I would like to be photographed as a silhouette. So they will see all of me.
Every inch they will have to read. And every mile in their minds they will have walked with me.
Yes they rationalize to hold me in. I break the boxes. I damage floors.
My gut is stretching I suppose.
Call me Phoenix
Photography by Nilo Burkhart
Model: Keota Picou
I’ll give you two cents
If you can tell me what my deal is
We can trade our laughs
And sign the seal with codes in oath
You may want to consider
Whether you hold strength in your
Are only letters if you fear them
But I know you fear yourself
A mastery of who
You have no zipper left
Therefore each notch owns you
I will give you a dime
Your words are perfect tens
Who cares if we’re right or wrong
Who corrects minds through lineage
By Keota P
I saw a bomb drop during an afternoon in an eastern country (I’m not sure where I was. Could’ve been America. But I had the string direction of East). It was a clear sky, I think I saw a water tower nearby. What ever it was, it was white and stood high into the sky. It seemed to he an industrial town or near a work site but strangely I also saw a rural town and the city not far ahead. As soon as I saw the mushroom cloud rise, I woke up. The wheel keeps turning.
Claws to the scalp
I need your hold
I give it back
I want your bones
Where is my Wolf?
The love we mate
It’s been far too long
Shouldn’t I devour you?
Pour your brew
Your skin is in my head
Tears down my face
I swear I’d claw you
Around trees I wait
And everything aches
Let us feed
The love we mate
Poem by Seraphine
photography by E. J. Bellocq
Everything is so beautiful now. I had a taste of myself. I embraced potential. I owned up to strength. Everything is so beautiful now. My trials were heaven sent. Death stood at my door- warned me thrice. Slicing away verboten habits. Self harm with a few cups of disrespect- down it burned black to ash. I will not reject myself. I will not reject myself. I will not reject myself. The she in me ripped my ribs apart. It had to happen. I kept fighting. I lost. I lost it all for me.
Call Me Phoenix
(In honor. What a fine feeling of One. Joyful days and joyful nights.)
Here he comes. So I dip my finger into this glass of rum. I wonder if this man will skin me slowly. Or will he fake it to relate. Just as the hunters call for the game. I’m looking forward to being a meal. I just might be a masochist. I want to feel his pain.
And since he behaves like a bull, I should wear red. He always stares as if I’ll be the last one. But I am just waiting to be choked.
I wonder how he found me. Aggression peeled back is hunger. This may be balance. Our eyes say, “Let’s fight.”
Rum to rum, a heated expression. And for some deep reason, I aim to learn a lesson. I can’t breathe. On my breasts there is pressure. So I let his rum coat.
His claws dig deeper. My hand grows weak. So I know I need to squeeze his throat. I guess I couldn’t help the take over. He breaks glass. So I carve his sins into his back. Burning pages and melted gold. Who would know how this will go?
The Daily Post – Dancing
May I please have a beat? Just a few of your honesty. And may I please rest my feet on our rocky start laid in front of me. Did you get my message? I left it there in a back bend of emotions. A literal back bend I gave you. One you held without devotion. Back then I wondered how could we make it to the stage. How could I dance with you while unlaced? Where will we go to find our justice? And what if I take a bow to your untruths. What if I dance with some one else? And what if we dance as I dance with you?
I enjoy the cologne of an alpha’s unrest. I enjoy the pounding of hearts out of dress. Here I am, toes on a cold floor as I come down on bended knees. I am happy that I danced with you. I am happy that I was imperfectly me.