Elk A. Scott

For dark things to land

To rest

To let their souls relax

I want to be a safe place

For others to know

It's okay to be dark and twisted here

Because God knows how I've been before

I always found is silly

To clean the house before company

Aren't our family and friends

People we should trust

To accept the mess

The flaws

And all the rest

Instead of cleaning

In the hopes to impress

I think...

I know,

I'd much rather leave it a mess

In fact, I demand it

I demand that my life

Be a beacon to show

That messes are welcome

In fact, they're adored

Come over in sweatpants

Covered in stains

From the food you've eaten

For the past few days

Come over with hair greasy, unkempt

I will make you tea

We will laugh

And I'll share how I once

Went 11 days

Without washing my hair

We can look over your list

Of things, of to-do's

But only if you want to

And if not, well,

That's okay, too

Maybe tomorrow we will look again

Or maybe we won't

If it feels too heavy

We can scrap it and move on

We can discuss our struggles

Or debate which ice cream is best

As long as you feel safe here

You have a place to rest

That's what's important to me

Is that I'm a safe place for you

So be patient, there's no rush

Sip some tea,

Breathe

And together we will learn

A glistening siren that sings in silence, a mysterious dream lost in rippling reflections, perhaps she is Persephone rising from the river Styx, perhaps perceptually she is just another trick one a lonely poet’s mind plays upon itself, drunken with words, gasping and drowning in the sounding of whispered verbs and unheard curses of a traveling specter that tarries for but a moment in this mortal plane, vexing each vulnerable mortal’s brain as she evaporates away like a smokey mists, nothing left of her presence except the gift of a brief moment’s glimpse.

I have too many opinions about this god-damn vampire and I have to scream them somewhere or I'm going to go INSANE

Or

I recently decided to go back into long-form nonfiction writing because I have an itch only academia can satisfy

Or

im encapsulated in it baby. just another lie rolling off of my tongue.

there’s no letting you know.

im alone and i can still see you here.

you know better than to come back.

im calling you at midnight and listening to you sigh so heavily.

and then im on the phone with my dealer.

staring in a bathroom mirror, trying to keep it together.

i saw my mother the other day and she said I looked hollowed out. is that what it looks like?

im not saying its your fault. im saying it grips me at the ankles.

a cold hand, waiting to dragging me back into it. waiting to get me on the ground.

im saying i fell down the other night and it pulled me under the stair case and held me there.

what if the stars–

are little holes

poked into our cosmic jar–

so we can breathe lungfuls of fresh air? 

what if the stars–

are soft-glowing fairy lights

hung by a loving parent

who wants their child's room to be a home? 

what if the stars–

are cosmic beacons

lain brick by brick

for us weary travelers to find our way through the storm? 

what if the stars–

are a gallery

painted by them–

note: I (the owner of this blog and maker of wheels) am not into warrior cats! I just thought this would be fun to make