Always will the sun
shine upon closed eyes until
we all learn to bloom.

maybe you love her
even when you say you don’t
and maybe you miss her
in every way when you’re alone
but tell me why
when you hold me close,
for a second, i believe
you love me the most.

I am day when it’s night in my mindset.
The dark has no power on me.
I inhale the stars ash with no thought,
And exhale the moons rays from the sea.
With a smile I could bleed the nights darkness,
And burn all the clouds from the sky.
It’s always in the days that I struggle,
Always in the nights that I fly.

Breathe it in.
The smell of change
Is in the air.
Seasons and lives,
Deaths and births.
A kaleidoscope of colours rich
Upon the ground.
Branches stripped
Of youth.
Old withered arms
Seeking answers from the heavens.
Smoke pouring from chimneys
Where families gather
While the child
From a broken home
Watches from a distance,
Wrapped in scarves
And sadness.
The changing seasons
Making a mockery
Of that which
Stays the same.

She had an option now
Once a goal, fed until wings spread until flight took until she lost the town
Until shot down
She had an option now, a full fledged choice, all teeth and silence
In the wake of her indecision grew envy, which looks like a giant mosquito, if you believe in giants

Before we go towards sore mode and mope so hopelessly over "wrote poetry", let us take time to give the mosquito a little appreciation
Unlike choice, envy is a toothless *******, and instead pokes and prods and leaves an undesirable little welt
But like choice, envy hovers
Waiting

She slept on cardboard that night
That night in particular was rather dreary, grey and wet
Kicked out of her home, alone so closed and prone to no hope
She dove to floor and groped dope to erode her dome

Black

She hit that stash and sat back happy in mad hat fantasies
Mad hat had-to-be's and lap dance reveries she tapped untapped man, she gagged for bags and haggled deep

Back then, she was a pariah,
She floated and she owned it, turned around and wrote it and low and behold she sold it, and now she's bold poet

Funny how the world wants you when you don't need it
Funny how a girl flaunts too, for the temporary feeling

We swat bugs who want a fix

But when they're butterflies...

They flutter by

I'm not in love with you, because love isn't suppose to be this way.
I'm attracted by you, your angel's face and your greek god body.

I'm fascinated by your state of mind, and your way of looking at me.
I want to step in your head to understand everythings that makes that you are you. I want to spend whole nights speaking about the world and our existence with you.

But I am not in love with you.

"Do you ever wonder where these voices came from?"

I closed my eyes and for a moment, I thought I was talking to someone else…

“Yes, I am them. They were the identities formed within my insecurities. A life I wished that I was once in; the shoes of someone I wanted to be… And to that, I have made you exist, but not living…"

This is the hanging thread
A long string of
Unspoken words
The rope that at one end
Holds down hearts
And at another
Coils around your
Wrist

Perhaps you weren't awake
During the moonlight hours
Looming reflections of today
Glass to my feet

This is the part
Where I write all the emotions down
And outwardly spew blame
Towards the victim of my insecurities
Whom I see as their
Beginning

I
Me
My
We?

I came home today with
A basket of metaphorical flowers
Chrysanthemums and Roses
All the pretty colors of fake
Yet you saw only the thorns
Of our punctured reality

In bleeding hands is the trust
Heart, soul and mind
As well as
Blood-borne illness

All items are
Brittle, apt to break
Yet I bloodied these fingertips
You did not
Toil

You only whisper to me anymore
Still cannot conceal the scent
Of displeasure
Taste
Of bile

Here are the musings
I have failed to intone even softly
Under my breath
For you fail to listen
While you are
*Awake

You never know
How truly lonely you are
Until nothing's going right
And you have no one to turn to