A storm is brewing in the east
and a white bird is flying high,
like the shadow of smoke
from the last fires in the moonlight,
lying crossways over the bed
on her belly in dark *******,
whatever she is dreaming
its meaning she keeps to herself.

I've been in love
(or thought I was)
twice now
and I'm only
twenty years old.

I've spent my entire life
practicing the art
of letting go
and I lost track of
my losses
because I've never
been good with
numbers.

I have
added,
subtracted,
divided
and solved
my way back
to you

countless of times

and this is how
I know I am

no good at math.

I took a walk with life today
and found that we
are all connected.
I took it’s gentle hands and
whispered calmly beneath my breath:

“you are beautiful”

and then all at once-
the constant commotion
unfolding around me
came to a surrender.

I found myself staring at
solutions and all of the
questions that follow.

I am floored
by how simple
life can be.

There are no answers
and this is the
meaning to
everything.

We live and
we breathe and
we hold on until
it’s time to
let go.

This is not a cycle.

This is not
evolution.

This is not aging
just to die
and this is not
the human condition.

This is the experience.

This is the lifetime.

This is what we are
granted.

I long for a comfort
that I will never feel
and resent it
for it never being so.

I wonder how long
I have to go
and even then-

I am wrong.

There is so much
going on
and the cars keep
hauling
and the grass
keeps growing
and the moon keeps
setting and
the sun keeps
rising and

the story
goes.

I am not immortal
and I cannot capture
every moment
as I’d like to
and I know that
this is
okay
but as long
as I’m alive-

I’ll continue to strive
for something
better than
myself.

Even if it’s
not what I
deserve.

Arriving in the dark
like a listing ship
at your dock
my fingers skinned
all ****** at the knuckles
from christening your door
like a bottle on a prow
or a broken mirror
in the morning, caught
in the hurricane
of your crazy hair.

If you can't give a good opinion
                                                       Prefer silence

O little vampire
Don't **** our blood
Go back to heaven
We are stuck in flood

Blood is not flood
Don't make flood blood

I am the master of my own choice
Simultaneously I am the caretaker of others' choice

Only the Teacher invests his knowledge,  
knowing there is no return

When
The Teacher smiles
The whole class shines

Teaching is carving on wood.

You can't enjoy the rain
If you don't like the clouds