I always wanted more for myself,
wanted to be memorable,
but now I barely remember most of my life.
Sometimes, I consider who I am,
study my reflection hard in the mirror
contemplate whether it's really me
and then ask if this is who I want to be.
What a responsibility it is
to carry this human flesh to the end
and to act in favor of this restless, desirous mind
for the entirety of a life.
Most of the time, I hardly register my life and world around me
and thus behave mindlessly,
and now I'm realizing that time is more than a concept
and that age will one day take me by the throat.
I've tried so hard to figure myself out,
but I suppose I should spend less time in my mind
and more time taking up space in this body.

I found him in the dim-lighting of a meadow.
His skin, his breath, his kisses
were dreams and berries to me.
Poisonous and plucked from nature's own *****,
I crushed him between my teeth,
felt his sugary rush in my mouth,
and spat him out for fear that his essence was dangerous.
Oh, poisonous berries, strip me of life,
place me in the deepest slumber,
so that I may continue to dream of this infidelity forever.

I guess you're right,
what should I expect from you?
The world is cold,
nothing but a pending tomb.

I guess I just
thought after all we'd dreamed,
watching me grow
might have been a priority.

I guess I expected
fatherhood would have come
before humanity,
but I guess I'm wrong.

I guess I'm flawed
for thinking you owe me anything.
I assumed that after four tries,
you might hold some accountability.

I have this theory,
of spirituality,
that it is what we decide
it is.

I decide to
accept what I believe
and what I love,
what I've seen.
And then,
I begin to base my
previous understanding to my
current experience.
I have discovered that
God and hate
never collide;
they are
opposites.
And, I have learned to be,
and understand,
that my God
wants nothing but
the best
for me.

I wish I could break out of this
Thing.
This thing that keeps me from
Breathing,
Writing,
Living.
I want to feel that thing again.
That thing that reminds you you're
Living,
Breathing,
Being,
That you are a
Living,
Breathing,
Being.

I had so thoroughly studied one rose,
had not noticed there were others.
All the same but all different.

The petals of my own, even,
looked different from other angles,
yet it is the same rose.

I had not picked it yet,
realized I didn't need to,
for I was in a garden.

I noticed the image was not my only desire,
but the smell also,
so I decided to bottle it up.

Carrying with me,
lingering with me on my clothes,
not needing to never leave My Rose.