The chill of an autumn morning
A rising steam as the fallen leaves exhale
The lonesome trees have given up their glory
A carpet of red, yellow, orange, and brown

An overcast sky with no definition
Is but a blur
Movement indiscernible
There is wisdom in the sky, revealed to a few

The smoke of the day’s first fire ascends
Wafting its familiar fall fragrances
Brings warmth and comfort to the soul
And campsite memories of long ago

We pass the bleak and barren cornfield
Stippled with autumn’s harbingers
The Raven
They stare with the blackest of black eyes

If the kiss lasted through all eternity
I would become the ocean of your breaths.

Sometimes I wish I was blind.
No, don't get me wrong.
I'm grateful that I can see flowers and sunsets but,

It's that many times what my eyes see is distorted.

It's that I find myself making judgements about people based on what they wear, what their race is, where they come from, and caving in to stereotypes set in my mind instead of thinking about who they are as a person.

It's that I use words like ugly or fat to describe people as if looks alone defined them and as if I had the power to define beauty.

It's that I start comparing myself to others instead of being thankful for what I have and who I am.

It's that I start checking out guys
And seeing what's on the outside instead of wondering about what lies inside .

It's that I start selecting people to be friends with based on their appearance instead of wondering who they are as a human being.

It's that my eyes hinder me from focusing on what's truly important.

And perhaps if I was blind my soul would better understand that there is more than meets the eye.
That what makes certain humans great is how passionate they are when they talk about what they love.
How caring they can be in time of need.
How their personality can far outshine looks.
How even if physically a person may be falling apart on the inside they have the greatest heart.

Perhaps if I was blind,
Maybe then would I truly see.

My monsters crushed me
with their unsuspecting weight
hidden deep within the sadness
of my ever changing eyes
I wouldn’t expect most to understand
this constant, pressing heat
that has the power to take away
the beauty of a morning sunrise
But to be alone was what i knew
with secrets i was dying to say
with my burning heart desperate
for you to knee **** me back
to clear skies and brighter mornings
where i'll sing softly to myself
not wanting to speak my thoughts
to another soul, but you.
This perception might be distorted
by feelings and ‘the word’
that has not yet crossed our lips
as if its some sacred creed.
But i am a desperate writer
as many of us are, just
trying to convey thoughts
of a particularly long night,
where all i really want,
is to be next to you.

"I'm loving you",
she said.
not "I love you",
which is what most people say,
which is what I would have said --
"I'm loving you."
because it was an ongoing action,
not just a passive state,
because she was loving me
while I was reading, or cooking.
it wasn't something like
"how do you feel?" "I feel good."
"what do you love?" "you, dear."
-- no.
no, loving is a verb, an act,
one that takes patience and time
and perseverance.
"I'm loving you", she said,
and her tone was casual or
almost indifferent, maybe,
as if she had said "I'm cleaning
the house", as if it should follow
"what are you doing today?",
she said the words as if they were
positively ordinary, but they weren't.
people tend to ask
"do you smoke?" or "do you drink?"
or "what do you believe in?"
-- habitually, passively --
and she said
"I'm loving
(and loving and loving)
you."

I often feel alone
even though I 'm reminded
that I have family
that loves me

but sometimes

Family is just a mirror that
chooses to reflect every bad decision
you've ever made in your life
while hiding behind the glass

Sometimes, conversations are held
on one way streets, where sin only comes
in black and white, and the ones that love you
hold gavels between clenched fists

Sometimes, love looks like scorn
and hugs feel a lot like straight jackets that
leave bruises in the shape of hearts
and I-told-you-sos

So I'm alone, and a sinner
*tell me something I didn't already know.

The London buses rush past in scarlet bustle
I lay here watching them crash into the air.
Noises from all corners attack and gnaw the calm
And I simply listen as silence struggles to be heard.
Sirenes, shouts, calls and construction
Drill and hammer any natural remnant
But I do nothing to stop this urban colonization
I lie and look as the world rushes past.

It screams, it laughs, it invites, it betrays.
At once my nasty friend and loyal enemy,
I smile through the window at its bleak legacy
And simply observe the animal that is the City.