May I be the song
To which you drive down the highway
When it's snowing
And dark and cold
And all those wonderful things?
May I be the quiet exhale
When you think back to when
You were a child
And I was your favourite word
Running your mouth around my smile
And grinning like you were all teeth
When you heard my voice in your head?
May I be the old carpet
That makes your toes warm
When you go for a walk
In your living room
And think about those times
Those wonderful times?
But may I please also be
Sleeping beside you
When you go back to bed
After the cup of tea you didn't need
But wanted?
May I be
The form you smile at
When you think
Of nothing at all?
Or is that too much to ask?

What comes down
must first have been up
but we all must start
in the sea.

If a writer falls in love with you
Your pockets will be poor
Should you choose to love too.
If a writer falls in love with you
You'll never get straight answers
To questions that matter.
If a writer falls in love with you
Your tears will be ink
And their ink will be tears,
But you will remember everything.
If a writer falls in love with you
Sometimes you'll hurt
But you'd hurt anyways
Had you loved another.
If you love a writer, it may just be love
(Though that, in itself, entails enough!)
But if a writer falls in love with you
Know you'll live forever
No matter what you do.

Today I got to be a hero.
I stood up to that man on the train
Who yelled "go home, you *******"
To the man without blue eyes.

I stood up, and I said with voice strong,
"You will show a little respect!
We are all different colours here,
And if you think you are any better,
You will step off this train now."

And he shot back insults -
Deflected with ease.
The man straightened up,
The man without blue eyes,
And he said, "Sir, the boy is right,
It's time for you to get off."

The people with me on the train stood now
No longer happily ignorant
And the man stepped off in defeat
As the train doors sighed.

I wish this was the case,
But I sat and closed my eyelids tight.
I am no hero
To the man without blue eyes.

It's like I'm learning
to ride a bicycle.
Slowly, carefully
and I don’t want to
I don’t want to
but I do, I do
I want the wind
and the rush
and the air
and the danger.
A foot forward
and a foot back
and then back again
and stop, again
again again again
faster faster stop
but then another
a foot forward
tentative but certain
a confidence I don’t deserve.
Fall, crash, scrape my hands,
my knees are shouting at me
and tears of hot humiliation
stain my shirt a new colour
but I'm up again,
back again,
up again,
down again,
and up one more time
but then I'm moving
faster faster careful
moving forward
faster faster whoa
finding a balance
faster faster look
staying upright

and oh,

down again.

There is a big blue bicycle
in the shed behind the house,
to which I will return someday.

Two people
were admiring
the sunset together.

"If the sky
were always
this pretty,
we'd have forgotten
to look at it by now,"
one spoke over the breeze.

"I don't think that's true,"
the other replied,
"because I still look at you."

Like superman to your batman
I actually got power
Power with ink,  
Power with flow
Don't even blink
I'll make your mind blow

Like my cape to your batmobile
How does it feel?
Knowing I can fly,  
You just spinning your wheels
Throwing around money
While I'm saving the world

Like my Lois Lane to your Robin
I'll actually get the guy
You sitting there cryin
Cause money don't but happiness
Neither does fame
Just writing what I feel
And you'll never be the same

My Clark Kent to your Bruce Wayne
Might as well just give up
Cause you'll never be me
I'm just made of stronger stuff
Its the end of the line
Especially for you
Maybe it's time
To figure out what else you can do...

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.