Consumed by the diversity of one infinite reason to live
She's under the wave of a thousand pains, but the desire to breathe, it's
So much stronger than the need to no longer be, and then suddenly
All at once she's on fire, flying higher, one breathing, eclectic queen
Everything her eyes fall upon is healing, and becoming something
Her wings spread as her beliefs begin to mend, and the future once again becomes promising
This world is continuing to fall apart and she's growing through its heart
But the moment she blossoms will be the day our universe restarts
To continue to expand your horizon, you only have to be honest
Open and caring, loving and daring, let your passions fly and find solace
In the chaos of time and space, there is hidden poetry here and she hopes someday they will find wholeness.

Remember
You’re given 2 or 3
Moments
To shine in a lifetime...
Maybe you’ll get more in the next
But here it’s 2 or 3
Love more than you hate
Agree more than you disagree
But remember you truly only
Love one beautiful
Soul
In this lifetime. Remember that...
You can love and leave
But keep on good terms
Forgive
If you’ve been wronged
For hate can wilt you from
The inside out
A sore that never scabs
A monkey that’ll always lead you around
Notice how people react to you
When you enter a room
How they say goodbye when they know
They’ll never see you again
Never be the slow bullet
Never be the slow bullet
The slow bullet takes
Years
From your life
Decays your days
Tells you everything will work out
I’ll be better
But they never do
Be a dodger of bullets
Most notably the slow one
Even if they’re the one truly
Beautiful soul...

Just as lovely as I remember...
Erasing a thousand days with it...
Making 46 minutes seem like 2...
This spell you have over me
Will never wilt
Will never know a winter
Will always have a sunrise
Rising from out of an ocean
Your voice
Beautiful woman
Spell over me...

And just like that
Your fire was raging through
Uncontrollably so
Every room in my soul
Searching
Taking
Ravaging
Only to find
A charred heart
That still beats for you...

Some days
You just need
To take a
Long nap
To reset your
tired brain

Forest inquires:

How do you decide, choose your design, find its guise,
give it a face, surrender to the poem's own
vanity,
        and choose the poem's alignment?


                                                  an­ answer forms:

this alignment idea,
you think it simple,
everybody understands
what your inquiry means

alignment -  the appropriate relative position

we live in relative position to each other, our poems too, for they are but written synapses of our close captioned interactions, seemingly random, but assuredly not, as we invest in ourselves, seeking the mysterious appropriate answer
                                                                ­                        from the Theory of Poetic Relativity

                                                   ­             i love your question;                              hold it to my nostrils,          
                                             ­             smell the coffee aroma wake up blast inherent;
                                                                ­      
 kiss its robust childlike cheeks for the simple   soulfulness essential arousal;
for you see sir you have found
the appropriate position that relates us, our mindful words;

                                 answer no good, wholly insufficient?
                                        perfect.
                          as i close this quick cooked to perfection laboratory solution, take note

                              
                            ­                        the earth has moved
                                our hearts have beaten a measly thousand times
                                    time and space have appropriated our prior
                                          
relativity

when you return years hence this poem's shape will perforce have moved. for words are weathered flux constant and yet inherently unchanged except for the part of us that changes with every re-reading  

and what was


**right before has left and the center has moved again

king of the sea,
with a rigorous exoskeleton peeling away
moulting causes such distress,
exposed to the thrashing undertow of the sea
and enemies

who protects you?
a callow arthropod poised on fractured shells

it isn’t your father,
balancing a bottle of brandy between his lips
or your confidant,
skidding his tires across your mind

a starfish tried,
she threw her arms round your shell
as you added new muscles underneath
she stuck her tube feet in her claws
as you brittled her skin
she said I love you
and you retreated

when you are 70
and clamouring the floor
put your arms behind your back to beckon her to you
try –
she is the sea and no one owns her.

captain's log, #6

3/7/16, 9:17 a.m.

i woke up to the sound of rain and birds, it's almost spring and i'm nostalgic for something that i'm not sure has happened yet. 

captain's log, #7

3/11/16, 2:35 a.m.

at this point i don't even know why i still grieve over you. i've taken back what was once mine, to the best of my ability, but i think that you still have a tight grip on the parts of me that i'm not able to grow back. or maybe it's because i can't remember a time before i was either madly in love with you, or mourning the loss of your interest. me being "over it" means nothing when those words are still etched with traces of you. i can tell myself to get over it, that you have, that you're in the past, that none of this was ever real, but it was. it still is, somewhere. and in that somewhere, it grows. you will never be just, gone. 

captain's log, #8

3/11/16, 4:00 a.m.

let's go somewhere. somewhere far away, just for a while, where everyone else looks like ants. i wanna hold your hand there. i wanna go somewhere with you. 

captain's log, #9

3/16/16, 6:00 a.m.

it's only the beginning of a creation, but i already have that feeling in my gut, the one that can only accurately be described as nostalgia for the future. i feel things that don't make any sense, but here are some things i know; the weather's getting warmer, the days are getting longer, the flowers are tearing themselves open, and when i close my eyes i see your hand in mine. often times i'm not sure that i remember how to not be afraid, but i still find myself diving in head first. i can't stop thinking about two days ago when my therapist told me that it seems as though i like torturing myself. 

(EDIT ON 3/30/16: stop forcing yourself to like girls, stop falling in love with love.)

captain's log, #10

3/28/16, 7:04 p.m.

keep forgetting to write when i remember how to be happy. when she left, she didn't close the door, and he walked right in and turned on the lights that have been off for too long. his teeth are a little crooked, and he's only got one dimple, he hates these things but they make my chest flutter like it'll burst into a thousand flowers any second. i've waited months for this. i wish on every 11:11 that he won't be as fleeting.