There are
lines along the shadows that
trace every wall in my room,
cast from the sunny days we
spent together.

The gleam
lifting off of the paint
hazed our home with
peace, and uncertainty
in that order.

Our hands
grew laced in messy knots
as twisted sunflower stalks.
We basked in the neverending sun
and photo synthesized
love, the
love we shared
and the
love we swallowed.

We devoured rays of light
like emperors of the most
beautiful gardens, until the
masses had no more to give.
And I was made to suffer in
your eternal scorn for not
giving you more,

for

you believed you were the
very hand that fed us. You
told me you
rose in the east,
and set in the west
so we could be amassed in our riches.

I had nothing left to give you because I gave you everything I had and it was not enough.

I just want to be enough to share my days with someone I can feel at home with.

Now, I've found that same
silver-shine light in the eyes of
another who graces the presence
of my hands and fills my heart
with monarchs of old, with tiny
wings fluttering in the gentle
air. And I hope to be enough for
her.

I resent you for the way you used to
shut all of the lights off and leave me
in the empty rooms of your house
while your self centered devotion
ran circles around the driveway
and pushed me further into the street.

I have found someone that I would like to spend my time with. And while I no longer feel anything for you, the damage you have done to me will not fade.

I can apply new coats to make the walls shine less, but just knowing of the old paint is enough to make me sick. I can pull up all of the weeds you left among my flowers, but just knowing of the roots is enough to make it feel meaningless. Even if it's not.

But this home inside of me is still beautiful, and I will do what I can to restore it.

I have always felt a
certain Finite weight in
my core.
As a heavy handed spiritual
divider, breeding distance between
myself and those I encounter.
I am made to feel
like an aftershock of
the light, I am a
product of a human
eclipse. Life passes through
me, and lives pass
through me and past
lives leave nothing but
faint, waning embers of
purpose. This existence of
mine echoes in reminiscence
of carrying out a death
sentence in a mobile
prison cell, atop a
castle of nerves and
awkward movements.
Towards others,
and away from others,
and other
actions to create
something worth noticing.

But like me, these marks of anticipation are whisked away as desert love-notes, lost in storms of sand and ignorance alike.

Yet, there is solace
to be found in the
notion that no man
nor mind can carve
futures in concrete and
brimstone. And I know
this to be true,
because

oh my god, I am trying my hardest to change.

Oh, I feel the shift of elements in my bloodstream.

Oh, I feel the shift of the gravity laced through the tides.

I sense the shift in control over my caster,
my sun,
my source of existence,
my darkness,
my solace.

Eternal imbalance, keep my days golden. But let the nights stay silver, so I may sleep.

You've made tulips grow under my bed
And in my head,
Where monsters used to hide.
You made roses grow in my broken heart
And violets in the bags under my eyes.
My tongue is now a bed of roses
Where your tongue longs to lie.
You've made flowers grow,
My dear,
In the darkest parts of my mind.

they asked
“do you miss him”
and I thought no
i don’t miss him

but i miss the
feel of his skin
on mine and his
hands tracing

each and every inch
of me, burning the
memory of him
into my mind

and the way his
eyes would light up
whenever he saw me
and the way

he’d kiss me to take
away all the pain inside
so when people do
ask me

“do you miss him”
i think about it
and in the end
i know i’ll never

stop  

             missing

                              him.

S.W

Unseasonal* harvest priced too high
Just the right time to tell her a lie
Not one in the market not even a seed
What she wanted I thought for her own need!

But plump and large they were on show
Their vigor luring me calling me their glow
Fresh from the soil glistening green and cute
Jeered me mockingly the unseasonal fruit!

What anguish breeds the unseasonal fruit
Its pompous arrogance uncivilly brute
You dream of its savor yearn for a slice
Wish could bargain its unreachable price!

It argues with you it’s only the poor’s reason
They don’t taste as good as they do in the season
The excuse for not having them when the price is high
Reason enough to move away in failure’s depressed sigh!

It’s not the right time of year in the market is not even a seed
Come season you would have them plentier than your need
I told her to see the radiance come back onto her face
As she found not in my carry bag her requisitioned fruit’s trace!

It’s not for me I want them the birds they love the seed
Oh dear after so many years my need you couldn’t read
Sorry dear* I hold her and as the clouds leave her face

See there the fruit and seed of her love **seasonless!

my father was an electrician
but he never taught me how to remedy
strong jolts of electricity
that leave your limbs quaking,
your lips shaking,
your soul aching.

they say a bolt of lightning
can measure up to three million volts,
but, then again,
your touch holds more power than any storm.