This is a house of love
I love so
First, because she is in it
Second, me too
It’s easy living
Sunshine coming through
Delicacies to savor
Who knew life could be so kind?
Two fireplaces
My, my, my
In her loving arms
No need to go anywhere
We’ve got it made
In this love we share

You were my teenage love story
The real one
You were my ride or die
My forever and ever
My messy pile of clothes
That drifted into yours
My old sweater
That came down to strings in the end

We were still children, really
Overgrown children still not quite big enough
To fit into these adult clothes
Trying on phrases like "I'll love you forever" and
"I promise I'll never leave"
So excited about the colors
And our feelings bursting forth
That fitting didn't matter

I'm sorry we bought that chair
I know it's burned by now
It went up in a blaze
In your best friend's grandma's backyard
I close my eyes and see the tears on your face
Reflecting the rising ashes and flames
I hope you cursed me

For me to become a distant memory
Some far away faded thing
A leftover pile of string
Is the best fate I can have for you

Our end was abrupt
In the way stories written by a child's hand can be
Trailing on and on and on
A fit of passion
Crazed and somehow beautiful
Trailing off
To
An incomplete ending
An unfinished sen

Dusty eyes- ***** looks
kissed by rust for lips; a bit rusty
from the last I've kissed
My tongue tied in my teeth,
compliments have faded into blue
once a someone for loving you—but now treated
as no-one important after I broke up with you
                          ~towards my exes

I cry in secret under the dark of a dim
lit screen. Finger typing, stereotype reminiscing
on ill talk hidden under a voice tone
I translate your body language well- you're angry
at the sight of me. Disappointed, annoyed, bitter
towards what you've concluded by sight
                       ~towards all people

Only when I pour my heart out
you have no words to utter a comment or
recognition out of your mouth
And as I write out of a passing meaningless
thought- seems you have so much to say
Giving a ridiculous fee towards the recognition
I'm always forced to pay
            ~towards publications and peers

You make me feel less—no I've come to
always expect less. I've made myself less
Under stress, standing underneath society's
umbrella term of being successful
But haven't I already succeeded in being humble,
caring, understanding- being myself

It all seems impossible to actually be yourself
and somebody else wants to be somebody else
Who then nowadays is actually being themselves?

I won’t pretend that I’m clever
I’m not at all pretentious
Some people think it’s contentious
Doing all the stuff that pleases me
I’m unpredictable as can be,
Like the weather
This is how it is
But when I start to fizz
I write
Any time, day or night
And hope you may enjoy it
When folks get together
l sing
For the joy it will bring
And hope you’ll sing along
This is how it is
Sometimes I pluck my violin
Making a most untuneful din
At least I’m very strict
This I’ll not on you inflict
One day you’ll play along
If you want to
I am the proud custodian
Of a beautiful melodeon
Together we have fun every day
Then there’s all the other stuff I do
The stuff that helps to get me through
You don’t have to be clever
I say to you whatever
Enjoy the thrill of the ride
Let all your stuff inside
Come out
Never fear and never doubt
At the end of the day
Be proud to say.....

I did it my way

Turned off the gravity to lessen the weight of my shadows.
But did that ever work, or was the melt down what follows.
Trying to focus on anything other than me,
Maybe that made it easier when it was I who undid me.

You can live in a dispassionate, destructive state,
You can keep adding worries and doubts piling up your plate,
Darkness falls like an avalanche moving at an exponential rate,
Its not 1 into 2 but 1 into 3 then 3 into 9,
Then when every part of your persona is taken apart by its design.

Who is left and who am I?
What is left when the birds won't fly.
Who will care when the clock strikes 12,
When the day is over and your down on yourself.

When the world has had it's pound of flesh but still wants more.
The fatigue is suffocating expanding from my core,
It fills me up until it leaks like tar from my pores,
Muddles my mind twisting 1 thing into a 1000 thoughts.

Ships
or ships in a bottle

if the latter
however  would we pass

each other in the night
perhaps

or maybe

we were meant to sidestep
completely

that worn-out
cliche

and be destined
for better things

indeed

Trust the sun (she says)
her first rays when creation was young
and God's window opened outward
as a place of worship
born to be breathtaken
daylight imploring for companionship
and bleeding into itself
as it bleeds into the worshipper.

She notices that her own taste
in repeating patterns doesn’t mesh
with the apparently similar
patterns in Drakensberg
they obey a different logic, and the friction
between them generates
a fascinatingly ambiguous color.

Tinctured cathedral of time passing
on its first layer of stairs...