It feels good to be heard
when you've never said a word
because someone else was listening
to a single-winged bird.

When you hated being stuck
and thought you'd walk into a truck
instead of giving everything to those
who didn't give a ****.

Being told you'd never fly,
spending days wondering why,
asking for answers to the question,
as if they'd fall out of the sky.

And you squint your little eye
at the paradoxical lie
because the ones who didn't make it
are the ones who didn't try.

So now you pucker up,
grant yourself a little luck,
run to the edge of branch,
do a jump and then a tuck

You look down onto the earth,
green and blue and lots of dirt,
leaving **** on cars and windows,
flying by with all your girth.

At 10:27pm, you call
and we whisper sweet nothings,
holding our tongues
to keep from bending our bond.

Conversation becomes hard
as we tiptoe around the things
we really want to say.

I laugh,
releasing the bubbles that you put in my lungs.
I'll admit breathing is easier with you.
Air couldn't be more precious
If it were made of gold encrusted diamonds.
That's because of you.

I don't mind singing off-key songs in your ear
because there's no doubt for your acceptance.
You encourage those flawed concerts
as if they were choral ensembles.
At times you join in, just as off-key
as though you are just as imperfect as me.

You begin to tell me of a dream
and then stop.
I shouldn't know,
but we don't keep secrets from each other.
We move on to talk of the moon
and Bruno Mars, stars and movies,
just to drift back into your fatigue fantasy.
I smile,
but you don't want me to respond.

At 11:49pm, you have to go.
Neither of us wants to end the conversation.
I'm sad, but I don't let you know.
"Platonic" we repeat.
It's only to remind ourselves.
You reluctantly hang up
after we exchange an "I love you,"
with more depth than either of us will admit.

The eyes hold a story
never told before.

These white crystal *****
don't predict—
they only see the present.

They hurt;
from straining,
from seeing,
from assembling.

White
crystals –
sharp and penetrating.
hard and retentive,
yet beautiful.

Salt slips solemnly
from waning tear ducts, and
The facsimile twins
become mirrors—
reflecting the bull’s red eye,
inventing the silver mask,

Creating this hardened
Saline.

I want you to know
that you cannot have me.
We are third-world countries
apart.

Our views are different;
yours – passionate,
mine – practical.

You hear beautiful music
in the noisiest place; whereas
that same area
disturbs me.

Where you see opuntias,
I see prickly spines
waiting
to pierce my
shield of sensibility.

Your sanguinity spites me,
yet it resounds from within—
a dreamer’s echoes in my veins.

Nonetheless, you have taught me,
guiding me through my
self-inflicted stress.
Your persistence has
deprived me of
pessimism, so

I thank you.

Nothing in life is promised,
except death.
Perhaps,
it simply responds to
sinking ships of desperation
and crashing planes of integrity.

Nothing free is dependable.
Freedom is
expressed through influence
and shows no restraint
against change.

Nothing provoked is relaxed
unless it happens to never stumble
across a shallow haven of
eels and sharks alike.

So nothing will ever be guaranteed
unless it has shown you
the lies behind its truth.