Author: Aren Goodwin

I found my soul in parts at the heart of it, and tried hard to harness any art to fit. My best bits embarked, departed and cystic. To make sense of my darkness, and impart some mischief. But I'm a ways away from harmful. Just too enraged, an unsafely guarded armful. Swinging blades, and snarling… Continue reading A Guarded Armful →

It's madness, what she had to brave. To collapse in greener pastures, past paths too many had to pave. Tolls, and toil, and tenebrous trouble, for just a second's graze. Now she knows the sound of laughter, but can't crack a smile to wrap her words. Her face intact, but past reacting first. Just know… Continue reading Past Reacting →

At least there's heart in my artistry. For, it seems my pumping part has departed me. Still, they say, "How sad could she be, when the words seem to leave, her lips like a lion's roar?" You see, there's this behind her iron door. A resounding downbeat, deep inside the house. More than a mere… Continue reading Behind Her Iron Door →

Whether my head has grown heavier, or my knees weaker, I don't know. But these days my own strength, won't allow a stone's throw. Or a stroll through the sweeter times. When I easy breathed, less feeble minded. Led down darker tunnels, now free though blinded. By the sunlight stretching, shining certain. Across eyes recast,… Continue reading Past Deserving Curtains. →

They abused the beautiful right out of her, and skewed the truth until she doubted words. So, if she's worth a worry now, we can't be sure. Seems her worst work is blurry, but it's painted pure. Brought forth from the bristles of her broken brush, as she sighs through the splinters brought by hope… Continue reading Painted Pure →

My brain, the birdcage. Brimming with butterflies. Thoughts come and go without a proper door to make them mine. So if something shines, I'll take the time to stop this train dead in its tracks, and pave a path past past threads of my mind. I'm not one for steering or focus. See, my hamster… Continue reading Focus →

I'm pretty sure I'm a perfectionist. But I've selected this because I know a label's blessed to miss. You see, perfect's far from an impressive wish. Much more a blister bent on dismissing missed calls and ripped shawls. Crystal clear as the water with which comes withdrawals. I'm some muddy mother fucker made of prepped… Continue reading Perfect →

I should know as well as any other sad sap set out to scrawl their thoughts on paper just how unpredictably turbulent human connection can be. Especially when we throw the "love" label on our relationship with another soul. Regardless of that word having romantic or familial implications, it's a nasty witches pot full of… Continue reading Dice Rolls and Ice Cold Shoulders →

I've no regard for the road. But even so, I keep a fear of leaving in tow. Steeped in tears from the grieving gray. Seedlings snapping as we careen away. With a trailer full of horrid horses, Whose eyes endorse our bored remorsing. Their forceful snorts and failures pouring Out of mouths that doubt, bite,… Continue reading Trail Blazed →

I built this body by dysmorphia because less of me is more to love. So, without words, the lips curve. To match rib bones, clearly shown. An uphill climb, with a knotted pine spine, and I call it all mine.. Every bite, consumed with necessity, and self spite. If only to cease the screams of… Continue reading Body by Dysmorphia →