I became the sea
Just so you'd come see me
Just to listen to you breath
It must be possible to live
In this place between
Lonliness and joy
Visible and transparent
What can I do with
These waves, tsunamis
Hurricanes on skin
Of bones.

It must be possible
For you to swim with me
Without drowning

don't kid your heart, no
don't you **** your heart beat lover

when you look at me, oh
i run to the sky looking for cover

i saw it in your eyes that once
for months that feeling of ******
i'd eat all your lies for lunch
but now i'm filled with your thunder



and until it is over, it's not over
that's not so hard to grasp
flickering thoughts keep me numb
and i don't know what i become
when i become like that


an ocean running in my veins
all the animals look so sad
gave them all the colours but you
i'm falling in love with my black

even though we'll fall in love again
the same but never have it back

and don't you ever leave my brain
i'll never stop wanting to be mad

Your rules are wallpaper
Over the bars, the cage
Scratch a circle:
Sandpaper on the edges of a page
Your world is full
Of emptiness
Your world is a desert
With cacti blooming
In the meanwhile.

Internal poetry while doing
Yoga.
I don't mean practicing
Yoga. I mean doing it.
Writing, because although
Yoga
Calmed my racing thoughts
And high electromagnetic frequency,
Additional
Judgmental,
Highly observant,
Rather foreign thoughts
Are returning.

The pirates pillaging
Sanity within
Are no match for the
Ancient Indian
And pre-Indian
Yoga and poetry.
In this day and age,
Yoga is heraled
For the stylish, revealing pants
Used for practicing.
As well as the many classes that reek of ego.

Poetry, on the other hand,
Has more or less gone obsolete.
They killed all the poets.

They have become replaced
By social media
Featuring those unsocialized with writing.
Now, when I need to hear the wisdom
Of a guiding angel,
All I hear
Is the pathetic language
Of the less fortunate in poetic freethought.
These discombobulated ghosts
Haunt me
When I hear far too many
Voices
And need stillness to compensate my illness.

These voices of the day, I fear,
Manipulate me in most unpleasant ways.
And being thinker, as I am,
Drawing conclusion and meaning
From everything I can,
A blessing and a curse --
Which, then again, are blessings nonetheless --
I cannot help but wonder
If this is part of a plan.

Orwell wrote of so not fifty years ago.
The language now constantly spoken,
As well as read,
As well as written,
Dumbing us down.
Losing touch with words of wisdom
In most trying of times.
This is what happens when

You **** off
All the poets.

If the Sun is a pupil
The Moon an eye too
and they are both fish
Swimming from me to you...

If the love that I have is a
Magnetic pull
and the friction that you feel
Is part of it all ....

Then why do we fight baby,
when we can love
Try not to hate me
I'll try not to shove.

I'll try not to scratch you
When your scared I'll eat you alive.
Your terrified of me
even though your twice my size...

So does that make me the Moon
The mother
Off all
and you are the SUN
I am at your beck and call.

God I love you, God I see you....

I see God in your face my beautiful man.

I fell in love with the colors first
A contrast green, gold
Blue
Underneath.
Then the words
So many and so few
Sighs and currents
Cold shivering view
Distance and near
Not having enough eye
To see all
That once was here.