i’ve run out of words to say,
you know,
i am wrung dry of poetry,
heart just a little too buried.
see, instead, everything is just

heavy, heavy, heavy.

all closed-up throat and dragging feet and burning eyes.
building under collapse,
empty tank of gas,
edges too rusted for use.

and still—
still. the heart shakes.
beats wildly.
(like hummingbird wings)
the eyes gone empty,
but stay open. awake.
(owls in the night)

look. await me.
i can stay alive for another morning.

All the silence does not mean
You are alone,
It is the world waiting for you
To listen;
And in the darkness you are
Found by the light
Of your hope.

And in the tears of your
Pain you are born,
There you become stronger
And it creates order.

Pick up your flesh as your spirit
Lifts,
And speak your happiness
As if the tip of your tongue
Was the mountain's peak
Speaking at the sky,
The burden is a caged bird
And only the conscious can set
It free.
And sing to yourself so that
You know you are never alone
In your body.

Know that your crazy is beautiful
Because it makes you YOU,
Wear your skin like
Your cozy blanket and cuddle
In the warmth of yourself.
     You are not broken,
But scattered like the night
With pieces like stars shining,
    Open your pain and yourself
To the wound of the world and heal
Whatever you choose.

There is a water bottle
on the side of route 3.
It's blue and it's plastic
and it's ***** and old.

Reusable, but unused.

Just a piece of garbage
lying on the side of the road.

I look at that water bottle every day.

I take comfort in knowing it's there.
Through every season of
the last year and a half it
has remained in the same spot.

Sun beating down on it,
leaves gathered around,
covered in snow,
it stays where it began.

Whatever music I'm listening to,
whatever emotions I'm feeling,
through elation from a grade
or depression from a breakup,
the water bottle is there.

What a concept,
what a constant,
what a weird thing to notice
on the side of the road.

But there it is every day,
a ***** blue water bottle,
unmoving,
and unimposing,
but such a big part
of my daily routine.

If freedom means
To not need
To ask for permission

Why does it cost
So much
And many a pretty penny

Life like re-enacting
Civil wars and holocausts
Conditioned for submission

The battles with ourselves
Already lost
All ready at a loss

So many without
Such pretty pennies
To show for

Only the cross,
Only the burdens
And the shameful guilt

Unworthy and unfit
Already at a loss
Born to silt and subdegation

I try to avoid confrontation
Nothing said in conversations
When all we do is cuss...

And still we are proud
To have the freedom of speak and say
How the prey will pray

(For you)

These times we consume
In a spherical cage
Of our own doom...

For a moment,
We were both here.

Some part of me knew when you arrived.
The sun burned a little hotter, the moon lingered a little closer;
Flowers seemed to point in your direction.
I could feel the wind change its course whenever you laughed.
But while you swam through clouds and crowds
I could only watch from afar as I had to push past the forces
That pulled every part of me to where you were.
But you were here. And that was enough for me.

How funny that the streets I can trace like veins in my body,
Were so new to you, strangers to your eyes.
But for that single, fleeting moment,
You walked through them, not minding the newness of scenery,
Leaving your trace with every sneakered footstep.
I hope the city held you like I would.

My language must have tasted different on your tongue.
The words were as foreign in your eyes as yours were in mine.
For the first time, I could see your fingertips piercing through the barrier,
And God knows how close I was to connecting mine with yours.

Our stories were finally synced,
Finally on the same page.
I didn't mind that I was one word in your book
And you were a whole chapter in mine,
I was just fine with being any part of your story;
Even just for a moment, even if I wouldn't be a part of it again.

Now you are there.
And I am still here.
But I look for you in every thing I see,
Wondering if you saw the same.

And then, you are here again.
But just for a moment.

Yes I am sick.
It comes from the night.
The pain comes from the drowsiness of nothing's alright.
I'd wish for quick release, I'm dying so slow.
Unless you are next to me, my face you don't know.
It wears a mask of the tired, an expression of cold.
A face saying, "yes, this is my emotional low".
Here my will does not break and my will does not fold,
and all I ask is that I die now if I die alone.
The beauty of the world is hidden in darkness and shallow.
The streets are lit with the windows with doings so foul.
Yes this is the poor, and here lives the shallows.
Who's responsible for this madness, shall they go to the gallows?
There's still so much to do, and so much to be done.
All under the span of the lights before the sun.
The stars are so quiet, they must be too shy.
Or maybe, just like me, they're waiting to die.

stars are scattered on the sky
reminiscing as the time goes by
i smile to myself as i realize
i've been strong after my sacrifice