Creation
A brief, fleeting high

Word to page
Image to canvas
Filling a void in the world
When I'd rather fill it in myself

To create, I exist
If creation forms,
Then so must its creator
I am real only when my hands
Are put to work

Praise,
Acknowledgement,
To be seen not for what I am
But for what I make
Is the sweetest of deceptions
I am known, without being known
By what creations I bring into the world

The self is fictitious,
If only seen through one's fictions

I chase the joys of making,
Forming,
Breathing life into formless idea,
But fear dutifully follows joy
If what is made by my hands
Is found lacking,
Then shall I?

Where does the self begin,
And the creation end?

having the last word
is rarely as sweet as they say
what is seen as triumph
goes out with a wheeze
no ends are tied
no resolutions reached
not even a goodbye
unfathomable that it will be
the last you hear from me
a limp excuse
of a parting gift
many poems written
in honor of you
meaning nothing now
unable to speak again
separation so quick
painless and agonizing
nary a farewell
a question
an answer
“alright, thank you”

butterfly ***** have
a greater influence on the world
then any desperate attempt i make
the universe blinked
when i was born
the future on the horizon
grows ever smaller
soon, i will be forgotten

so sweet are your words
that a stranger may believe
you’re speaking from a script

cliche as it may be
one could say
that we were stolen from a movie
__

your clothes on my back
warm around me
not your arms
but enough
for now
__

texts, phone calls
pale to your presence
the ghosting feeling
of your lips
is on my mind
whenever i see your name
on that small screen

climbing
              climbing
                            climb­ing
                                            
                ­                                     up or down?

                            falling?
              falling­?
falling?
                            
                              endless, always moving

       darkness          
                         
                              blinding darkness

You are the most talented cutpurse I know
For before I even knew it
My thoughts and heart belonged to you
But what makes you the best thief of all
Is that they were given so willingly
I barely recall a time when they were mine

To complete your rapscallion’s repertoire
Whatever locks once grasped upon my heart
You picked with ease and without a second thought
It’s contents laid bare to you
But a Robin Hood you are
You returned what you found to me
So we may share

loneliness is a tricky foe
as much as you fear it
you are sad to see it go
because it makes known to you
there is no one beside it
who is always there
a constant companion
none more safe nor true

stability is admirable
desirable
but debihilating in the wrong hands
and pervasive loneliness
is a notorious abuser

thumping and pounding heart
terror at the thought of the unknown
to leave behind the partner of mine
who has seen me through it all
to move on is to shine
to move ahead is to dread

hand outstretched to hold mine
am i worthy of a finger interlace
when i lagged behind so willingly?
a question answered for me
by a grip on me so tight
what felt wrong was now right

friends of many years
both bad and good
are as hard to lose
when we walk side by side
between us still strolls that lonely phantom
but the distance closes ever surely
one day my path will be my own
if you will be there to see it
i cannot say
but it is clear
that my way was paved by you