24 | 31 Poems for August

I need a sky to read from and a star to write on.
Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone.
People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone.
Ever since high school, I’ve been lost in the world and I often wonder if I’ll ever make it on my own.
I want to write my poems on the sun so that you can feel the magnitude of my love when it shines.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I want my words to heal the wounds that never heal but always bleed.
My kind of love is kinetic, never stationary.
I’ve been blinded by love but still I remain visionary.
I want a sky to read from and a star to write on.
I want the splendour of God’s grandeur embedded into every one of my lines.
I could write poetry forever with the inspiration that life provides.
Maybe I could write you a haiku or two.
My mind has been thinking about you.
My heart has been asking about the pulchritude that is you.
You are the unforgettable muse.
I still marvel at how God’s love consists entirely of summer, autumn, winter and spring.
It can never escape me even when the seasons change.
Maybe I should write you a love poem or two.
My heart beats only for you.
I wrote my poems on the sun, you’ll eventually feel my love every time it rises.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I need a sky to read from and a star to write on.
Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone.
People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone.

Whenever I have random thoughts
That pop into my head
A little bubble magically appears
Like those in comic strips

Where you can see exactly
What it is that I'm thinking
From the moment of Zen that comes at the end
To the bubbles humble beginnings

As punctuation marks add to my art
If you could call it that
I call it thoughts inside a bubble
Like those in comic stripes

So often it seems
we forget the importance
of wandering;
To be with our thoughts,
If even for awhile,
It eases the burden
of being a conscious individual.

There is an experiencing and remembering self which
the emotional and rational human condition envelope.

Time is born
manifest of change,
In space we're caught
between experiential planes;
Yet thought goes beyond
said mortal chains, to which
linearity need not pertain:
Dare you treat with thy
hollow temporal wrath?
Breathed in to replace that;
The emptiness(-in-itself)
of change as a constant
and earth's cool breath,
Skimming oceans while
belaying their depth.
Thine reflection
gone in search
of humankind,
Tranquil sunbeams
doth remain aligned.

I've come to ask
how subjective is time?
Not the pieces we keep
but the changes we define.
A second is objective, measured,
Yet a moment is held in the mind.
We perceive reality through patterns
which can be expressed mathematically,
Relative to what we conceive, as chances
cohere to determine our chosen state of being;
The question has been: do we actually determine?
Or is it just endless reflection! Can choice shape teleology
and is it more than just mere binary, perhaps a continuum
of infinitely/eternally collapsing wave functions in computation
as the brain strains itself to make sense of this oncoming reality;
Do we lose all semblance of existence when that magnificent ***** is destroyed and at what point does this occur if it gradually degrades? I shall now state that truth, meaning and belief are three sides
of the same coin. You've got three choices
but only two chances,
Not that it matters;
T'was a toss up between genius and madness
but it landed on forlorn and simply rolled away
down an alley into abandon, longing and sadness.

Sometimes I feel so deeply
it burns me like kerosene.

The addiction is in superposition
and I'm ready to go.

Do you feel me?

the truth is no one ever taught me how to fix a flat tire or how to ask for help or what love was even good for in the first place

and the truth is that the cookie was good but the lemon icing wasn't and the truth is baking should be done without any kind of lemon at all

and the truth is i wish you'd hold me close enough that our skin fused together and i could burrow into your spine and learn all the things you won't teach me

and the truth is you were never good at making eye contact but i dare you to look at me long enough that i can trace the line that connects your iris to your pupil and count how many shades of black a person can produce

and the truth is i don't know if the grass has fingerprints but i know that yours are cigarette stained and no better at letting go than mine

and the truth is i am a dump site and you are an inhale and i am clockwork and you are a melody and i can't keep my teeth off your eloquence

and the truth is my feet are covered in acrylic paint from leaving smudged footprints in sparkly things

and the truth is i don't want you all to myself but you can pretend i'm yours when i'm engulfed in the ocean and making it hard for you to breathe

and the truth is i'm looking for a different kind of intimacy from you

and maybe it's just some teenage girl talking but the truth is that i want to drown with you. i want to burn with you. i want to scream with you so violently that the body that crushes my lungs crumbles and i become a balloon for real this time

and the truth is, if you hadn't called me beautiful, i would have mistaken last night for a paradise i don't believe in

Nowadays I know
That I still exist
Even when you don't say goodnight.

Im starting to like
        the weather again
Im starting to feel less pain
                every now and then

Things are
    getting lighter
Places are
    getting wider