Feed Me- Maggie Lawson/The Art of Chewing Crayons

I’m starving!

Who will feed me?

To all artisans of the social missive,

Come on now, feed me proper. I have a flood in my mouth, an ache in my pit, and a hankering for something bloody. I want to lose my teeth in its depths, relish a rare bite and feel the deep sigh of satiation.

The mind, void of sufficient stimulation, is a dangerous thing and I’m bored; bored with articulate bullshit, robotic fist pumps and ass-kissing. Under such duress I’m inclined to want to scoop out brains with a teaspoon and use the skull to hold my crayons.

Speaking of crayons; be warned, bring the full box to colour with me as I’m not gifted with tolerance for fluffy stuff but I am a genius at alternative uses for the vacuous spaces between ears.

I’m calling all funky fringe-dwellers, weirdly wordy, pulsing poetics and sanguineous songsters.

Bring your double-entendre entrees; succulent morsels of moreishness that whet my appetite and tease my mind.

Delight with delicacies that roll off the tongue and pleasure the palate, tempting tidbits that tantilise. Seduce with sumptuous soliloquy that leaves me salivating; words dripped like honey on my tongue.

Dare with wild things; offer the repulsive with a twist of lemon, a stark tart reminder that all should be sampled before being rejected.

Bring earth’s offerings; that rich bounty of colour and crispness cleanses palate and soul with its purity and goodness. Rich in intellectual nutrition it affords me guilt-free sustenance to balance my indulgences.

Fill my table with meaty mains remembering to keep mine bloody (i have a predilection for food with a pulse). Bring me seared steak that i might sink my teeth up to my gums in that still-warm flesh and savour the flavour of it’s bloody juice.

But save the spun sugar for toothless children who know not what they eat; my hunger is for needful things. My taste for empty calories died a bloody death and grief sits sour in my mouth.

Link me the finest literary libations, pile my plate high with the best you’ve seen or written so I might feast on your deliciousness.  This girl is mighty hungry!


You can read more of Maggie’s writing at The Art of Chewing Crayons

All That Glimmers- Maggie Lawson/The Art of Chewing Crayons

These moments climb on me
like a wet dog
neglected of maintenance,
the stench of which
clings  like shame to empty bones.

Someone heard me echo,
and my hollowness revealed,
I deflated on sharp truths.

Once a delight in a child’s hands
now scurried away
lest I choke the poor mite.

Is there nothing to secure me?
No anchor bold enough
to prevent the constant wreckage
of self on self?

Duplicity is a war of one-on-one
and I cannot win nor lose.

What good is tethering
without a stonghold?
My eyes ache and drag
dry in their caves,
chaffed by constant to’ing and fro’ing
as they plead for land
or the surface;
such is my disorientation

that I know not whether
I’m to swim
or climb
or fall
to safety (or if there’s safety at all).

I’ve been caught
singing after the music stopped
and my insufficiency
rings loud  in the glaring silence.

People forget that
in the brilliance of full sun
you can’t see a damned thing
no matter how wide-eyed you are.

I should have known
that glittering horizon
wasn’t my new dawn
but another fucking train.

It’s ok,
you can look away,
shelter your eyes
from my shameful nakedness
because I’ve got eyes enough for all of you.

I break,

I bleed,

I falter and fall.

I am not invincible.

Not today, anyway. 

You can read more of Maggie’s writing at The Art of Chewing Crayons

By the Light of the Lying Moon- Maggie Lawson/The Art of Chewing Crayons

I keep myself busy in labyrinths
excavating reasons why
you aren’t here,
tapping on hollow bones
for answers they don’t have
to questions void-of-course.

I know the soil is spent
and yet I dig
for what was never there.

Each fistful of dirt
flies in the face
of the lying moon;
silvered charm exchanged
for umbral truth.

Ashes of light
grip bitter in my mouth
as soil marries tears.

I won’t look up
won’t acknowledge
the dead rock locked
in darkness and truth
but wait for the light
of the lying moon,

for you.

You can read more of Maggie’s writing at The Art of Chewing Crayons