There's something different about him
The way he moves
The way he carries
I can see the curiosity in his eyes
I can tell he wants to say something
But the words aren't coming out
Maybe he's shy
Or maybe he's just tired
Tired of the dead ends
A true mystery.....
And I'm interested

What's wrong with you?
Maybe there's interest
But you won't know unless you say something to her
She's beautiful
And you can't afford wasted moments
The road blocks in the past
Have blurred your vision
Like staring at the sun
But at the same time
You're still able to see her

I hope when my time has come
And I'm long gone
Someone looks at my words
The words that came from my soul
All the feelings of love, pain, happiness, emptiness, growth
And they know they would have loved me

Are we as humans becoming disposable?
It’s so easy to type, beat and delete
Why are we so scared to be open and vulnerable?
But also considerate.

Approach me,
Not through a dm but say hi to my face
See my expression with your eyes
Wanna get to know me? Ask.
Let me access your energy
Give me depth
Let me analyse your soul

she was the moon
radiating the night sky
and dancing among the stars

you were the darkness
the shadow that waxed and waned
through the phases of her life

she grew to believe
that your presence
is what made her whole

but like the full moon
she shone brightest
without you


x.

Mankind think of themselves like deity,
Yet they are unable to touch the stars;
They foul the world, searching for aureity
And when earth dies they search for life on Mars

We ignore the collateral damage;
We ignore the all-consuming wildfires
That burn the world, leaving it in famine;
Man acts high and mighty on their pyres

We train our children to stand in straight rows,
Murdering all their creativity;
We tell them life’s purpose is buying clothes
Cynically we prompt naivety

Here, above, with no more conspiracies,
These are the faults of the perfect species.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.