A beauty that’s rarely seen,
only reserved for the May queen.
Dancing under her midsommarstang
when the time speeds up but it still seems so long.

We can share some codependency
we can share some trauma and blood.
If you were to leave it would be the end of me,
is this the type of story we tell of love?

Sadly there’s some poetic irony
of the horror when you witnessed the elders jumping,
still human enough but too lost to see
you were in the line; one day to be waiting.

Confuse possession with protection
mistake bare empathy for tender caring.
When’s the last time you felt needed affection
except for the wrong type others are sharing?

And at the very end of it all
you’ll have a face full of tears,
‘cause even a May Queen has to fall
within the changing of season in the years.
And you won’t even care
if it’s freedom or a new type of prison,
‘cause atleast someone will be there
to cry with, to hold you and listen.

In the winter of
My darkest sadness
A candle glows,
Tiny and so far away.
It gives the darkness
A focal point and I
Struggle my way towards it.

Another candle lights my way.
I don’t know where it came from
But it makes a fearful journey
So much easier to manage,
And I eventually will dance
On thistledown to
The music of the Skylarks
In a sun-filled, cloudless sky.
  ljm

There's nothing to
glean from the wreckage

no lessons no wisdom no
truths

except maybe
that when the wind blows

stuff smashes things get torn apart
and other stuff shatters

don't let anyone say
otherwise

there's
no reason for this


no rhyme simile or
metaphor

The glass and steel high-rises
I always harbor hostility.
They stand like soldiers ranked before a city gate,
like guns aimed at strangers,
asserting their strength.

To shade the high-rises—there must be trees.
lush trees,
ancient trees—like bouquets
rest in tank barrels.
They cannot withstand the iron cold,
cannot withstand the searing burn,
but they can loosen,
the guard I keep within.

How could I shield myself from the words
that lift me into the highest lowness?
Dearly beloved, raw openness,
the source of my grace and imperfection.

I feel strangely weightless
when my precognition
whispers to me about my possible future.
I hush all my names,
they’re not statues carved
by the thoughts of others.

I watch people drift in and out,
I touch the tree leaves in the cold wind.
Looking tenderly into the eyes of black ravens
I just try to see what they see.

I don’t fear the dark,
the primal womb that gives light
and birth to worlds spread across space.
Losing someone I love is my only fear.
Death comes uninvited, in its own time.

Love is my helpless, naked truth.
My moral compass still works
in my body.
At night, I find sleep and rest.
In light, the warmth,
and the souls of others.

I see the tired hearts
I find solace, looking into the light.
The body brings fleeting fullness.
I gather the crumbs of mystery,
expecting nothing,
just enough to find my dignity
and make peace with the unreachable.

My body is not my own
Pass it along to anyone
And my heart doesn’t live inside
I have nowhere to hide it
And the places I’ve called home
They are not my home
I think I used to feel differently
but now I don’t know

You always had a place to go
You always had someone to hold
I had to listen to you fight at night
And now I’m alone

I know you never loved me
Sometimes I still want you to touch me
Down in the trenches
You always knew what to provoke
so I’d never come to my senses

And it’s mostly all my fault
It would be easier to say I blame you
I was too young
I didn’t know
I was hurt
It wasn’t my decision
but it was mine to make
Still,
I can’t take it back
I cannot escape
It has nothing to do with you
anymore, anyways

It all crescendos to inaction
And floods my interactions
It all feels too big
It’s in a cloud
above my head
And I can’t reach it
The intangible
weight of grief
I am a miserable
ghost of me