I sat by the window on the seat
Cup of tea
Resting my feet
Trying to forget me

Watched the rain
Dripping on the window pane
Again and again
But never the same

Drops racing
Sometimes embracing
Coliding
And disappearing

Wish I wasn't here
Want you near
But that turns to tears
Everytime you appear

And still the rain drips
Drink tea in slow sips
Knowing my heart flips
As we are passing ships

Art is a lot like life
It never comes out
The way I imagined it.

My emotions were once monsoon rains now a dry summer day. I look in the mirror and notice that I've grown, my appearance has changed. The person from a year ago will never stare back at me with crying eyes and obvious hurt, I am now a woman who is more at ease and alert. No longer feel that I am lost but evidently found, you feel enthused after burying your troubles in cold hard ground.

I exist in a
modern
       fortress
of houses &
    cars, stores
around the
corner to buy
      anything
I want &
       the sea
& dark trees
remain
mysteries,
   peripheral
things only
    experienced
in
           dreams
passing
     ships that
sail in to
erase names
& obligations,
      stretch weak
             lungs to
breaking,
reprogramming
genes to flee, 
to tease out the 
         wild seed
    from my
ancestors tree
& in the absence
of jungle
     ignite a fire
from
bits of wire,
     from you
& me
& our ancient
      heartbeat

With a
thin sheet
of skin we cover
each limb,
bury
the heart
beneath flesh
& hope for
the best,
but the cracks
still come, air finding
its way in via
eardrums,
lungs, 
then finally
a soul & you know
when you see
them, more
paper
than
people, you
look in their eyes
& don't see hopes
& dreams but
city streets,
industrial
skylines,
no sign of sun
coming over the
horizon.

Determined
          to leave
she gathered
up her
things, keys
& a coat, a
quick note
    explaining
why she had
          to go,
but the 
finality of the
scene gave
       the bleak
view a
different hue,
         the sun
through
glass shone
brighter, the
               sky
appeared
several
        shades
lighter, the
once
      silent
      meadows
called out in
       unison
to be walked
           upon,
the
    flowers
whispered
   to her to
        hold on.

She
didn't cry
& yet
I was wet,
water
teased from
evaporated
steam
stirring in
deep wells
of stoic
eyes
dreaming
of a
sunrise,
just one day
she thinks
when she
will not wake
with the salt
of the sea
lapping
against
her lids.

I draw pictures of how it could of been, if you never have gone astray. Of what I could have prevented from happening the following day. I draw the one who had taken you away, he is the one whom I slay.