She asked me to get drunk
and write poems.
I've been around the sun
Twenty nine times and can tell you
that love is like
reading Bukowski

I told her what it felt like to be held
and feel like you’re nothing and nowhere.
She told me what’s it’s like to be something and everywhere.

And Jesus
and all of us
wept while the sun
fled west to Copernicum
With roses in her wake.

Someone asked me to draw
Draw what heartbreak looks like
I finally got tired of drawing a broken heart
And I started drawing you

we might still be ignoring each other,
(is that what we call this silence?)
by the time it comes around.
i might still love you
and you might still not know,
but despite this heartbreak
and shaky hands of mine,
i will still wish you happy birthday.

Shadows Cast by moonlight...
A reminder of hours , day even..
Time wasted pondering life’s
Minutiae.
But these night shadows differ,
These the keeper of dreams
and owner of nightmares.
These welcoming arms caress
Imagination, bring succour
Dark solace,
Offer a welcome relief from the daily grind.

Sometimes I write to her,
To her crooked teeth,
To her hazel eyes,
To the freckles that populate her cheeks,
To the golden birth mark that adorned her midriff,
To the olive skin that she so much hated,
To her.

My heart shall wait, in the place where I carved out our love into the timber's of that old worn out bridge, my heart shall always be there waiting

Do you think a girl could love a boy who writes for her a million poems?  That's what I plan to do.

I crawl into my head
you make the ugliest comments
there goes my self-esteem

you pull on my strings
left leg
twist my arms
you make me fall over and over again

are you better than me
I'm a puppet

tell me everything
I don't want to hear

I'll walk backwards

you're controlling

I'm fighting off
pulling on these strings

there goes my last bit of sanity
spiraling down into the darkness

you can pull my limbs apart
you can pick at my skin

doesn't change
your transparency

it's all your fault

Like the value of the currency
Feeling low and down currently
Better you chase your dreams young man
Life doesn’t come with warranty.......

you seemed happier than ever in that moment
like you wanted me
but i guess i was wrong
i was blinded by your beauty
you're so perfect
and too good for me

A poet is no more than a person
A mother
A daughter
A lover  
Someone needing release
Or someone needing to recover


It’s the art they create when that ball of ink or stick of led dances on the canvas they so perfectly prepared.
And when the end result and their purpose become perfectly paired.

She was like a flower...
but they never noticed
until it was too late

The world is our stage,
and we are not perfect.

sometimes, we fall.

Just remember to
rise up with confidence,
fix your invisible crown,
smile big,
and walk on.

To escape is to see.
To sea is to drown.
To drown is to end.
To end this long abuse.

I tied some string
Around our
Little fingers
In a bow
Because it's the
Only knot I ever
Bothered to learn
And wished
That it would be
Enough
To keep you by
My side
Forever.

She takes the stand
With the voice of millions on her back
And speaks the fact that we all know,
far too well to be true -                  
                                           Me too.

She is heard but not believed,
She is heard with faith deceived .

When will it be enough -
Is one in six not enough ?
Is one sister, one friend
still - not enough?

one colleague, one mother, one wife, one lover -
one teacher, one doctor, one preacher, one author -
one husband, one son, one brother.
Which one will it take, to stop
the non-consensual clock
and make us realise that -

Time. Is. Up.

I'm jealous of the rain
It gets close to you
Closer than I ever will
It touches your skin
It combs your hair
It comes when you're sad
It stays when you're happy
I love you but you don't love me
So I say
I'm jealous of the rain

The feeling of inspiration
To write for someone,

Your Someone,

Is a powerful thing.

no one:

me: this is all i'm allowing myself to eat today

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

neon lights
illuminate the night’s
heavy clouds

while rain muffles
the constant urban humming

pierced by distant sirens
moving slowly
through concrete canyons.