Fingers lock like
lips on weddings
white virginal dress
the last pretense of purity
before being someone
else’s

She is untamable and I think
she laughs more than she can
bear, air in her ribcage
squeezing a heart that sighs
with happiness

Remember this moment
because it will be one of the few
where you can almost
be in control,
to have her tangible
and not dancing off
into twilight,
leaving you alone

She is like the tides
you know when and where
she will return
but it is the absence that makes
you wish for a moment
that the moon would hide

You’re like a sad song in the middle of the happiest
  playlist,
I could have made,
the tunes they blend into a symphony
Of sweet Nostalgia,
until your song plays jarringly.
A song that has rendered me to the will
Of a poet’s apex, for the words
they bleed
when one’s soul
wilts.

Have you ever been at war?
Yes! and not a combat war
In this insane world, I fight to stay sane
I fight a mental war and an emotional wreck
In this cruel world, I fight to stay kind
I fight my way through evil and inhumane
In this world of social and societal comparison
I fight pretence and to remain an original person
I have been at war with depression and mental unbalance
Smiling in your faces and fading away in pieces
I have been at war to uphold my values and principles
In a careless time that sees you as boring and weird
I have won and lost some battles
And, I didn't like the taste of failures and defeat
So, I am going down fighting each day and each war
I have been at war,
one that almost claimed my beautiful soul

When you speak I see cascades of life.
Life and light tend to look the same.
Your light is turquoise and the color of jade sitting just beneath the surface of choppy water.
When you speak I feel heat.
You have yet to burn me.
You are the steady warmth of new born embers of a fire yet to blaze.
When you speak I smell salt water.
Even with a sting, you’re the most refreshing thing.
The ocean is not as paradoxical as your passionately calm surface.
When you speak I taste loneliness.
Bitter sweet like underripe tangerines.
I cannot know this beautiful mind of yours without encountering a cold, rusty, metal wall.
When you speak I hear midnight.
You know how to play the silences.
I hold my breath waiting for the next sentence you’re carefully, mysteriously orchestrating.
Whisper or shout; continue to speak to me.