i've yet to break out of my shell
i've yet to know who i am
i've yet to find a purpose

yet i've died a million times
rebirthed into a vacuous cocoon
wrapped, trapped, in restraints

i've yet to break
i've yet to live
i've yet to love

yet you have lost me too many times
you've yet to know me
you've yet to love me

you've yet to accept me
yet you say you love me,
trapped
but i've yet to find my own strength
and once i do -
i will break out
i will live
i will love
i will be.

chip, chip, chop
goes the woodpecker
gnawing at the plank
till it hits the core

chip, chip, chop
it gets closer and closer
pecking at high speed
till the exterior crumbles

chip, chip, chop
grasping for breath,
removing what’s unnecessary
till the hardened truth is out

chip, chip, chop
how can you live like this?
when is enough enough? when is it time?
till you drop dead in the middle of the night?

i’m addicted to the intimacy of closeness,
but i detest the limitations of closeness.

i’m addicted to the freedom of openness,
but i detest the infinity of openness.

all my hopes and dreams
from yesterday remind me of
my young innocence

possibilities
staring directly at me
teasing, mocking me

now i chose a path
i long to turn back around
to see the what-ifs

the sky opens up to the endless infinity,
clean, serene and spacious.

     to look up and see openness,
     leaves oneself a sense of relief.
     the worries and fears become air
     and travels up, up, and up to nothingness.
     till vacuum is all that is left.

     a manmade deity that is omniscient and transparent,
     who fulfills to his promise to be always there for you;
     in happiness and sorrow, and in victory and defeat.

     great big matter, so boundless, continual, and colossal,
     with every piece, a unique wonder;
     with every imperfections, a flawless marvel;
     remind you of your components akin to
     the matter that makes the sun.

the sky opens up to the endless infinity,
clean, serene, and spacious.

to nurture and grow,
to thrive and survive,

in this exhausting world
where one is just another cog
in a money making machine.

to seek solstice and refuge,
where i can be still
and be one with the world.

where the air is crisp,
flooding imagery
of lakes, trees and hills.

to start life anew,
leave the worries and past behind
take a step towards the future.

i step out of the warzone.
leaving the worries and anticipation behind,
melancholia washed off by the waves of excitement.
to the forest i go, to the shadows of bulbous trees i hide.
away from reality, away from society,
away from the rockets and away from the bullets.

the lead in my heart dissipates.
in the branches of evergreen spruce –
my horrors and sins, caught, tangled, and trapped in wooden reach.
as i venture into the deepest secrets of these lowly woods,
carrying with me a camera, so heavy and so light –
capturing the whispers and movements of life.

this has been my tradition in years past.
when i am hanging by the thread and hope seems lost,
i go to my haven where life flows freely.
there i find the importance, the mysteries,
the magnitudes of this world – all things i have been ignorant of.
looking above to the heavens,

sheltered by the canopies of multitudes of green.
the damp, filthy earth lingers.
i am wrapped, masked, and bandaged in maternal care.
the mourns of yesterday silenced.
the wounds of yesterday deteriorates,
decays with the fallen foliage,

that gives life to something new –
these years have been a collection of videos, photos, and poems.
a trek to the woods away from the war of the extremes –
full of short-lived happiness followed by long days of sadness,
like a short summer thrill, interrupted quickly by winter’s chill –
so abrupt and so rude.

the song of the birds and the ancient branches stir joy in my heart.
the mosquitos cherishing every bit of fresh blood –
reminding me that i am alive – and very well appreciated –
a living sacrifice to aid in long winter days ahead.
now, that i am reminded of the impending cold – all this colour and life
will soon fade away and under the roof of war i take shelter yet again.

life has been a blur
existential september
chaos, come hither

ready to drown in the blues
that come with fall hues
because sadness is my muse

fearless in my doom
ready to thrive in my gloom
writing in my room

swaying to the thick summer breeze.
the sun, always at its peak
blazing on dry floridian ground.

hand in hand, intertwined by fate,
played by the gods of love.
a spark meant to last before the bells toll.

separated by foreign lands,
unfinished plans,
waiting for the last dance.

sweat trickle on tanned skins,
bodies wrapped within reach,
passion and lust fused.

this is the curse that binds us together.
to my lover from the distant land -
may hecate cross our roads again.

the sea salt grit runs through my gelatin bodice,
     elastic tentacles float around this dominion of mine.
          and you are my treasure –
     treasure hidden in plain sight
and mine to protect.
     i grasped my suckles around you,
          with perfect fit suction
               i held onto you.
                    but it was my own ink
               that blinded me and smudged the truth.
          you are not mine, nor am i yours.
     so with hesitation and grief,
i ride with the monsoon tides.
     to the vastness of the seas
          i offer my only treasure.

i’ve tried writing a poem about you
but the verses have slipped out of your mouth
in words that enchanted me more than ever.

i spiraled down into the inevitability of love
aphrodite’s aphrodisiac,
a potion to soothe pain and cause misery.

you are the double-edged sword
that i softly caressed.
tumultuous passions, bound to wound.

three steps backwards to propel us forward.
make acquaintances to the people
we grew up to be.

once lovers, now strangers
entangled in history,
retrace the path

follow the road of compassion
back to the beginning,
to find the future of us.

pancakes, scrambled eggs
a dash of Tapatio -
breakfast at midnight.

recounting stories,
the lessons learned from the past.
casting spells for love.

whitney sings of love
on our new vinyl player,
asks, “how will i know?”

I say, it’s simple,
it’s moments of gratitude,
joy, and sipping on

sweet margaritas
when the moon is at its peak,
our midnight rituals.

the sun is out
and everything feels
not so important
in my mind that usually overflows with dread.

our laughter drowns out
the anxiety. your ***** iced tea
washes away the insecurities,
birds of a feather in constant replay.

the breeze brings with it
good news from the seas -
a promise of baptism
to wash away winter’s miseries.

the bees buzz with chatter
of blooming fields
lupines, tulips, and dandelions
filled with sweet nectar.

the pink-blue skies so vast,
it opens us up
a special vulnerability, a flood of confessions,
stitching us closer together.

i lay in the middle of this field
beside you and our new friends
a new found community -
i am grateful.

bap·​tism: an act, experience, or ordeal by which one is purified, sanctified, initiated, or named.

floating in the vacuous flow of time -
endless whispers and murmurs,
trying to figure out which thoughts are mine,
and which thoughts are planted by others.

overwhelmed by the idea of being perceived.
to relinquish control or to take control?
we are nothing but one individual
in the sea of billions.

who's to say that this is worth our time?
who's to say that we have purpose?
i need a baptism to purify, to sanctify, to initiate, to name myself.
to find purpose in this ocean of nothingness.