im meant for this world --just as branches naturally stretch toward the sun's warm light, as roots whisper to the earth and draw water so the plant may bear fruit, as water flows in deliberate motions --gentle, but can break down even the hardest of rocks into sediments, into sand as countless as the stars.

i feel most true when i can feel but cannot see. most true when the fierce breeze of open plains strikes through me, as if my lightness is not enough to blow away my desperations; i have to find meaning in the comparisons between the street's restless hum and the oceans breath... if i close my eyes hard enough, it could feel the same, i could change.

i am meant for this world, and i am so afraid that if i am not, i must eat every moment that has touched my skin; i forgot why my skin is so bruised.......

i am meant for this world, but perhaps i am simply not meant for other people !!!

-
Hear, the crumbling of the Earth
Here, the end of Venus' birth
As I lie in bare land with bare feet and swollen eyes
I found that my cries mean nothing in a rock where the air reigns in a voiceless bound
--My cries mean nothing in a rock where every part of my being is the Earth itself, resound

I.
Hear, the crumbling of the Earth
Rumble, tumble, crumple, stumble, crumble
I clung to my lungs as the minuscule particles start to dwindle
I reached for my nostrils and felt the spills of aeolian thrills
I opened my mouth and tasted the brittle sand from a forsaken land

II.
Here, the end of Venus' birth
My love, disintegrating, shattering in robust fragility
Fluvial murky patterns, ruining steps of vitality
Disintegrating, shattering in quiet intensity
Tides formulate the next city of Venus' death

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!­!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
At last, I lie in bare land with bare feet and sunken eyes
There will never be a winning fight against the inexorable decay of time
In the name of violent rage and anger --I gnashed my teeth
Until my jaws begin to fracture,
Teeth,
        falling a
                        p
                              a
                                    r
                                           t,
                                                there was never a fight to begin with...

A punch is a touch
For too much there is love
And for too little there is death
A touch is a punch
For too much there is death
And for too little there is love

A body
  --aloft a state of tranquility
posthumous jurisdiction
  of failed sanctity
pulling on triggers
  bound by religious testimonies

Do I have to force
  these confessions out of me?

I've run out of words
  to describe this iniquity...

Yet, it seems like...
  I've forgotten
That despite the beauty of my soliloquies...
  I am still not well

The water is not deep enough
  to house a village
My breathing too shallow
  to be considered devout

Should I force these words
  out of me?
Protest these cliche metaphors
  and punch the gut that claimed I couldn't?

I have written a thousand testimonies
  yet none are enough to remember my salvation
What remains of my body
  but the skin and bone found on my knees
    mapped the entirety of this blasphemous tragedy

it's hard for me to let you go,
you look like an angel
--a deviant against God,
beautiful and forbidden
--against impermanence

ever-lasting;
a taste of ambrosia
a touch of Midas; gold
--yet rarer than the birds
that seem to circle around
--your crown;
not of thorns,
but early morning dew

and the fruits you bear;
not of love,
but grief
--and indelible prints
pressed on your skin...

you make my heart beat,
for once it never moved,
until my shadow was seen.
it's hard for me to let you go.

oh what a dear
my dear girl
how dear

your pearled tooth
and whirled sway
how you put your words together in a lyrical way

oh what a dear
my dear girl

how dear you appease
your father's anger with ease
how a kiss on the cheek is enough to cease
the infinite possibilities of uncertainties

oh what a dear

my dear girl, you say
  there's no world for you here
and i fear,
  that you've said all the words you wanted
    me to hear

oh what a dear, you might have been.
you remind me of old poetry,
niche collections of trinkets,
a cracked pavement and lilies.
the amalgamation of everything i please,
and everything i miss so dearly.

oh what a dear
my dear girl
how dear you have been