Kiss me asleep
with your obsidian lips.
Protect my ears
from the cacophony nights would bring.
Fill the void
between heartbeats that skip.
Take me into the lull,
and into the siren song that you sing.
The crescent moon be my perch.
A bough from which I extend my arm.
Careful fingers grasp my brush...
And with it I shall fill the void
with the universe.
The crescent moon be my hammock.
Upon which I lean fully into,
to seek restful recluse.
Should my body start to buckle...
From the heavy hopes of wistful eyes.
The crescent moon be my anchor.
From which I draw
my inspiration and strength.
She would cradle and sway me gentle...
When wilting hearts spill unto me
the callous wiles of the world.
The crescent moon be my well.
A fount through which my palette
remains full with an
abundant array of silvery white.
I could conjure for others,
what their hearts so desire.
I could grant them
needed solace and tranquillity.
I could infinitely paint for them
There lived a man, a crooked man
Who walked with crooked gait
He'd walk along the crooked road
From sun up until it was late
His knees would scream with every step
No matter how much he wanted to run
We'd never know where he was going
He'd always follow the sun
He'd mutter to himself, of rises and falls
And of lessons his life had shown
But what we never saw or barely noticed
Was that he had never walked alone
He'd walk his walk with his cane and hat
Dragging behind him a shadow of black
It did what he did and trailed long and short
It accompanied him down the track
Know this man, the crooked man
Whose back was bent misshapen
He had made the choice to chase the sun
With steps sorely laboured and uncertain
Part 1 of 6
Still the tremors
that crack my voice
Strengthen the resolve
in my bated breaths
Ease the tremble
that consumes my digits
Deepen the slumber
in my nightly deaths
I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I stow away all that I've learnt.
Because when the wind would blow
and the earth wouldn't understand.
When the world would tremble,
shaken by man's ruthless hand.
I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I stockpile in the shadows.
Because in my blood exists grudge...
And my bones, weary from despair.
My skin screams exhaustion
and my body feigns to care.
I am the hermit who lives in my head.
I hoard all my thoughts.*
Because the walls have ears
and these pages bear eyes.
What my heart truly knows...
Is that your mouth tells only lies.
Before I went in the morning
I left you my heart
Not wanting to disturb your rest
I quietly ripped it out of my chest
And stored it in a cardboard box
I'd imagine you'll be quite flummox
Debating whether this was sane or insane
So allow me to plainly explain:
I had to depart from you
But my heart could not bear to be apart
I felt it distressing in my chest
For it loves you so freely and pure
Tearing it out was the only cure.
Don't ask why or how
Just know it is yours now
I don't mean to impose on you
Just propose you care for it
Like one would care for roses
Place it at whatever spot you feel it should grace
Treat it right and it will treat you right
Just please, please don't let it go to waste
It won't last forever - for my heart is finite
But there is still many fine nights to come
So enjoy it while it lasts
What use do I have of it now?
I'm supposed to be an artist.
I'm supposed to be a writer.
Everything that has happened to
me I have taken
and made it kiss my *******
But this I can not make into
I can not take this memory
and deface it with my hate
I did this to myself.
This was a decision I made,
sat in the shower,
and cried for so many
hours thinking about.
This was not forced upon me.
But with her expected
delivery date arriving,
I want to make this some
beautiful piece I can
look back on.
Not cold hands and instruments
put inside my body
pushing and pulling.
I can not make this art.
Staring at the clock and
watching the seconds tick
by to distract myself from
I can not count seconds
to forget her now.
I can not count hours
To forget the suction sound.
I can not.
Make this art.
The reality of my abortion
it too cold and hard
to make this into metaphors,
into some abstract
piece about how life
was taken out of me.
I didn't cry that day.
I didn't cry that week.
But when out of habit I went
to rub my stomach
I flinched. Pluto was gone.
I could feel her sweetness
and strength. I could feel
that I was not ready for
such a strong love,
I was not ready to look
my child in the eyes
and know that I could not
take care of her.
I want to honor her memory
for the strength that she has
passed on to me.
I named her Pluto for she was
such a small planet to me.
A sweet companion to guide
me through the pain that I was
I don't think I was supposed
to have her.
I like to think that her
purpose was to make me
stronger. To make me a better
I haven't dropped out of high
school yet because I want a good
life for any child I decide
to care for. I haven't ended my
life yet because
then her's would be a waste.
She grew inside of me for 3 months.
Caused me some intense nausea
She was strong, and bowed down for
no one, stretching my body apart.
I cry for her often.
And I don't believe in much.
But I know in whatever after life
or reincarnation that I may have,
I will see her again.
I will hold her someday.
But for now, getting a tattoo
of my little planet
in the palm of my hand will
have to do.
She had a beautiful soul,
a beautiful burning will.
Maybe I can make this art.
Maybe I can make her smile
knowing that I will always love her.
This was very difficult to write about, but I hope you enjoy :)
If you were granted the gift of temporary flight...
Would you ascend...
Just so you could feast your eyes
on the horizon,
beyond the confines of weather-worn tiles
set upon unsuspecting rooftops.
Would you take soar...
Just so you could briefly leave the ground
And as the land beneath you diminishes,
all that's you tethered to your earth
almost instantly would turn into nothing
but specks of insignificance.
Would you fly free...
Just so your heart could entertain the possibility
of being ensnared by the breathtaking
view of the sun,
as it rests its pompous girth upon its bed of
Like a bratty king sprawled over lavish sheets.
Would you burst through the boundary...
That separates heaven and earth.
Just so you could be bewitched by the full blown
be enthralled by the siren calls of the stars,
and be a part of the spectacle that is the
If you were granted the gift of momentary flight...
Would you still ascend?
Knowing full well that soon gravity would claim
you with less than no pity nor remorse.
And all that you had complacently forsaken...
Will greet you with the harshest of punishments.
Many have come to pry me open.
Many have come asking for the key.
Offering promises that the doubt would lessen,
flaunting their oaths as currency.
Plenty have assured that they're not like the others.
They promised that their words were forged in steel.
They had come with nothing else except to offer,
their ears and support just so to seal the deal.
"Forgive me", I'd say... I am still a tad apprehensive.
But I do feel the need to speak...
I do long for ears attentive,
Not the ones which are attached to mouths that easily leak.
I know that there are such ears...
Hard to find but they're definitely there.
They'd be ready to catch my tears,
more than willing to show concern and care...
Yours seem rather reliable... That much I see.
They've come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
Don't suppose they'd take my words ever so lightly.
They won't lap up my secrets with treachery in mind.
Again I find myself here at the same spot.
About to hand over the duplicate key.
This familiar leap I hope you'd have me caught.
Please don't give away my secrets for free...
by the lies
we present as truth.
Dispensing tainted words
we thought inconsequential.
we sowed and nurtured.
But now we dangle
by the skin
of our fingers over this cliff...
to find purchase...
And gravity is a