sunrise, sunset
birds fly, land, and fret
doctors mend, treat and heal
write wake, write and feel.

sunrise, sunset
the fish swims while the parrot pecks,
the bees nestle back into their hives
as the moon lifts, and the sun dives.

sunrise, sunset
the diaries cease to forget
when all go back to rest
with the sunrise, sunset.

so as the babies mumble and the children cry,
the world lives and nature thrives.
the mother yawns and resets
with the sunrise and the sunset.

Don’t go.
I blurted out through my cries,
gripping her hand tighter.

Think of trees,
she whispered, wiping the tears from my cheek
like leaves catching raindrops,
They’ll help you sleep.*

So I began to dream
with the help of the trees
and the breeze that brushed
ever so lightly through the leaves.

As she let go of my hand
and disappeared from my room,
I was no longer afraid
of the loneliness that loomed,

for the trees will always surround me.

I grew wise much too fast.
There are stretch marks on my brain.
They taunt me for these scars
because they don’t know of such things.
But I grew wise much too fast,
and there’s only you to blame.
So don’t leave me now,
only you know of my pain.

I have let
my lustful mind forget
to administer the worries
that drip from my lips
and onto my hands,
where they seep
through my fingertips
and onto the ground,
which is where
all my vexing words
belonged all along.

And I have let
my little mouth
blabber for hours,
ranting about unrelated subjects
on unfamiliar ground.
These words are equitable in my mind,
but as they rest on my tongue,
I have realized
that they lack the only flavor
that society would be willing
to taste.

I have let
unrelenting consequence 
find me here,
for I am unable to control
what chaos
gushes from my mouth,
and onto my lips,
from which they just
drip.

I have let
myself repeat the most
engrossing words.
So forgive me in advance,
for I have let,
and I will forever let
my mind roam
without a leash.

But then again,
why restrain
what most crave for;
a mind with the ability
to review itself.
Well, no need to crave.
All you need to do is let,

and I have let.

I will hold your patience
to the test, with
mere glimpses
of my careful self
And
I will do so
by pouring myself
into your hands,
drip by drip,
like a hot tea.
A rare, scolding
feeling.
An intriguing smell,
and a soothing steam.
Slowly rising,
filling your brain
with the thought of me,
hot, hot tea.

Inevitably disabled
with the ability to think.

The cosmos mean nothing
to my poor, misled mind.

Although the smoke
filled my lungs
and sent me soaring,

I still followed the shadow figure
down a long flight of stairs,
a figure we call sadness,
and looked into the emptiness
And stared at the vastness
and just gawked,
in awe of how
the shadow figure
could show me all of this
oblivion.

Inevitably blessed
with the ability to think.

The weight of winter wallows here, young one.
Even in the summer, my tears have froze.
Never let it chill your soul, find the sun,
stray from the shade where madness tends to grow.

I have wept and whined, the cold disobeys.
My heart belongs where heat kisses my skin.
Trap me in the ice and I shall decay
as I did years ago when I grew thin.

But dark, frigid times have taught me plenty.
I now encourage others to prosper.
Show kindness to scared little saplings
and then watch them grow into their armor.

I had let myself frost, blinded by cold,
but I now know fortune favors the bold.

I am done,

but I am far from

being able to run

for there are no guns

in my reach, no, none.

By guns, I do not mean

the kind of machines

that take lives and protect queens.

By gun, I mean

something that would trigger me

to run, and disappear

completely.

So until I find one,

I will keep moving on

but just remember that I am done,

and in search of a gun.

You are a wilted flower,
one that uses its tears to water itself.
But you are not growing, little one,
you are drowning.

Why, with the sun shining so brightly
and the earth grounding the others,
do you still feel so terribly
cold and shaky?

Your beauty does not trick me.
Sing me your woes,
there is no reward for trapping them between your roots.

let me be your garden

Father always preached-
Stay away from the drowning ones,
they will cling to you
as they cry for air.

But you are so quiet, little one.
Your silence is slowly translating
into the screams you have withheld
for so long.

Oh, you are too young
to be wilting so soon.
Tell me, little one,
when did you fall in love with the moon?

door slam

mad man

walks toward me.

breathe silently

listening to footsteps

pounding violently.

loud curse,

short verse,

shouted words.

gruesome silence

laid naked

on our tongues

as he

looked me in the eyes,

held my hand

and said

nothing.

we sat next to each other

and I ignored the tension

and laughed and teased

and felt at ease


but you grabbed my hand

and traced my palm.
your touches
slowly crawled up my arm,

your thumb massaged mine

and you pulled me closer

and raised my hand to your mouth

and kissed my fingertips with your soft, soft lips
.

but this incredible lust

would pass with time

and you would never truly

be mine.

so I tried to convey all of my pain
in a soft kiss on your shoulder

and as I released myself from your grasp

my eyes started to tear,


and I forced myself to realize
that it is probably best
that I will never get back the sensation

of having you at my fingertips.

Your touches lasted for what seemed like hours.

They stained my skin with such

an incredible sensation

that seeped into my veins

and led to my chest

where the feeling now resides

and there it will stay

until you come back to fill my heart

with something new.

silence masks past pictures

of soft snowflakes

that lightly touched our skin

with the image of waves

kissing the snow covered sand



the gull cries dampened

by gusts of icy wind

that had bare trees

swaying with ache



I climbed atop a dark rock

and looked out at the peaking waves

only to discover goosebumps

upon my frail skin.

I lost my innocence the day I started to befriend people who have never had it.

do you see the leaves,

the branches,

the moss -

can you see how much I love you?

do you see the birds,

hear the wind

and feel the sun-

can you see how much I love you?

do you see the windows

and the doors

on the house -

can you see how much I love you?

do you see the rocks

in the grass

around the pond -

can you see how much I love you?

do you see the trees sway

and the leaves fall

and the tears on my face-

can you see how much I love you?

An undeniable fact;

I am alone.

Although I am trapped

on this vast and

densely populated planet

with billions of creatures

that share the same thoughts-

I am alone.

Whether that is because of me

or because of them,

I am alone.

this is what giving up tastes like.

God is evil, mommy.

A mother,

shutting the gates to what could be a flood,

holds the hand of her innocent child.

It was not His fault,

she relayed to her daughter.

He is not evil.


Was she assuring the little one’s glimmer of hope

or trying to convince herself

that it was not His fault

that she was now leaving His world.

This symbol she has looked up to

in so many moments of despair-

Was this darkness

concocted by Him?


Who shall she turn to,

the hand of innocence

or the hand of trust?

But was it still trust?

Where does one go from there?


Inquisitive thoughts raced through her tired mind.

She let go of the tired one’s small hand

and bid her a good night’s rest

and kissed her on the forehead

as the little one was being escorted,

crying, and pleading…

the IV slowly dripped into her pulsing veins

as she took her last few breaths,

and instead of looking up to the stars,

she whispered to the girl,

I won’t let Him hurt you*

and with a hint of a smile,

the mother slipped into a deep,

deep slumber.

People don’t see the pictures I paint in my head.
They laugh at me when I call myself an artist.