In the black spheres of another’s cavernous
eyes I lost myself amidst the seep of my own
light patterned into strange foreign orbs

drinking heavily of I
am borne on the winds of imagined hands
sculpting me awake. where I can dream-in
the voids between lust, where the nothing
seems happy, the night is my friend

in the convex meniscus of another’s iris
perhaps I can dream of rebirth in the titrating
wound in the womb of lust

makes my eyes search the ether. In the
womb of my lust there is wind in my wings.
In the womb of my lust there is more

to be found. to be woken into equilibrium
perhaps I must abandon the forked tongue
of independence, so that fanged loneliness

can die of happiness. the snake becomes
a docile bird when fed. the castle of self
becomes a womb in the kingdom
of entwined, sleeping hands. we are born

many.

Crushed flowers are beautiful,
dried, pressed
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round

but for now i remain a daisy
nothing special
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.

Some of these days
children will stop eating your dreams
and the eternal void of thinking silently,
the eternal darkness of your internal voice
will forever be
just noise
and
that pain,
that tedious light
at the end of the trail
won't drag you
away
no more.

you gave me peonies
freshly picked from the curb at the bus stop
the very first time we talked and you asked if we could be friends
and i was smiling the whole time, said "sure"

we met up in the middle of the night when i couldn't sleep,
we texted each other two hours prior
you gave me daisies from the beds planted on somebody's front lawn (which i later found out was your home);

now i admit they're my favorite from all the flower you've ever given me
even though i always teased you when you did (but of course they're all deeply appreciated)

when you confessed the feelings you've manifested for me,
and asked if i see 'us' going anywhere
i smiled and whispered in your ear "we can go anywhere we want to"

and since then you sent me more,
days with no occasion turned significant
dahlias, morning glories, jasmines, hyacinths (sometimes id surprise you as well)
lilies, chrysanthemums, tulips;

i kept them all and i reminisce all the jokes we made
about starting a business from our garden

we were lying upon rows and rows of daffodil in the middle of a starry night
hands intertwined,hearts inclined
amidst the thorns and the wilted flowers you said,
i made flowers bloom in your lungs and you picked and gave them to me; you said you wanted to spread the effervescence tickling your senses from the field in your mind everytime you thought of me (let the petals be the symbol of our love, you said)

you were my flowerboy

and now,
my soil coated nail beds bury these seedlings surrounding your grave
i threw all the flowers you gave me
dandelions, gerberas, roses, marigolds,gardenias ,baby's breaths,magnolias;
now they sleep in the ground in your eternal slumber

love im sorry
that all the flowers i planted in your lungs wilted,
the cause of your annihilation
sorry i couldn't keep them alive
sorry i couldn't keep you alive

but i know,
you'll watch over our sunflowers
and one day,
we'll be reunited and we'll be frolicking in a field of yellow

They keep calling me an underachiever.
I don’t understand is this all a contest. What is there to achieve?

There is no hope for you
Young boy young girl
You drive too fast up north
little boy little girl
You are running from mediocrity
little girl small girl
You  fill your lungs and heart with poison
little man little woman
I refuse to watch the streets take you
darling girl
sweet girl
Be beautiful forever
There is hope for you
my girl my woman
Drag yourself from your demons
my boy my man
dance
dance
dance
with the world my girl
Don’t turn blue on me ever again
dancing girl dancing girl
See the world through the songs of redemption
and recovery,
Sweet
Little
Beautiful
Dancing girl
Go
Be still
Be free

Never lie to the same poem twice
save it for the next one
or better yet don't tell it at all
for a lie no matter how beautiful
it may sound
or sweet it may taste
rolling off the tongue
will always leave behind
a sour smell
to linger in the mouth
of the past and present
and more often than not
carry knives into the future

Never kiss a new lover
with an old prayer on your lips
it will not bloom
to love or lust
only heartache and embarrassment
be alone and lonely and miserable
until there is no stain or trace
of old fire burning
or cinders glowing
or ashes still smoldering
forming the face and the name
that no longer cares
for your prayers

Never tell the truth to a kiss
that whispers only lies
when speaking of love
and dances with serpents
that tend to planting seeds
of venom and lust
in the skin
and the core of pleasure
that will only wither
and rot on the vine

be patient with yourself
be kind to yourself
time and life will pass
and pass too quickly
and pass too slowly

wait and listen

you will find
what you need
as it finds you...

unexpectedly

and then you can
kiss the love
that whispers in dreams
while only speaking the truth

I take a walk into the parkour graveyard,
looking for Polish dealers and cellphone halos.
I heard Thoth resides in sobriety,
but words fail me
whenever you are near.

I let my tongue run in endless stutters,
disguising 'I love you' as some off-hand request.
I could take you to dinner,
I could show you a longing
without the need for ***.

This late-night food has lost its flavour.
This ******* never picked up.
All that is left is to dial these numbers,
and wait by the window
for any car but yours.

Let's take a walk to the railway bridge.
We'll smoke a joint by the open forest.
You'll push your breath into mine,
make me high,
and forget why I ever
felt so low.