3 Poems



we beg for beauty


so blinding

that inspiration flourishes from our eyes

and through our souls

unto the canvas we claim as our only source of life

that penetrates us so deeply

that our blood freezes

and our hearts stop

and the whorls of being envelop our livelihood

unto the depths of a reality

that is so nonsensical

that its very essence

allows us to breathe the only life we’ve ever known


and we continue

to beg for beauty


with empty cups that chit-chat the songs of poverty

because in nearly every waking moment

we remain deprived of the truth

and the nurture that consumes us


and we continue

to beg for beauty


through champagne mountains of insufferable tolerance

and random numbness from all that haunts us


and we beg

and we beg

and we beg


but we need not suffer anymore


because all that is ours is still our own

and all that was is still

and no one but us can have that

and we always will


I am the call girl of the twenty-first century.

The ten dollar hooker

that radiates sleaze

and is at your beck-and-call

for all your emotional needs.


The whistle-music plays

and I perform

lap dances

of reassurance.


My clothes cover my body,

but my internal world puts out.


With trusting fingers

and a gentle bite,

you undress my layers

and I am fully-clothed

and completely exposed.


There is

so much


in my



Fingers point


eyes fixate

but you would smile too

if you saw

my insides

and showed

me yours.


Blow-job confessions

and doggy-style conversations





Be afraid



Look me up


dress me down.


I have been found guilty

of sinful innocence.


I have been judged


through these eyes,

have been deemed




Origami Shadows

i think i have forgotten the meaning of these words.

confusion smiles. my eyes are wide shut.

origami shadows

mimic repulsive spirals

as hatred fills

these meaningless walls.

contaminated. frustrated. bleeding wide open.

things shorten

as time’s infinite cycle


spread fully exposed across my eyelids.

and it darkens me.

the meaning of these words

lost forever in a night sky

void of stars


made empty.

About Brooke Lynn

Brooke spends most of her free time contemplating who would win in a fight between a miniature lobster endowed with unicorn magic and a giant cockroach. She chooses the giant cockroach 62.54% of the time. When she’s not thinking about invertebrate street fighting, Brooke spends her time learning how to read. [More by Brooke]