he would write poetry on its corpse.

When the Fourth died, there were no children to complete his work. But dying isn’t disappearing.

These were my brothers. They speak to me and they make me want to do terrible things.

   I was afraid,

Of what he would say

Of what she would say

   I wanted love,

Anything but beauty he said

Anything but my own race she said

   I felt judged,

She's not skinny I said

She's not chubby I said

   Why do I feel this way?

Her legs are not smooth enough I said

Her laugh isn't good enough I said

   She deserves better

My thoughts never escape me

My thoughts seem to hate me

   A war within myself

Am I wrong?

Am I cursed?

I am my own swan song

I am my own hearse

   I am meant to be alone,

My smile is not worthy

My body is too hairy

My personality is unexciting

My love is dieing

   All because,

Of what she would say

Of what he would say.

My words churn and twist

     insanity and pandemonium

     visions of surreal ideas

     orgasms of spouted thoughts

     siphoned brain waves

My words bleed along edges

     masked metaphors

     chanting syllables

     random and scattered

     dancing, dangling nuances

Words encrypted to decipher or not

     sublime flawed connections

     sexy syllables of passion

     stray words across canvas

     reaching for lemon drop moon

Innovative, ground breaking concepts

     spawning and creeping into light

     opening up repressed vibes

     scratching open barrier walls

     pain sketched on stiff spines

Refusal to cross ‘t’s’ and dot ‘i’s’

     provocative pregnant pauses

     hoodwinking and finesse

     floating Bohemian thoughts

     begging for insight

     inside writer’s free mind.

The baby's breath blooms drying on my windowsill have been there for months. I imagine that if I picked them up and squeezed one, it would crush and crumble between my fingers, making a dust of sorts. I could put it on my tongue, and it might dissolve, and then I could see more stars than other people, although I could never test the theory. Or I might just end up with a bad taste in my mouth, sweet and stale and papery. But they might bloom inside me if I swallowed them. Wouldn't that be lovely?

I could have flowers growing through my organs, and you could see the faint outlines of them in my arms, all the way up to my fingertips. That would be very pretty. If I happened to die, they could take my heart out to look at it, and it would be filled with little white flowers coming out of the aorta, or maybe there would be roots. I don't know if the roots would be in my heart, brain, or stomach. Any of those would make sense to me. But before I died, I could have a garden inside me. And if someone asked, "Why does it look like there are flowers inside your skin?", I alone of all people would have the privilege of answering, "Because there are."

I would be so lucky.

But I guess it would get tiresome, like all things eventually do. The flowers inside me would have to die, just like the dried flowers that I put on my tongue and swallowed to birth them in the beginning. They would wither away until you couldn't see them under my skin, and you wouldn't see them coming out of my heart, only fine white dust like an addict, which I am.

Which we all are. To beauty, and to nice things, and to feeling special.

Oh, how we love that. I would have my fix for awhile, but then I would itch for more.

Maybe then I would dry lavender flowers on my windowsill.

Mercy crossed her legs Indian style as she stared up through the waves that covered her head. "I can't believe this!" she snapped.

      It was pouring dirt, and she positively hated dirt. Well, at least the waves kept most of it away. That was a good thing.

     Jezron, her brother, watched her through half-closed lids as he reclined on his bedrock.

     "All you do is sleep," she growled irritably.

     "All you is complain," he retorted, folding his four legs in a similar fashion to Mercy as he sat up, and focused his three deep red ones on her two brown ones. "I don't know why. You should be happy, leaving beneath the safety of the water, instead of upon that cursed land. You're strange enough as it is, with only two eyes, and such a horrid color, the color of earth itself! And you only have to legs, and two arms, and one mouth, and..."

     Mercy sighed and turned away. She'd been hearing it all her life. She simply didn't fit in here, not that that was her fault but...

     Mercy tucked her earth-colored hair behind her ears and glared Jezron. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about biting one of my seventy tongues!"

      Jezron puffed out his chest. "The more tongues you have, the more respected you are. And I have seventy, a mark of honor! So there!"

     Mercy sighed. "You know what? I am done with this!"

     She shoved off from the sandy bottom, shooting up through the waters. The dirt had stopped raining down, and she pulled herself out onto the solid, firm earth, and took the very first breath of air she'd ever taken in with those forgotten organs called lungs.

    She was all alone in this strange place, with just the earth and sky. And she found she rather liked it here. It was like she actually...belonged.

I woke up when I heard someone speaking.

"It was her who stole my berries. I remember her gold watch," said the voice.

I got up from my bed and looked for the source of the voice. I laughed so hard when I discovered that the cactus on my bedside table glared at me. 

"Hey, good morning Miss C. And yes, I plead guilty. I stole your berries. By the way, are you not going to introduce me to your new friend?" I glanced on the flying centipede above me. 

"Nice to meet you, Human. I am here to arrest you. Again."

This will be my second time in jail. Last time, I was charged with murder when I burned the house of the King Ant. I stayed in jail for seventy minutes and I was allowed to go home after lunch when I ate the Lettuce Officer. 

"It is my pleasure, Officer. You know how I enjoy staying in jail."

After thirty-five seconds, we arrived in jail and I was excited to hug my friend, Roach, a very smelly cockroach. 

"Long time no see, my friend. I heard you stole some berries from Miss C?"

"Yes, Roach. It was worth it. Look at my earrings, aren't they pretty?" 

"You're right Human. But I prefer if the berries have worms in it."

"I agree, Roach. Come on, I have an idea! Let's escape this prison. Fly us to Worm Town, Roach."

When I finished eating the Burger Officer, Roach and I escaped the prison. We went to Worm Town Carnival and disguised ourselves by drinking mud. I was so happy to be avocado-colored when I ride the Parasite Ferris wheel. I soaked my dress with vinegar and rolled onto the sand as I devoured the sunlight. And flop! I accidentally killed Roach.

Two seconds later, a crawling eagle police officer shot me with his sword. It went through my stomach and killed me in an instant.

"Murderer and thief. We are very relieved that you are finally rested, Human. You were a pest to our community."

"I feel..." she struggled "I feel...like a wilted flower"

she tried to express, her exhausted soul trying to be seen through her compressing and rising chest, tears stains over the shirt over them.

She looked at me in the eye, pain screaming from her red and damp eyes.

And I smiled.

The creases that appeared on her forehead told me of her battered confusion.

"why do you smile?" she barely spoke

" Because I know you are about to blossom in a million more beautiful ways"

She stood still, silently stirring my words in her imagination.

And what the girl on the other side of the mirror was about to realize was that, her artistic soul could and would paint colors beyond her most glamorous imagination.

©2017 Nokulunga Mazibuko

Whispered nothings reflect off windows

in search of an image of you to land

They no not where to go, blowing gently off the

currents of the wind through the window

and escape into the golden light of the day

Whispered nothings, crying tears of regret

for they have not landed on their target

they have fled into the surrounding air

to gently float amongst other sweet nothings

and words of love that have no one to land on

And so my whispered nothings float 

with no one to caress and with no reply

till they land, on the unknowing

Jason stood back and noted that it was the wrong color. Bright pink was not the right color. Jason looked at his time machine and nodded in agreement with himself. 

     "Jason!" His mom called up the stairs. "Time for dinner!" 

     "Coming," He called back and ran down the stairs. The door of the time machine opened and an older man with semi-curly hair stepped out. 

      "Nice color indeed!" He said. "But I prefer a blue myself." So he set to work on making it blue. 

       "Jason," His dad said. "Grandma called and said she wanted us to come over tonight so go get ready." 

       "I already am," Jason said as he rinsed his plate. "Mom told me before dinner so I'm ready." 

       "Good," His dad said. Jason agreed with him but we all know that he wouldn't of if he knew that Dr. Who himself was upstairs stealing his brand new TARDIS.

       "I shall call this blue TARDIS blue," The Doctor said. He climbed inside and then flew off with the TARDIS leaving poor Jason wondering what happened to it.

Lived to eat ham,

But it gave him the bite...

...Lightening cracked down

In it's hot flight!...

Fire-bolt Man

Who lived to eat ham!... 

...He was at full

Tilt then,

With impulsive

Hand

That'd leave

Passing bruises

On psyches

Of those

Fools in earshot,

'specially if

Favored close...

...Insanely convinced 

To leave a

Red mark!...

...If not fondling

Prowess...

Reasons

More dark...

...Just yearned for

Reverence!

...Accepting

Any dare...

...Be it, rain out of

Heaven...

Or more intimate

Affairs.

Lived to eat ham,

But it gave him the bite...

...Lightening cracked down

In it's hot flight!

©

2017

Bunny Villaire