| This is probably the least edited image of myself I am willing to share online. What can I say? I don't photograph well, I fear. |


The Summoner's Apprentice"Precocious." The understatement that blighted my childhood.The Summoner's Apprentice
I was precocious when, at three,
I napped my last nap-time; When, at four, I learned Latin from Catholic texts.
"Precocious," my teachers always said With that slight hint of disapproval, Mistrust.
"Precocious," they always said Where they knew I could hear.
In the faculty lounge, When they had no inkling that I was listening, They said "sneaky," when I appeared behind them With quiet steps and a difficult question; "Creepy," when I read large, black books
In dead


Maslow's ChildMonday's child is Choking Starving Exhausted. His thoughts are barely worth the name, His needs too pressingMaslow's Child
If he could just pull in that cold, City air - maybe a little food To wash it down - He will sleep.
Tuesday's child is Terrified. The dark, fanged elements Are inches from her throat &n


HarlequinHarlequin, you waited for me, Dancing in the darkways And laughing your faceless hysteria To the cold and crackling night.Harlequin
Harlequin, you drew me to you. I fell into your world like falling asleep. The flames that spun with your mad dance Were all the light in our two-man universe.
Harlequin, you saw me, Staring without eyes Though your dance never slowed A whisper below frantic.
Harlequin, you led me. Whirling away, Forcing me To follow your fire.
Harlequin, you trapped me with a hundred others, You danced your da


Leap off the pageI wrote a girl with long, red hair, and named her Violet. Her eyes were made of words like "emerald" and "iridescent", and when they looked up at me from the page, I knew what others they needed. Hue, fleck and glisten gave them life, but it was not my words that made them sad.Leap off the page
I wrote the dishonest half smile, that lied so well for those eyes, since I knew she would never want me to believe the tale of that teardrop lacquer. I laid freckles across her cheeks and nose in my tight and shaky cursive, but I printed for the lines of her cheeks, neck and shoulders. I'm neater when I print, a


ChelseaOnce upon a time, in a time like the present, there was a girl called Chelsea.Chelsea
She is very pleased to meet you,
Though she'll never meet you
Eye to eye.
I remember Chelsea
As the girl who painted everything.
From the age of four she carried a large pad of bristol board (comically large in her neat little hands) and a palette of watercolours. Painting while wallking requires a mastery of the juggler's trade, but she learned fast simply by refusing to stop.
When a painting was finished she would pull out the sheet and drop it.
She was,
After all,  


The Ability to FlyShe made "guilty pleasures" a tautology. Throwing her ice-cream to the ground after the first lick, she ruffled the feathers of her wings and stuck out her tongue.The Ability to Fly
Her eyes were sky blue. She hated the colour. She refused to see them in mirrors, So her hair was a charming tangle.
She wore bright colours, long skirts and loud bracelets, and whenever she moved, there was a swish or a click. Her smile was sunny and she danced while she walked. Every appearance of happiness.
But, When their parents weren't looking, She made mean faces At small children. Sh


My nerve endings tingle at your touch. From those artful, intelligent fingers I learn so much that passing years have Left undiscovered. Your fingertips Explain to me the significance of flesh.by =AlecBell
Word was all I strove to be, before your reaching senses began to teach me the richnesses of possibility,
before your exploration exposed the ore of sensuality buried in my flesh.
Your pioneering fingers uncovered
So much, hidden just below the surface,
underneath my skin. As you explored
those dormant landscapes of tensions and sighs, my heart at last
--
who am I to judge?
I am here to love.
--
no risk no fun, no brain no brakes
--
a melting pot of truth and fiction
--
rosin your bow, sing your scales
do your lunges
we're going
field-
dancing
--
rosin your bow, sing your scales
do your lunges
we're going
field-
dancing
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