I once knew a man
pale as fair and slender

He wore a hat made out of his heart
and shoes made from his eyes

He never took them off
no

Every time our eyes met
you could see a faint pumping
of a euphorically beating hunk of flesh
strewn across his head
sewn together with every last dream and hope
he possessed

Does she like me back?
the headwear groaned and ached
with raw want

And the eyes
the eyes glued by his logic
scanning the area
sensitive
alert
What was he stepping into?
Was it safe?

I hope one day he takes them off

Because a hat serves as protection for the skull
but a heart beats to be protected
vulnerability its driving desire

And shoes guide us in the right direction
but our eyes
seem to only see the wrong things

Words flow onto paper
and paint spreads in light and shadow
conjuring a vision born from a single mind.

Everything is inspiration,
everything that exists is beautiful,
for every inch stepped on by man
was crafted from God’s hand.

To create something ugly, something raw
that showcases to the world
something from nothing
is truly the best art of all.

We’re all artists,
whether we believe it or not.

To open our eyes to our profound talent,
we mustn’t think it,
we must make it.

To have a physical copy of one’s excellence
brings refreshment to the consumer,
assuming one’s excellence
has reached its fitted audience.

A creation that absorbs and communicates
through effort and praise
is a creation deserving of such praise.

Art is humble and knowing of its place,
a chance to connect
through culture and belonging.

We are all artists,
it’s just a case of believing so.

I'm encalsped In a hollow casing
Cloudy and holographic.
A prism of shifting light
I'm not quite sure where the exit is
Though I'm not quite sure I want to leave  either
I just sit in this desolate dream with my phone, scrolling
Waiting for a text something anything
Because to be wanted is everything.
Once every while a thousand hands will reach to pull me out but i resist.
Your lustful words glue each chamber of my heart into a messy lump of flesh similar to a carcass but with your name scribbled all over it
I like the cycle I feel every day
The fevered peak of only what I can describe as bliss and agony then descent into questioning what my love truly is and deep depression.
I'm afraid to say no
I'm afraid to leave
Because I'm afraid this bubble of air and pathetic potential is all I have
And if I loose it,
if I loose you I have nothing

Parallel hunger,
torn between the dilemma of desire and morality.

We were so desperate for success,
lest we lose what we hold in our hands.

Even with our fleshy backs facing one another,
we still walk in the same direction
across the endless line
where the sun rises
to menace and bless
our selfish beings.

Why is it we choose to please
those we look down on
in envy?

The moon shadows us in veneration,
cradling us so intimately
in what we thought to be a reward
for our tendency
to run,
to reach,
to ache.

But maybe it was never a reward,
but just the only thing left
that felt like mercy.

First, forget warmth
Forget the homely feeling of fingers tracing backbones,
Like maps leading home.
Cold things don’t carry compasses
They drift.

Learn to find comfort in emptiness,
And freeze memories,
Because cold things don’t empathize
They exist,
Untouched by ache.

Melt all longing,
But never expect the ice to melt too,
Because cold things leave no room for warmth,
With frostbitten hands.

Most importantly,
Love without asking to be loved back,
Because cold things
Cant feel the fire you build around them.

Two stars hung in the velvet sky like forgotten sentinels.
Both jutting from the darkness with quite grace.
"I shine so brightly" said the first,
"Yet my glow feels empty
Like shouting into a forgotten universe".

The second star flickers softly.
"I know this ache
We burn alone,
Longing to be understood.
Our light spreading across oceans and desolate land,
Yet we still yearn for a purpose,
Hoping to be seen".

They twinkled in shared solitude,
Neither outshining one another,
Coexisting in eachothers self pity.
Yet in their quiet conversation,
They felt a fragile kind of company

Because even in vast emptiness,
to be seen,
is to exist.