there once was a beer named Corona
preferred by the youth with ‘persona’
they drank it with pride
but today they would hide
delight  has turned into a moaner

I am the night owl
flapping its wings
stealthily through your dreams
with a soft  feathery touch
    you may remember
       you once imagined
like the figure at the end
    of the corridor
    whose face always remains
    in the shadow

I am the sower of images
   growing from the dark
touching your mind gently
tapping at forbidden doors
   closed to the brighter hours

I am the prowler of twilight thoughts
that lend shapes
     to your hopes
     and fears and desires
living their lives
     in between

I am the night owl
that shudders
    and folds its wings quietly
when the sun rises
    always too soon
patiently waiting again
until the day is done

* *

I wrote on my arms
And thighs
And neck
And stomach
And chest
And legs
Until the whole of me was covered in my feelings.
I could not speak a word
And so I wrote them.

Now I write on paper
Online
On the canvas
On my nails
On the computer
On books
Until the whole of my life is reflecting my feelings.
I cannot speak a word
And so I write them.