there's something commemorative about smokey the bear.
there's like, a tangible substance of him;
a mixture of 8 year old sunscreen, rusted key chains, and boy scout days
when my bangs were crooked
and i was missing teeth between swollen cheeks
as red as the blood that stained my flower patterned capris
every single time
i picked open a scab
or scratched a bug bite so much
the flesh broke open and sponged through the fibers of baby's breath on my knee.

he's lime green and i can see him
but otherwise
I'm colorblind
grasping at tacky buttons amidst beige hues
and cutting paths with plastic swords that used to morph
between little compartments of my overactive simplistic mind
in to something pure;
something sound;
something legitimate

something so wholesome
i could run forever in fields of Velcro
or Acaena Burrs
without ever stopping to even begin
to catch my breath

or my smile
or the feeling
that i was complete.

i remember a beautiful boy i see ever day
and it's such a wonder
to observe the compartment in me open up
and spew human nature
that i fight with pitchforks
and angry tears
only to be left
caring

but is it really me that wishes
to carve marble in to figures like you?
is it really me,
that craves the vessels in your skin
to burst in to bruises under bits of your flesh
that I've clung to for their beauty?

or is it simply Pandora again
opening her box
and spilling in my hair
oils of oceans from the beginning of time
that seep in to my skull
and leave me longing just to capture your presence?