I never liked poetry
until I wrote it.

I couldn't understand
why stanza's split up
into three or four or 12
lines.

Why a poet
writes rhymes of sadness as if
it's a better way to show it

I hated that everyone
thought they had the answers
to leading a better life
because they were the ones
who took the road
not taken.

But then, one day
I pressed a
pen to paper

And the words that
were once kept inside
flowed out like those rivers
that the poets kept talking about.

And the stanzas
separated themselves
into groups at parties
that all mingled together

while also standing alone.

My words became physical,
The tears I couldn't press
out of my eyes
were pressed on paper.

And the poem became
a song
and the song became
a new life form

And everyday I look
at what I have created
and

Smile.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If this be error and upon me proved,
    I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pause,
Their shoulders high like the
******* of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.

One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.

Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.

Maybe.

I had a dream
Of someone telling me of his dreams.
Of how hundred doors exist,
Of thin white paper sheets.
Of how those knobs shine,
Of glittering gold blitz.
Of why he should choose one,
Of how the other doors would be gone.

I had a dream
Of someone telling me of his dreams.
Of how he chose a door
That never exist.

And when you serve,
Start with the feet

And when you serve,
Get down low
With a towel and a water bowl

And when you serve,
Find your honour not over
But under
Not higher
But lower
Not first
But last.

So when you serve,
Don't wait your turn
But push your way
Right to the back.
Where you'll find
Nothing to prove
Nothing to hide
And nothing to loose
But your pride.

Yes, you heard,
When you serve
Observe His example:
Undo a sandal
And start - with - the - feet.

She's a stone. .
No, her heart is a  b o u l d e r . .
Can't be moved in force.
You need to break her into pieces first!

She's a flower ***. .
No, her mind is a towering  t r e e . .
Bear that she don't mind losing some leaves,
Rotten ones, go and fall to the seas!

She's a half moon.
No, her smiles are  e c l i p s e .
A sight to behold, but there's darkness
Once seen, could send death w/o peace!

She's a *** of liquid gold.
No, her eyes are  a s t e r o i d s. .
Falling endlessly,
Like gravity possessed space.

She's a sparkling gem.
No, her eyes are polished  d a g g e r s !
Without words she can ****,
That's how she seeks peace. .

In her, there's an  A t o m  o f   E v i l .
But a  U n i v e r s e  o f   L i g h t.
There's a blackhole of dust,
But colonies of stars. .

E v i l ,   y e t   l i g h t .
She lives, but never forgets.
A threshold too high, once full
Go hide under your blanket of scars!
Don't take a step, coz
It could be your last breath.