some kisses I save
for me, for you, for my mom's cheek.
some kisses i save
for the one, for the second, for us.
some kisses i save
for rainy days and warm tea and
jerusalem lights.
some kisses i save
hidden, just so I can barely see them.
some kisses I save
in my pocket, for the next time.
some kisses were stolen
by him
from far, far away
just like that.
i miss them
and i could never get them back/

thank you for
looking at me
with such kindness
in your eyes,
love in your veins
and warmth in
the wrinkles
surrounding
your eyelashes.

𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥, 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐦, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚-𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐈𝐟 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩-𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤-𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐊𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧-𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐦-𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧/𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐀 𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐚𝐤'𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐄𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐬: “𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥-𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝟔,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡.”
   𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝: “𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫; 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐥; 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐬; 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.” {𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐬}
   𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲: 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐀 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 & 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 & 𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈  𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤-𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞.
   𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐭... “𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐙𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞
𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 & 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞.”
   “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞?”
   “𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲?”
   “𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.”
   “𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞! 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝!”
   “𝐇𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.”
   “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞?”
   “𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲?”
   “𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡—𝐈𝐭'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨
𝐝𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬—𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐠.”
   “𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐠!”
   “𝐈'𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲
𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐨𝐦.”
   𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐧 {𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝} 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐚? 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞...𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬. 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞
𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭.
   𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞? 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐛 𝐨𝐟 𝐃.𝐃.𝐓. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭'𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 & 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥-𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭-𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲...𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.
   𝐁'𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝: 𝐚
𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞
𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬? 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬
𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Seven times seven ills
arrive at our door
the streets are silent
Nothing moves

How do  we merit
these days?
Did we earn so little
for our travails?

I blame God
since it is said
that he is almighty.
He could lift this plague
but does not.

So logic -
that machinery of madness -
tells me
this plague is sent by God
for reasons
mysterious.

when you want to be kind
be kind
but when you want to be mean
be kinder

He kept his mother
in a sealed envelope,
waxed,
stored in the back
of his closet
like so many
old sweaters,
not worn but kept
for the memories.
I caught him once,
crying, kneeling
before her. He held
her ashes like
she once held him.
And through a gap
in his fingers
I could read
the ink that said:
    Date of death: 12/10/17
    Date of cremation: 12/12/17
    Store in a cool, dry place.

So beautiful
Yet so painful to hold
Almost like a disguise
Hiding the pain
Under the beauty
Of petals

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

Standing on a dimming stage
in the echoing stillness of our Plot—
fixed in the Silence of an
audience deprived of intimacy:

The Death of a world
that never knew Life.

Thoughts were toxic,
Filled me with strain.
Listened to music,
Eases my pain.

Lying on my bed,
Soft is the music I hear.
Went out my shed,
The music became clear.

Danced with the music,
Swayed along the trees.
All night I frolic,
With all the coldest breeze.

Quarrels only surrender to the eyes of truth
Even then you are not free of trouble
For uncertainty follows you always
And you cannot grasp it
You cannot see it
You can only accept it
With a grimace
Or a grin

I tell my secrets to children
in the form of fairy tales
A "Once upon a time," is enough
to quiet down their wails
and I spin stories as well as spiders
weaving webs that a lost child
must navigate the tangled trails
with cleverness and wit
sharper than any sword
more accurate than any arrow
I speak of children who questioned
the established path of rejection
and this misguided idea of reciprocity,
"You must suffer because it happened to me."
Because my blessing in life was not brute strength
but a clear mind and clever tongue.
I tell my secrets to children
so that they may grow smarter because of them.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

What do you call it
When you don't have the energy
To get up
To try to  **** yourself

I've drank the finest of wine
Down to the bottom of the bottle
Only to witness an ocean alone
Barely surviving my own hands

A fire burned through my viens
That was blew out by the wind
Breezing through the leaves
A calmness that sits with me
Before calmness dismisses me

I walked across the tallest blue sky
Where wide winged birds soar high
Til promises of white clouds turn grey
And so there I fell with the rain
Dripping through the lowest gutter

Many times I was buried, lying in dirt
Like a grave, needing no help
Finding the dark inside of myself
But I always rise with the blades
Of the greenest fresh spring grass

No matter what feeling I catch
None of them seem to everlast

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

When butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans in their stomach?

Can I give a girl anything  
Except what she wants

to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy

I never asked you to be sweeter
Than your donuts
Or be like sugar
that takes away the bitter taste of coffee

I just want to feel loved by you..

but for now,
I'll sugarcoat my feelings
by saying
"There's nothing wrong sweetie"

there is no poetry inside me
my veins have been bled dry
my heart once soaked is empty
without poetry i might die

I don't wanna get habituated to losing people even before they start to love me.

Love didn't end wars
It started them

I LIKE TO SAY YOUR NAME

I like to say
your name

when you're
not here

turn you
into sound

conjure you out of
thin air

so that you appear
before me

dressed in sound
only

memory sketching in
the rest of you

as if sound
was just an outline

and love
colours you in

adding the voice last
so I can hear you say.

"Hello you..!"
and there you are

as present
as present

can be.

I like to say
your name

when you're
not there.

My vow isn’t about happiness
But it’s promising love
Where lies 1001 senses
That a heart could taste.

The Whole
   disintegrates never
   there are no fragments
   in that Together

Sometimes
The panic
Is more dangerous
Than the pandemic

and I realised
everything I missed
like feeling her lips curl
into a smile or a kiss

I look into her eyes
while she stares into the abyss
her fingers uncurl just a little bit
and we fall asleep like this