I want to write a poem on the inside of an eggshell.

A poem that will carry life in its yolk, with white or brown skin.

Honestly, I want to write a woman into words.

She would have fireflies in jars for eyes.

And a life that stages a mutiny against the world.

Her smile would be a flower that blossoms all year round, with roots that stretch into her soul. It would hold lungs for ransom and steal breaths right under noses.

Her pride will hang low with the earthworms and field mice.

She would have a cheeseburger smile and french fries hair.

She would have milkshake skin and her body will feed starving eyes.

She would hold stardust in her breath and kissing her will be a wish come true.

She would be imperfect pen strokes trying to explain something the mind doesn’t fully understand.

She would be mother and wife and daughter and sister.

You have these helium balloon pair of arms, that always tend to lift me up when I fall.

You raised me as part slingshot and part boomerang and no matter how far I go in life I’ll still return home.

You've taught me that we are all keys, and if I don't fit in then I wasn't made for what’s behind that door.

Sometimes, I spend too long at some doors. And I break my edges trying to fit in, till I can never open the doors for which I was made anymore.

Some days, your lessons are like the edges of a jigsaw puzzle, they’re the starting points to fix me when I’m a mess.

Your smile reminds the super glued, ice sculpture in my chest what it feels like to be warm.

I come from a long line of glass spines and barbwire teeth and my back was as bad as my bite. But you've taught me to carry the world on my shoulders and kiss Mary Jane on the cheeks.

I see the Irony of the cobwebs on your letters.

It’s not so funny when it’s on your head stone.

1) I wish people called me Mike Hart, I think it’s a really cool name. I wish I were a year younger and a foot taller. I wish I spoke less and listened more.

2) I’m a love child between science and art but I was raised under the rain in a house made of silver linings. Behind a red door, with gold hearted kids peeking through windows at a world full of endless possibilities.

3) I don’t share a lot about myself. I have dreams my pillows don’t know about and skeletons my closet hasn’t seen. I tend to hide things in the space between the ink and the page where no one can find them.

4) I don’t connect with a lot of girls, but when I do, I tie my shoelaces to their heart strings to stop myself from falling for anyone else. All I have left are scars on my chest from all the times cupid has missed and a few ****** shoelaces.

5) I have a photographic memory but the pictures tend to come out more picasso than canon. I tend to overcomplicate things, I describe hair as the perfect shade of sunset or the sun as that perfect shade of blonde. And I’m called a poet for this.

6) I’m familiar with broken promises and broken people, sometimes I’m doing the breaking. It took me a while to realise that being a man wasn’t about how strong you were to break things but how strong you were to fix them.

7) I love Ice cream in winter, it makes my body shake and reminds me I’m a bit like an earthquake. My laugh has always been a bit too loud but I always believed my life will grow into it.

8) I have holes in my sleeves from where my heart used to be. I locked it up in my rib cage and swallowed the skeleton key. I guess I took it too literal when they said the way to a mans heart is through his stomach.

9) Honestly, I don’t know a lot about myself, but I do know that sometimes my mind is like a paper mâché prison and it’s hard to control the thoughts that get out. Most days I try to keep my lips zipped shut but my eyes are like a see through body bag. On other days music tends to be good enough superglue for broken masks.

10) Hi, I’m Dagogo Hart and I’m Human.

If I could I would write letters to the wind and ask for lessons on how to blow you away

If I could I would take a star out of the sky and put it in a ring and ask you to be it’s replacement in my life

If I could I would keep you between my second and my fourth rib, so they will tell you they’ve missed you.

The first time I saw you, I smiled with my mouth open to let go of the crickets I buried in my voice box so I could say hello

How else can I explain to you that our stories are God written guitar solos to the keys of our DNA, and I’m more electric and you’re more acoustic.

On some days you look like there are lingering pieces of a boombox etched in the framework of your spine. In simple terms your body speaks volumes.

On other days you feel like there are too many fault lines on the rail track of your spine

Those are the days I want to tell you I’m a pretty good conductor

Your voice sounds like an unfinished love song stuck in the throat of an ’80s jazz musician and I’m more of a hip-hop kind of guy, but I would make kissing you the perfect symphony.

I’m more like the odd boulder on a sandy beach and you're the entire ocean but I've drawn coastlines on the chambers of my heart

With you I could build sand castles in hourglasses, cos I wouldn’t feel time pass.

If I could I would write this poem on the wings of a butterfly and say to you “Here I think this belongs to you, I found it in my belly”

Today is one of those days

When my voice sounds like skeletons scratching behind closet doors

When pages are feathers I glue to paper airplane pens in my attempt to get high.

Today is one of those days

When ears are more valuable than hearts

and the pen and paper seem to be the only ones here

so I ignore the paper cuts on my heart and use my fingers as antennas and channel my emotions into letters

Today is one of days

that my thoughts are in a language I don’t speak

and I’m stuck in the middle of two loose ends and it seems hard to make them meet

so I just pretend to have it together

Today is one of those days

When I fear there is no bullet in the shotgun I’ve been holding to the head of death and he will soon call me on my BS

Today is one of those days

when I realize I'm probably not one of the 7000 people that will be one in a million

Today is one of those days I spend mostly dreaming of tomorrow.

It’s a constant battle between gold and stone in my chest.

One likes to hold a sword to the dark with the whole city at his back.

The other makes warning bells of paper mâché .

Where I come from we’re mostly dare devils.

We cook food on open flames next to a gas tank and race on bridges with no rails. Only one of those is real.

My mind sometimes seems like a doll house made of old computer processors. Attempt 79.

Most days I try to keep my lips zipped shut but my eyes are like a see through body bag.

On other days music tends to be good enough superglue for broken masks.

I remember the first time time froze and my heart tried to handwrite on the ice.

I tried to draw her attention with the broken lead pencils I have for lips but I’ve never been a fine artist.

We haven’t spoken in a while, I guess making new friends is easy but keeping old ones is hard. 
There’s overgrowth on the road less travelled and it’s hard to find.

And when I feel down for following the crowd, I use poetry as a pendulum to help my mood swing.

I prefer to wear my heart on my collar just so you see it skip a beat each time you peck my cheeks

I wish I could connect my veins to your brain and my arteries to your fingertips so we know what we feel for each other

Sometimes it seems like we’re still trapped in an hour glass, must have been the closest thing we did to spending eternity together.

You let me cover every inch of you with finger paintings, just to show me it can be fun watching paint dry.

I like that you’re sweet in a weird kind of way, like ice cream in winter.

Sometimes I etch your name on the branches of winter trees, hoping I would hear it in the wind from summers leaves.

I like the way your hair sleeps on your shoulders, like your ears have been reciting bed time stories.

We’re like shoe laces in key holes, odd but a perfect fit.

Now and again I try to steal a little bit of cloud, I know how you get each time I get to nine.

But for now all I can do is jumble alphabets till I find a combination worthy of you.