Down, down, down
You spiral into unspoken words
Which echo of gears grinding
Because the oil is never
Changed in a broken ship
Turmoil churning in the invisible
Argument with only yourself
A peaceful silence
To me is deafening to you
How can screams be so quiet
How can neutral be
Best case scenario
Half the time
While the rest is lost
To the vacuum of space
Alone
In your mind
Lost in constant orbit around
A planet far from home’s
Today and everyone who
Didn’t know tinted helmets
Reflect their own smiles
Oh, you’re alright! scorching
Like suns into the suit
You constantly weave with patches
Emblems worn by veterans
Who’ve no choice but
To pilot a broken ship
You don’t even know how to land
I’ll never know how brave
You are every day when
you defend me against
you when you defend
you against yourself
Every single day
in never ending
autopilot
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 10:39 PM UTC
I didn't know
my edges
were jagged
until they met yours.
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 8:21 PM UTC
That son left when harvest time came
Abandoned his own flesh and blood
For an easier path which he sought
And the pain his father endures alone
That selfish son with shaking hands
And cautious watching eyes yet blind
Stumbles and falls upon each pebble
Already the guilt has bore down deep
That ignorant son wretched with guilt
Promised his soon return but
Leisure engulfed and tainted his being
And robbed that fool of his honor
That weak son deserves the worst
Words and stones could possibly inflict
Cry, boy, cry! Cry for your sins!
Cry for the father you’ve abandoned!
Oh you cowardly son of your father
Why have you condemned yourself to this?
Why have you crushed this fragile soul?
Atone for you sins!
Howled the wind.
Jan 26, 2020
Jan 26, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC
Who knew
Butterflies
Were armed
With knives.
Eventually,
They find
Their way
Out.
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 8:19 AM UTC
From this hydrant, I begin to drink
The wealth of knowledge, the geyser that
Overwhelms with ambition linked
To an endless reservoir of defeat.
I already feel the bloat setting in,
My internal resistance signaling
Near capacitance, the visceral
Response to give up, to give in, to halt.
Fight or flight has never felt so raw,
The two diverging at the carina
Aspirating the decision into me
As they inundate my atria.
I can feel the icy hot burn searing
My chest and neck from the inside out,
The irony of alveolar collapse
Rejecting my futile attempt
To breathe
Just like the titans swimming far ahead
Effortlessly whilst I struggle to tread,
Clawing at suffocating airways
That have yet to surpass elastance
And evolve the surfactant that promises
Life
Beyond the sleepless nights
Beyond the next exams
Beyond the repeating cycles
Of maximal effort and minimal results.
I crave the day when the desperation
For air to fill my lungs, to inspire
And expire the atmosphere, is replaced
With an aqueous tidal volume
That dissolves the surmounting pain
And converts water into air.
From this hydrant, I begin to breathe.
Jan 11, 2020
Jan 11, 2020 at 10:19 AM UTC
Pack it up, fold it off, ship it away
To the farthest corner of your mind and lie
To yourself that it will never open
Until just the day you want it to stay.
Resting, breathing, sweating on your
Chest where moist drops barely dry stick like tar
That binds skin to skin, superficial at first
Date which feels like lifetimes ago, but for
Now sets in deeper than is pragmatic.
The "right" decision rooted in logic -
Our attempt to pry apart our layers one
From the other, to disengage the magic
Butterflies that flutter from my belly
To my lips in the form of words that fly
Too fast for me to catch and suppress
Until the next approved moving day.
Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 10:15 AM UTC
A poet's life
Is drawn from words
Scooping buckets
From the well
Within.
A drought
Dictates economy
Where buckets
Are little use.
A storm
Demands abundance.
Silence,
And flood ensues.
Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC
I saw a bird today.
Perched on my balcony,
His green feathers fluttered
In the humid September wind
While his gaze fixed on clouds
Tattered in tomorrow’s grey hues.
I peered closer through half-shut
Blinds to conceal myself as his
Own plumage disguised him
In the backdrop of a tree.
I’ve never seen this bird before.
Not here,
Not anywhere.
He was silent and still,
And how unusual I thought
For nature’s choir to be quiet.
Why do you not chirp, I asked,
As any happy bird would?
“I cannot sing alone,” he said
“You would not understand
The ballad I cry without a duet
To capture my highest highs
And resonate my lowest lows.”
Well why do you not dance, I queried,
As you surely should?
“My dance is a dance for two.
I need a partner to swing on
Invisible drafts, rhyming
My cadence lest I’ll forget
The steps and miss the count.”
So why do you not sing or dance
With all the other birds here, I begged?
Life is dull without passion
That floods the lungs
And ignites the limbs
To expression.
A pause.
“Simply, I cannot see them.
The red one melts in crimson dusk.
The blue one soars high in clear skies
And the yellow one wears the sun’s mask.
But the green one, I can see.
Only she can hear my muted cues
To bellow our loudest whistles
And only she can feel my subtle signals
To whirl beneath my wings.
I crave the same feather
Where words blend at the seams
And propel us through graying clouds
With our airwaves tortuously in sync
Leaving a duplex trail that intertwines.
So believe me, I am looking for her.
I’ve been searching for a long time.
But I think I’ve finally found the zephyr
She is riding, and I’ve traveled
A long way to be exactly here
Where our currents are bound to collide.”
I saw a bird for the first time today.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC
I wait for the day
when the trees grow taller
and the sun grows warmer,
winter coming to an end,
inviting bright spring days
with the promise of summer winds
ushering us on their current,
lulling us to ride our ways home
to the branch we first set perch.
Today, the wind pulls you yet
to higher trees and warmer skies,
climates too warm for the thick feathers
cluttering my wings, but
perfect for your flight North
farther and farther away.
Perhaps one day our currents may collide
mixing ecstatic cries and whistles
when we are ready to sing together
a different duet of rosy blues
once more.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC