The more you look around
The more you realize
Every day people are doing
Everyday things,
Things they don’t really want to do,
But must, to get ahead, to stay afloat,
To not get knocked down.
But the more you look around,
You see the hurt, you see the failure,
You see it imminent within you, too.
You resist and you pull away, and you
Tell yourself that you are different,
You will lead a different life and have success.
But the more you look around,
The bleaker it gets.
Sometimes life is better with the blinders on.

Together we share a room.
Sunshine shines through
Our window in the morn
As I lay next to your sleeping form.
For Labor Day to give me this peace
Is more than enough to please.
I kiss you on the cheek,
You smile at me, asleep.
We've been apart for the last two years
So I hold these holidays dear
When you're home. Let's celebrate
The day; Happy Labor Day!

He wants her to be something else,
The girl she was before.
She cannot change, it's not her quest
To be what he's looking for.
She has a newfound independence,
Before would die if their love would end.
What accomplishment now
That on him, her happiness doesn't depend.
See, she loves her darling in every sense
Though that desperate attachment
Is now past tense.
Together and happy, but don't you forget
How she lives her life will not be set by his discretion.
Side by side they tread, as she makes her own steps
Down this winding road they find themselves on.

The morning holds a special note
To the tuning of the day.
There's a sharpness in the air
With Nature's rhythm on display.

The birds sing their melodic tune,
The beat is played through dripping dew.
They carry on until afternoon,
Playing to me, and playing to you.

The trees wave their branches in the breeze
As Spring time plays out joyfully,
With nature fulfilling its basic needs
Of rhyming it all in sync.

The bees and hummingbirds, they thirst
And quench themselves with a humming verse.
The light applause from amorous arms -
Instead by leaves, rustling and lost.

The rippling waters from the poetic stream
Rhyme the shore in sweet harmony,
As all of nature for a moment stands still -
Bending to their mother's will.

My poetry garden
Hosts a banana tree.
Fuscha flowers in my view,
Complete with lots of green.

My poetry garden
Is where many animals roam.
Cats and bees, lizards and snails
All make this their home.

My poetry garden
Always has the best weather;
Sunshine and breeze every day,
I've never felt anything better.

My poetry garden
Is where I go to write.
It's where I wrote this, in fact,
Won't you share in my delight?

Here's wishing you a brighter blue
In hopes it brightens your tomorrows,
With a little less angry red
Which only brings about more sorrow.

White to keep you pure,
In your heart and in your thoughts.
Your Royal purple keeping you noble,
Regardless of the jewels you bought.

Green with envy, don't you see
You are everything you're meant to be.
Someday you'll be grey and wise
And live at last without chastise.

Leaving yellow in your fearful wake.
On life's battlefield mistakes are made,
While pink brings about a calming peace.
What colors can be drawn from these?

Take my hand,
Handsome warrior.
I will help you tread,
Dreadful as you feel.
I am by your side all this while.
You look at me and smile.
Your pain physical,
My pain mental.
Our suffering entwined
But we don't mind.
You help me out of delusion,
A problem with no easy solution.
You are by my side all this while.
I look at you and smile.

He should be blessed -
The one with dreads.
Praise he -
With a goatee.
Adore the one
With hipbones.
Rub him raw -
The one with the strong jaw.
Tear him apart -
The one that is smart.
Take him even sooner -
The one with humor.
Chase him up a tree -
The one with mystery.
See him twice -
The one who is nice.
This is what I like -
Taking applications tonight.

To find myself
In Hell’s grips
From loving you
So tightly,
Is a paradox
So sweetly bitter
I can’t help but to
Smile weakly.

Whittle me down to the bone.
I've been carrying onto so many things.
Expose my shelter, like stone.
Scattering light to find what truth brings.

Bury me 'til I'm nothing.
Ground me into dust.
Take me to the edge of the world,
Where our jewels and our money are bust.

Take me into the corner
Of captivity's gilded world.
And watch as I rebuild myself,
Let my higher realms unfurl.

I'm waiting to be swept
Off my feet
And I'm not getting
Any lighter.

I'm ready for the days
Our paychecks come easily.
You work on machines,
And I'm writing poetry.

Where we go to coffee shops
Just because it's cold.
And buy books at the bookstore
We'll never hold.

When we walk to the park
And look at geese.
And have discussions by the fire
Of war and peace.

When I can tell your mood
By the twinkle in your eye.
When I cook your food
You're bold enough to try.

A girl can dream her whole life through.
Now that you know my dreams,
What should we do?
It's your call, baby, I'm waiting for you.

I'm brought to the ward
In my sleep
I'm confused
I'm asked to strip
I won't allow it
And so it begins.

I'm in the ward,
I'm protesting,
Military hospital,
I'm brought to a padded cell
I fall to my knees
Frightened and crying.

I'm in the ward,
Singing and dancing
Some scared,
Some enchanted,
One angered
She strikes me with a weapon,
A household mug,
I cry and cry.

I'm in the ward,
The best place
To  meet people,
To make friends,
To make someone's day
With a smile.

I'm in the ward,
I've made a friend
And told not to befriend
"Don't talk to her"
He warns.
Am I danger?
Am I a shame?

I'm in the ward,
I feel for these
Fragile women.
I want to help them.
I would be the only one
Who does.

I'm in the ward,
I'm called names.
Who am I
To complain?
I'm panicking,
And laughed at
By staff.

I'm in the ward
I am guided through
Meditation.
It brings me out of
Panic.
Eternally grateful.

I leave the ward
And tears fill my eyes.
I'm going home,
And hope to never return.
But we don't plan these things.
They just are,
And we just are.

I'll be the paper
And you'll be the pen.
Different we are,
But on each other we depend.
Together we'll make art
With our chemistry.
With every beat of our hearts
We're writing our love story.

What hidden sadness is contained past those daily smiling eyes?

The blank page,
Like the open road
Brings forth feelings
Of new beginnings.
Take those first few steps,
Wobbly, they may be,
You will find yourself
In the throes of possibility.
What may you find?
In your mind?
Or in the city?
The only way to find out,
Is to take that journey,
Blind.

I've left my darkness
In the past,
Those days have passed.
I'm now the light that manifests
In a woman of twenty-one.

Like a flower
Budded and scented
My beauty unrelented;
Such power
For a woman of twenty-one.

A life full of bloom
Wouldn't that be grand?
To carry on through gloom
And have him understand
Who it is that I am
And what does affect me
My heart gentle as a lamb
That turns into the tiger you see.

You keep me up at night
Thinking of you, in trance.
Let's stay up all night
Doing the bedroom dance.

We don't need furniture,
We can dance standing up.
So you know in the future,
I like to be felt up.

I feel sticky and sweaty
Just thinking about you
I'm wanting and ready
To see what you can do.

We can dance in public.
At home, or with your friend.
We're dancing, and I love it.
I don't want it to end.

The dance is over.
My hair is in knots.
You're my favorite lover
Running through my thoughts.

Used to next to nothing.
Silver spoon is rusting.
Growing where life doesn't.
Giving in at adolescence.
I am not confessing,
Because I need a blessing.
Restless mind is wrestling,
Disregarding outward dressing.
No importance on impressing
Those who do not see an essence.
Patient soul is resting,
Cannot hear Her presence.
Disregarding life at present,
Waiting for a train in hestitance.
Debating on destination residence,
My inner wisdom holds the key to evidence.
Still, I flounder, lost magnificence.
A train somewhere, awaits my service.
Passenger to Somewhere,
No need to get so nervous.

I saw her in my room.
She crossed it towards my bed.
The music was playing,
A song conveying
Mysticism and wonder in my head.

Maybe it was paranoia.
Or perhaps just fantasy.
But there she was,
Maybe because
I have a spirit following me.

Vibrant flowers full of bloom,
I hate to introduce the gloom,
But one thing I'd like to discern:
Will I have flowers this bright
When death is my turn?

We stitched a patch together
On my flesh in the shape
Of a cartoon heart.
I would have your heart,
But only a caricature of it.

I’d approach you the first year
As much as you’d approach me.
In that year, you’d stitch me more,
Kissing and caressing me with your
Passionate gift of language.
I asked you to make my stitches
Tighter and more numerous
With your luminous promise of love.

The second year went on like the first.
Less dialogue acquainted me with
Thinking of you like clockwork, like records,
Your sickly, gangrene patch
With familiar stitches from your own hands
Attached to the flesh on my arm,
Reminding me you were there.

On the third year, I drove through the seasons
On a tank of memories I called love.
I sought to find you but my tank was empty,
I walked and took a train, then walked some more,
Towards your hopeless direction,
Only to fall upon my face and become a bust,
Like a watermelon hitting cement.

As time ticked on, I’d say words here and there,
As yours grew fewer and fewer.
I grew used to your ghosts,
Gave them all names.
It’s only just now that I realize what’s been done.
It’s hard for me to come down and sit in this
Cold room with cold ghosts.

It’s only from this moment
That I’ve begun unraveling
All these threads.
I’m not sure what my skin
Looks like underneath.
I undo what’s been fastened to me
Day by day and wince in pain.
So this is what it’s like to breathe.

The Buddha sits still
For hours, then days,
And soon a spider
Comes creeping along and
Weaves its web
On the Enlightened's
Meditating form.

I flip through my inked pages,
Chuckling at myself.
Oh, the things you'll say
When mania sets your way.
Yet hard it is
To wear your heart on a sleeve.
Which is essentially what happens
When you write what you believe.

Nothing worth reporting besides the usual
Importance of ignoring negligent thoughts
That seek to destroy me,
Harboring inside me,
A caged bird with a broken wing.
Hope calls out in many ways,
Still your surroundings to hear its bays.
Quiet. Listen.
It’s seeking you in earnest,
Its mysterious hands fiddling with
The lock of your entrapment.
Soon, you will have the strength
To pursue all of your dreams.
But right now, you’re too consumed
By the hopelessness of your confinement.
The bars disappear when you look at them
A certain way. Illusory, these posts, these chains.
Break free, some sympathy may come your way,
And unleash you, teach you how to fly with your handicaps.
Don’t look back, once you’re released -
Fly over the valleys and the rivers, wherever you please.
Fly brave, fly free.
Continue to seek
All that seems out of your reach.
Bathe in the waterfalls of your fortune.
It’s yours, after all.
You have this as your guiding motion.
Snap back to your present situation.
You see the cage, you feel your stuntedness,
Your loss from grace,
From freedom, the chase,
You so earnestly thought you’d finally taste.
One day, it’s yours.
Just hold on to hope, on to your scope,
The sights and the breeze under your wings,
It’s all yours, always has been, always will,
And still, I know it stings.
Listen to the way the ocean sings,
Once you make it there, I know you will,
But for now, let the ink spill and spell
Your own misfortune, your own destruction,
Slowly deteriorating any sense of fruition.
I know you want to give up on these ghosts,
But they are yours to catch with a gilded net,
So let them go, if you choose, but remember
You’ll have to live with regret that you never pursued
Beyond the bars that immobilize you, like roots.
You were meant to travel and traverse,
The universe will push you towards your path.
Do not listen to those who jeer and laugh.
You know your purpose. Listen, it’s there.
What your inner voice guides is your truth to bear.

The sun, it has seen
The early dawn of mankind,
Who for centuries were keen
On the blazing ball in the sky.
Nowadays, artificial light casts a glow
Unfamiliar to none.
If we take a moment to bathe in the sun's splendour
We can ponder the wonder
Of how we have all seen the same sun.

He stroked her hair
With his hand
That donned a ring
That I placed there.

I had to be
In your mind somewhere.

The musicality of the moment,
Brought by the way my tongue
Flicks against my palate with
A satisfying smack like bubblegum tricks
Is a greater bliss than the pauses
Between a Mozart piece
Where the essence of the music lies.
The peace, the stillness, the absorption
Of higher vibrational photons and forests
Of enchantment, reading manuscripts,
Prescription bottles, poetry, philosophy,
Thirsty to fill a void grey and dull,
Coloring my world with the sound of language.
Finding new ways to contort and contemplate
Writing and meaning and verse.
Channeling insights from the universe.

Today is a day
A day to be remembered
Today is a play
I'm on opening act
Without a say
On how it is run
Or what to say
I am just me
That's all I'll ever be.

To meet one who you’ve only known
In passing glances
And to fall in love
With reckless abandon.

The key to new destinations
Is nowhere in sight.
I must forage for that which will fulfill.
And I do not know where my efforts will lead,
Or if they will pay off in any good time.
I know none of this, but I do not stop.
We play in the nighttime like nightingales,
Soaring around, whispering secrets the moon keeps,
Tapping into a frequency we cannot permeate just yet,
Nibbling at the edges, trying to loosen the threads,
Improving with persistence on our art,
Building a nest with patient diligence,
A quaint lifestyle in the glow of the stars.
Some days I see you looking at them and wondering
Why you can’t be among your own,
Why you can’t have your own orbit,
You deserve it,
But I don’t.
I’m far too cynical to be powered on dreams.
That’s why my humble spirit must stay in the lowlands,
And why, if you love me, you sacrifice angelic realms
And must continue working in the branches,
Neglected nightingales.

You must want
All of me
For if you take
Some of me
You wouldn't have me.
You could possibly
Arrange all the variables
Of me
And come up with someone else.
Take them.
For if you want me,
You must want all of me.

Posthumously Famous.

That is definitely the name
Of my book.
If not that, a title for this poem.
No, the first line.
It’s untitled.
I won’t restrict myself.
I won’t be led astray.

Poets are just looking for an outlet.
Poets are in anguish.
Poets are on fire.

Let us burn.
Let us burn in agony.
Do not peek your head over,
Dear reader.
You have an obligation.
Work, kids, bills.
Don’t think of us.
We are burning in agony, in fire,
And we do not wither away.
We cannot escape that easily.

You stir my cold embers just right.
Warmth crackles through that is bound to ignite.
You stir me from stiff slumber’s grasp.
Arising like Phoenix, adorning black mask.
Concealed from view, hidden black goddess.
Awaiting arrival, slow burning embers in darkness.

I don’t want to start this poem out with uncertainty,
But it’s instinctive, you see, and I’m not sure why I’m here.
You ever feel like that?
Returning to the same places, the same people,
Half of them passively accepted, not chosen.
That’s what I feel sometimes when I traverse across a page
With a cursor and impulsive fingers racing across the keyboard.
I’m just a traveler and yeah, I guess there’s glimpses of destinations,
But I don’t have a map.
All I have are my past footsteps.
Collecting pages in the breeze, greedily grasping.
Yeah, there’s no getting off this ship.
This is a place I must return to,
Like a mother’s grave.
I tread lightly, with dignity, knowing there’s purpose
In me arriving and visiting, but sometimes not finding the words to say,
And my throat dries up like a bird’s nest.
At least my fingers are active, they dance.
I come to visit this sacred place, so that when I do visit
The inevitable gravesite with daisies in hand,
I can leave a piece of me that’s a little more permanent,
A little more solidified, love in a glass bottle.
I might not get off this ship, I might very well be stuck in that bottle.
A treasure tossed in the rolling ocean,
Lost in a sea of oblivion.
The waves continue on in their cosmic, rhythmic dance,
Until they, too, forget their purpose.
Until that day, they dance.
Like the planets in their certain spirals.
The world will dance, meaningless, absurd,
Unquestioningly.
Dance how you see fit.

Bodies have a language of their own,
And yours speaks in tongues,
The way you keep me close,
Sharing in worship,
Warding off negative spirits
With a hypnotic kiss.
We bring the wicked sprites
And interdimensional entities
Out to a playground feast
When we intertwine, at least,
That’s what I imagine, in ecstasy,
And yet, they have no power over us,
Because of the clever way we are ******
Into these upper worlds that surround,
Cradling me, craving me, faint, mewing sounds -
This is the world that fate would have found.

I don’t want to write
Like anyone else.
I want to fit into my words
Like my fingers fit
Interlaced through his,
Made for each other
By some strange design,
Some string of code,
Some higher power,
Something, somewhere,
I cannot control
And I cannot see
And I do not think about,
It just fits and it fits right.