we carry scars
and marks
imperfections of pigment
warped bones
and fragmenting knees
we feel the weather
in our old injuries
if you play
you inevitably bleed

At the ripe age of three
I would take full sheets of paper
and set them gently in front of me
and think of how beautiful they were.
Because they were waiting for my words.
But it wasn't until I was in the eleventh
grade that I found them
hiding with my heartbeat.
I never really fought with my fists
but I fought with a little too much heart.
Felt a bit too much
but I don't regret it.
Nor will I ever.
Do you know how to make things beautiful?
The cellist sitting on the street corner
bowing those strings that haven't yet
broken and remember,
that you never paid attention to how it looked.
But it was gorgeous.
And you're gorgeous.
We never measure life
with how many
heart beats we've got
we measure it by how many
miles we've walked.
And although we're not perfect,
neither is God.
We are strong.
We are beautiful.
And I wonder which is more dangerous;
a bottle of whiskey
or a loaded gun.
But it doesn't matter
because somewhere out there
there's someone promising
that they will paint their lover's
portrait in the sky with fire.
And all my life I've hated being a man,
so I decided that these poems
they're my children.
And after you hear them,
I hope that you'll carry them with you.
So don't walk through your life
with your ears covered.
This is for the women who make our heartbeats.
Who give birth to lives.
And this,
this is for the men.
Who sacrifice everything they have
just so they can keep telling
someone that they love them.
I can count ten thousand reasons
to be alive.
But only one reason to be right here.
Beauty kiss my lips.
Mercy show us tears.
We have to fill the gaps with something alive.
So I spend my spare time remembering
your eyes by heart.
Let's split this night open.
We'll cleave it with our words.
We'll sew together our gaping wounds
with the strings of kites,
so that when the wind blows
birds will pluck at them and make
music from our strife.
Remember this.
We couldn't have asked for a more
exciting time to be alive.
So let's make something beautiful.
Lay me down under a blanket of stars
so that when I wake up I can
find my way home.
This world can be cold but
I've learned that heartbeats are louder than gunshots.
And you don't need to tell me there's more out there
Instead I'll go stargazing in your
eyes and strip these
ribbons from my arms.
Build me.
Give me something worthwhile.
And let's learn
how to make things pretty.

You were the days
that walked past me
when a maternal touch
melted my griefs
drizzling the drops
of sorrow's retreat

You were the days
that sang to me
the replies of the leaves
on my memory's tree
that refused to fall
but swayed in peace
to the music beneath
the subtle calls
of an autumn's breeze

You were the days
that gifted me dreams
where I could relish
the waves nudged
by the silver ferry
that blissfully rowed
across darkness's sea
as a flavour that was sweeter
than sweetness could be

You were the days
that deserted me amidst
the dance of the waves
that drowned me within
an ocean of solitude
the waters of which
failed to quell
the thirst of my desire
for your immortal kiss

Weakened by the venom
of the serpents of senility
as I lay
chained to the cot
that awaits my bid
bloomed again
a million flowers
that portrayed heaven
behind the doors of my mind
whose beauty spread
an aroma of glee
the kiss of oneness
between childhood and me