An observer of life
You notice
The small native flowers
Sprouting by the roadside
The skink sun baking on the rock
At parties
You find a group in animated conversation
Hover at its edges
Nod, smile
Appearing to join in
No keeper of small talk
Watching
Taking it all in
Making a mental note
Of snippets worth bottling
A discoverer of ideas
For words to come together
Later
In a dance
Within the privacy of your own pen
Silently you turn them into
A melody
Into poetry

I feel a train approaching
Headed straight for my soul
A tiger ready to pounce
And rip it bare to shreds,
Well whatever remains i suppose.

Sadly I know the origin well
Of these worries of terror
And it's all my fault.
I really hate myself sometimes,
For the things I need of her.

I'm sorry
I just need someone there
I don't seem the same now as I was before
But deep down i promise I'm still here
It's just hard sometimes to see that you care.

It's not your fault at all
No you were unaware of the scratches
That lie beneath the surface
Of a painted door
With tampered latches.

I know we're not perfect
That's not of my intention
I want to fall in love
With you
And all of your imperfections.

Forgive me for being weak
And having issues greater than you expected
But if there was any a hope
For me to truly love you
You needed to understand the ways I'm affected.

So if this ends for my actions
And you no longer can handle me
I will understand
And let you go as you wish
Only pondering on all I hoped we could be.

i am what crashes with the tides
on the beach
tucked between pages of your
favorite book
resting within the soft-hearted lyrics
swimming through your veins
making you think before you speak
i'm blooming with the gardenias
fresh and bold
thriving in laughter from innocent lips

you may not see me but my love
consistently follows you, dear

The moon’s controlling the tides
And the minds
Of the faltering youth.
Leading them outside,
Pulled by the draw of a glow so new.
Hidden in the trees,
Protected by the bees
and their sweet, sweet treasure.

Was it for this I uttered prayers
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?

I look out the window.
The raindrops cloud my view.
They drizzle down the window,
But are quickly replaced by the new.

The raindrops lead to a peace,
And the peace leads to reflection.
Life could have lead a different path;
Taken a different direction.

From birth, a weight was given to me;
That I shouldn’t freely go about.
Gradually, its effects amplify.
And it continues, without a doubt.

A half of my soul is missing.
Tangled in its greed, it fled.
The half still here, it doubled.
And the other, it is dead.

“If” surfaces now and then,
But usually hides from sight.
Memory is read-only.
So I read, but never write.

The raindrops remain in the window.
And though they cloud the view,
The light still pierces through them,
As the day begins anew.

seashell minds, if you
listen closely you can hear
the salt roars of oceans.

the emerald ebb
and flow of ideas that
adds spice to our lives.

we are all drops of
liquid fantasy in this
untamed sea of life.