Bike basket full of blackberries

As I ride back

Bleeding fingers

Scraped wrists

Dark juice in the corners of my lips

It was beautiful how they clung to one another

How the protected each other

How they shared.their.thorns.

Was it wicked of me to have picked them?

Or should I have picked more?

Dark tears in the corners of my eyes

Torn thighs

Broken nails

As I ride back

Bike basket full of blackberries

It is the twisted teal torrents of water
That gush through its heart.
It is the paint on the walls
And the Ancient museums full of art.
It’s the beauty of the city center
The shops and the boutiques.
It’s the bells of the green trams,
Winding down the cobblestone streets.
It’s the wind on my back
And the sun on my face
It’s the way when I go out,
Hours are lost without a trace
It’s the people floating down the river
In the heat of the year.
It’s my feeling of security,
Because here there’s nothing to fear.
It’s all the unique traditions,
Passed down from generations.
It’s the faces of the people,
One from every nation.
It’s the feeling I get
When I just walk around.
When I take in what’s around me
The sights and the sounds.
It’s the knowledge that
In this city I have grown.
It’s all the things I’ve learned,
That I may never have known.
It’s when I sit still in my room,
And know that there’s so much left to explore.
It’s the opportunities I have
To do things I’ve never done before.
It’s the archaic beige bridge
That stands down town.
It’s that path we like to walk,
Or that cute cafe we found.
It’s those beautiful books I bought,
The ones I know I’ll never read.
It’s the happiness that comes
With the quiet life I lead.
It’s how much more there is to discover,
So much beauty I’ve yet to see.
It’s that feeling of contentment
When you know you’re where you’re meant to be
The more I learn about this city,
The more my heart desires to stay
And know I may be wrong,
But I think this could be home someday.

An Ode to the sweet Northwest that I once called my home:
I have loved you, from the first time I opened my infant eyes, I have loved you.
You gave me my childhood, you taught me and you raised me the only way you knew how.
And blinded by your beauty, I did as you told me, but things are different now.
Within the boundaries of your boarders I grew tall and strong
And I thought that you could teach me everything I would ever need to know,
But I was wrong.
Because just as snow covers dirt and makes it look white,
So did you, you lied to me.
But I know your deception was not of spite,
It was of shame,
Because my whole life you had lied
and told me that perfection was your name,
It’s easier to see now from on top of this mountain,
Than it was from between your trees.
I know you never meant to hurt me,
But the lies you spoke brought me to my knees.
When I was young I never questioned you,
Your lead I would follow,
My identity I found in you,
But that life I lived was hollow
And in leaving you, my love did grow,
Because I only ever saw the snow
I forgot about the dirt that lay under
And as I grew, I idolized you,
But never once did I stop to wonder
If maybe it wasn’t all true.
As the years went by,
I held you close in the back of my mind
You were still my home, my love, my future and
my past,
You were the place I would one day return;
You were my first and my last.
But one summer I excitedly ran back to you
And found dirt instead of snow
It hurt me more than I can say,
I have to admit, it was a low blow.
Because little did I suspect,
When I was far away,
That day, by day, by day
The snow had slowly melted where it lay.
So upon my return,
There was nothing left for me
And I felt disappointment
But honestly, also a bit of relieve.
Because from you I was finally free
And I could be whoever I wanted to be.
And I do still love you,
Despite it all, I know you did the best you could,
For what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful,
The bad and the good.

Green grass, green trees,
Green mugs filled with green tea.
Green water over mossy rocks,
Green bikini jumping off the wooden dock.
Green door squeaks as I walk in,
The flood of green memories begins.
Green playground, new friends
Flash-forward with green nail polish as childhood ends.
Green lawn chairs around a warm fire,
Roasting marshmallows as the green-gray smoke floats higher
Those new friends, they grew old,
And we laugh as we remember never doing what we were told.
Green paint on rocks we found
It is here I realized to whom my soul is bound.
Green bugs buzzing around my head
And countless green pillows stacked on my bed.
Blue-green lips after hours in the icy-cold lake
Brought about a smile that is hard to fake.
Green apples, small and sour
Walking through the green field picking green-stemmed flowers.
There is a green stain on my heart and I grin,
For that green island under my green cabin.
You have given me memories impossible to forget
And throughout my travels, nothing has equaled your green yet.

We sat, in a row,
on the couch.
They spoke
And we listened, but without complete comprehension
And I laughed, slightly, to relieve some tension.
But in a moment,
we were gone
Far away.
And I tried to understand how we got to where we were,
Because the passing from there to here was all a blur.
I looked around and saw nothing I knew,
Unfamiliar,
This, would take some getting used to.

Perfect white crosses, symmetrical lines,
Blemish-free marble, a patriotic sign.
Markings we honor, examples we follow,
Why is it that I find all of these things so hollow?

Because before they were your crosses, they were your guns
And they did as you told them, exemplary sons.
And they were stained crimson, until you painted them white,
But I hear paint doesn’t last longer than spite.

Scarlet slurred sand, with a gun in your hand
You snatched up your victory, you took back the land
And with a soft tear for the sons that had died,
You erected their crosses, and in stone set lies.

You love your white crosses; it is for them that you mourn.
Do you forget the cities that by them were torn?
Do you forget the lives that were taken for your name?
Of course not, but you know that on white crosses it is hard to place blame.

So you ensure they stay as white as can be
And you sell the idea that by them we are free.
You call them true saints, but I know what’s real,
The truth is the wounds they inflicted may never heal.

A black gun falls down and a white cross you raise
Row upon row, you give them your praise.
Young names carved in slate,
How can they be anything but a symbol of hate?
How is it these white crosses are what you venerate?

Guns for white crosses
Do you think it’s a fair trade, over where they are laid,
To place a white cross and say all debts have been paid?
You honor them for their sacrifice,
Well let me give you a little advice.

If you wish to have power, then keep building crosses
By all means keep weighing the gains and the losses,
But do me a favour, and stop with the lie,
That murdering for your country is an honorable way to die.

Our city is wicked
Or so I have been told
The air is thick with smoke and sin
The ground is covered in dust and disease
The people are vile and villainous
Our city is wicked
Or so we have been labelled
We are a nation defined by unrighteousness
We live to spite a God we don’t believe in
With each breath we curse morality
And choose to live a life parallel to what is right
We are the thieves
We are the murderers
We are those you shield your children from
We are the wicked
Or so we are thought to be
One look into our eyes can **** you
One night in our home can corrupt you
One drink of our wine can rot your soul
You have been warned
Stay away form the wicked city
Stay away from those who lie and cheat and steal
Stay away from the perverse dwellers of that place
Stay away
Stay away
For we are unclean
We are unrighteous
We are unholy
Unfit to be loved
Unable to be saved
Uncalled by God
Our city is wicked
Beyond reproach
Past the point of redemption
And far from salvation
We saw the line between right and wrong
And we crossed it
And we ran as far as we could
Because we are a wicked people
Or so you have made us out to be
And we were too far gone
Salvation no longer and option
We were a parasite
We were leprosy on the face of the earth
A deadly disease destined to **** all of humanity in slow decay of character
We were the wicked
Or so you tell yourselves
We deserved to burn
Just as we had burned your commandments
We deserved to die
Just as we had killed your children
We deserved to lose everything
Just as we had taken it from the poor
We were the wicked
And we deserved it.
We.
All of them, and me.
My city and I.
We deserved it.
Because we, all of us, even I, we were the wicked.

But somehow,
Somehow
I felt the flames on my back
As my city burned
As they received what we deserved
I heard their screams behind me
I felt my people dying
And I remembered the warnings
But wicked as it may have been,
I loved my city
And to break the rules one last time
Now that would be a beautiful tribute
To us
The Wicked.
And so I slowly turned for one last glance at my blackened home
And joined my people as we stormed the gates of hell.
Sin in our hair
Salt on our lips
And Sand in our souls
We, the wicked
We, the corrupted
We, the sinners
Too unworthy to be offered grace
Too black to be reconciled
Too evil to be forgiven
Forced into submission to the grave
And abandoned by God
Because we were wicked
Right?
Our names have faded away
But our legacy remains
In a pillar of salt
Next to a pile of ash
A sight you cannot un-see
And you can pretend to forget us,
Or tell your children that we deserved it
As you teach them of forgiveness
As you tell them of grace and mercy
Tell them how we deserved it
And hope they are blind to hypocrisy
But remember that pillar of salt
Remember our city
Remember who we are
And how we died
But most of all remember that you are one of us
And we are the wicked.