broken words and wilting bodies,
that's us, a messy generation of
glassy eyes and bulletproof souls.

Sometimes I feel far away
Off in a daze
No where to be found
Where I can't hear a sound
But when I write
There's just something right
And i want to share
My thoughts that I pick from thin air
But don't know why,
Why I'm shy
And I don't have the confidence
To stand in their presence
To show what I can really do what it takes
I will make mistakes
I will fall down
But to catch me will be the ground
I won't keep falling
I'll keep crawling
Towards my destination
When I get there I'll present my presentation
I will be absolutely
Positively
Me

poetry lives
not just in the dreamy glow of the moon
across your lover's eyes
on a perfect evening, or the
mesmerising game of light
and shadows dancing on
moving waters, through
wooded greens;
no,
poetry lives in
the little things you
don't see and don't say:
the sharp edges of heartbreak, the
magnanimity of forgiveness, the
soft sighs of love that
*won't go away.

Learn to love the fall,
to disappear like a radical ghost
shaking chains as a forgotten name.

Make your nests in piles of broken mirror glass,
court heartbreak like a 19th century candlelit lover.

Smile at the No,
bring it into your chest,
breathe it in warm.

Collapse the roof,
blow out the window,
cradle your shattered legs and kiss them like sleeping children
when they try to drag your broken body from the burning building.

And get your blood all over everything.

I had to force my lanky legs
a few steps back
And touch only with my eyes
bathe you in the unknowing caress
Of my gaze.
On days like today
I pretend I'm the vivacious wind
Curling in soothing torrents around your face
Brushing past your neck like
Long lost kisses.
I exist in the echo of the scene
one year earlier
where I would have pressed against the skin there
Chasing away the goosebumps
With shivers of my own.

They said,
Listen with your ear
So you could hear it clear.

They said,
Listen with your heart
So you could feel it deep.

But nobody said,
Listen with your soul
So you could hear the truth.

within the confines of defining
definitions are never lost
it's set in stone, there's no combining
it's a line that you can't cross


throw away your dictionary


it's your thoughts they are confining
like a self discovery loss
it's your mind, but they're assigning
another line that you can't cross

The first time I wrote poetry
I presented it to my father
He laughed and said to me
"must you be in love?
only those in love write this--"
A 10yr old girl cried that night,
Humiliated.

But it was true. Now that I look at it.
That of being in love.
Because I fell in love with written words
Hopefully someone reads this
And falls in love as well.

dysfunctional feelings
"I love you too"
exactly my point,
influenced by conformation.
direct deposit
overdrawn enthusiasm
settles my broken heart

You’re so close to the stars. i wonder if you can hear the secrets i told the constellations that one night i got lost on the roof trying to find my way without you. maybe you’ll get lost in the darkness up there and feel the way i feel when i get lonely sometimes. you’re going to cities I’ve never seen and you’ll be walking on roads my feet haven’t touched and in a way I’m jealous of the new air you get to breathe. the little intricate fibres that make up my lungs are burning with this constant northern oxygen I’ve been force feeding them. i wonder what its like to breath you in at 30, 000 ft above sea level going 600 miles per hour. i wonder if my lungs would burn out of blissful breathlessness for you. I wonder what jet lag looks when it's painted across your face. i hate being on planes, but I’m so curious about how tightly you’d let me hold your hand up there. until i met you i didn’t understand why people thought it would be so special to travel around the world with another person, because i’d always thought it would be better to be lost alone. but i get high off the thought of walking european streets with you.