Looking into your vacant eyes now
switches the lights off
leaving only your silhouette
curled up in a storm
of stained pink sheets

No, you don't sleep anymore
except for when
you don't seem to wake
stuck in a trance
which smothers you

Everyday you choose tomorrow
to bet on
No, you haven't won in a while
silver gleams the moon
through your window
silver crinkles and breaks
when you press
on the plastic enclosed fog

Can barely stand
to hear you speak
when you've got nothing to say
the same stories
and unspoken worries
till they corrode in your memories
and disintegrate on your lips

Until the comfort of nightfall
coerces you
to spill your soul
a milliliter at a time
a puzzle I try to piece together
when sleep doesn't come easily

Everything is cumbersome
you hesitate
to move your limbs
over your bed
stuck between four cold walls
that draw nearer

As time flows between your fingers
the ceiling feels higher
the chasm beneath the floor infinitely
wider
hungrier
easier

Than the night illuminating your back
as you watch the stars
too bright
too high up
to remove

rain came, seeds will grow.



watered places i cannot reach,

**** half full.



noisy day, farmer making hay,

lambs  moved from  mothers.



they say the sun will come

later to dry.

Tree tops, tree tops,
Air swinging back.
Driving, driving,
Until water pops.

Fallen and dying trees,
who lived to help.
Wood that stands
With sticks as hands.

Hands that stay still,
As you go downhill.
The world follows
This oblivious drill.

Yet you drive and drive
Until water you find.

You’re an evergreen.
You don’t take to survive;
You’re a shelter for life.
If you drive and drive,
I know water you’ll find.

If you can still breathe,
It can still happen.
If you can still move,
Keep your pencil sharpened.

If you can see the dark
If you can feel the cold,
It means you still have a heart.
Just— your story’s untold.

Let your wings unfold.

Im not being rhetorical,
Or sarcastic, or philosophical,
Or any fancy, poetic way.
I’m just saying, there’s always a way.

On our way into
Santa Anita one day,
an old man had tipped
over in his wheelchair.
There was a pool of blood
beneath his smooth head.
I was with my Dad.
He was around the same
age as the poor injured man.
I was 12.

Seeing that man, and watching
the blank stares of the apathetic
crowd gathering around the
man, and the blood, and the
fallen wheelchair, I knew that
nobody would win, and the
horses that ran were the luckiest
of us all.

Sometimes i can put on a mask keep it together. No need for an umbrella its just a little weather.
Meanwhile inside my brain its a cat 4 and i am holding on. But the storm is raging and my stability is almost gone.
100 miles an hour another gust and i am done. Down on my knees no where left to run.
My heart beat so loud a thrumming in my ears it’s deafening to me but no one else hears.
Lost in this headspace the mask is what wins completely i retreat to that space within.
Dont want to lose myself but theres no fighting this storm, just dont drown, hold out, feel, wait transform.
The light will fight push back the clouds and silence the voices screaming so loud.
It will warm me and mend the heartache
Keep holding on though you break.
The light will win dispel this storm, but in the pain and pressure i will transform.
Grow stronger and softer both together. What once was heavy now light as a feather.
What seeks to destroy erase me in full only makes me more alive more real in its push and pull.