I’m mixing the stars with these heartbeats
to create the tangs of vinyl
that are meant to burn their tongues
and painting away acrylic years with fingertips,
raw and sweet,
underneath the reality.
I smudged roses under sweaty palms
and crafted bouquets from the ink on these wrists
and the bloody beds beneath my nails,
kissing cold noses and making drum rolls
to wipe away the noise of pretty faces,
because without them

I can fall in love with the voices
reverberating through these artificial mindsets,
bottoming out under the rhythmic sound
of toes on pavement
and the destruction of pigments
being spread across trampled plastic,
forcing those who survive
to the outside we know so well.

I’ll staple the so-called worthy to my calloused heels
and beat them against the picket signs
that wave freely in the air,
smothering them under coal
while I decorate our arms with pins
molded from agony
and lend our lips
to the angels with lost halos and ripped, off-white robes
who will be asked to join the uprising
against the glimmering of those who float above.

We’ll shout from beneath the shells
of our crooked bodies
and paint perfection in melted letters
across our chests,
choking out the beautiful with bright eyes
and drowning them beneath our reckless need
to leave them as weak as
they made our imperfections seem,
while we revel in the name
“Rebellion”.