Tears and mascara make watercolors,
A charcoal coloured liquid maneuvering across my skin...
Illuminating all the cracked lines,
Seeping into my pores, into my being...
Blackening the rough edges within.
Its raining while the birds are still singing.
It always feels like November
In the Land of the dead and dreaming...
I am stuck on repeat.
This nightmare keeps on depleting my hope.
My heart is utterly broken.
Every word left unspoken becomes a poisoned arrow...
A dagger in my throat.
I'm sorry for being me.
I'd take it all back if I could.

She was like a ray of light
dancing among the shadows:
Elusive, bright, and hot to the touch;
Intangible, fluid, and uncapturable.
Meant to be a source of hope,
A flickering of inspiration;
A contrast to the darkness and
A shock to the system;
A beam of truth,
Sent to penetrate the leaded glass
Of the Windows,
Those heavy, distorted pains of life;
She gives light to the house,
Yet reveals those layers of dirt
Which Time and Space and Earth
Saw fit to meter out,
Here, upon the sill.
Please.
Please.
Love her still.

If I let you into the secret garden of my heart,
I only ask that you tread lightly;
Be gentle and be respectful of what you find there.
Please don't leave behind any of your garbage....
Perhaps you could even try and pull out a few of those weeds of sorrow?
Whatever may happen,
Please leave things just a bit more beautiful
Than they were when you first arrived.

I watch the blade pierce my skin, yet I feel nothing

Pearls of blood gather in the seams of the wound

An errant thumb smears across the coppery beads of life

Staining the subtle, spidered paths of my palms

I lack the courage to push deeper

I try not to curse the steel as I feel my hand shaking

A crooked "T" forms out of the scar tissue

An odd accompaniment to the fading india ink smiley face I so proudly engraved at 12

The angry pink flesh of my grief cries out for recognition

With a pasty blue grin, the naivety of my youth only mocks this unspeakable pain

Tears fall quietly down my face as I prepare for another wave of pretending...

Another wave of forgetting
   Of regretting...
      Of blood letting.

I thought that perhaps he was an angel,
It seemed like he could read my thoughts...
I know now, that he was just a weary traveller,
An imposter among us,
Pretending that the curve of his back
was where he had once carried wings...
I see now that it is merely bent
from the weight of his conscience,
The weight of his burdens,
The weight of his own convictions...
If he had truly heard my thoughts
He never would have left me like this.
Cold and broken and alone...
My own back bends
with the weight of realization...
Yes. You can love someone with
your whole heart...
And yet they never hear a peep,
even when you're crying out their name
into the night, into the darkness...
And all that returns
Is the soft echo of your own whimpering...
But at least it has strengthened my spine,
And I am ready now
to reclaim my own wings...
I will always keep a soft place
in my heart, for only him...
I pray that he feels my gentle kiss
on his brow, some lonely night
when I am brave enough to take flight,
enter his dreams, and face the pain
he carried all these years in vain.
For now, I leave it in the hands of
fate. The Sun Dance continues...
As I prepare to fly.

Through having nothing,
I stand to gain
Everything.
Which I intend
to be
an awareness
and a
mastery of
My Own Soul.
This requires a level of
honesty
That I have been,
thus far,
unable to share
with my own ego.
So there will be a shedding
of skins...
But if I am Only
moved
by and through
my heart,
Then what is supposed to
remain will remain.
What is supposed to occur
will occur.
And what is supposed to
ebb will ebb.

So...

There were a lot of really articulate things that I wanted to say to you.

I was REALLY gonna let you HAVE it.
But then...

I could no longer hold onto the words;

The underlying sensations of
Loneliness and Sorrow that
Permeated my entire being.
I think I cried...

I KNOW I drank.

Someone else came along...
Said they loved me...

I was flattered,
And I wanted to believe them...
So I did.
No matter the cost.

I was broken.

I still am.

My shoes are scraped and scuffed,
But I'm still walking.
My voice is pained and gruff,
Yet I'm still talking.
My fear appears so tough,
But I'm not balking.
My love had never seemed enough,
So this is shocking.
I feel so blessed.
Each wound a test.
Please hear me knocking.

My emotions stretch and unfurl
like tendrils drawing toward the Sun.
Rainbow twisting wires,
Ethereal antennas communing
with the subtle frequencies Life.
The undetectable choir of light waves
only measurable by science.
The "new-age" sorcery of man,
where cloaks and herbs
and timeless intuitions
are replaced by lab coats,
chemicals and categorical limitation.
If we can only quiet the errant mind chatter
we too will have the ears to hear.
There is a silent symphony of soul songs;
Rythyms, harmonies...  These pulses ARE
the very lifeblood of our existence.
The unfathomable Angelic speech of the Heavens.
Long dead tongues of an Ancient world.
The breathe of Love,
sweetly whispered on a summer breeze...
Who's only hope lies in the liberation of her message;
Like a butterfly's kiss upon a daisy
growing wild amongst the grasses
of our scorched and broken Earth.

Most of our lives are spent in mourning for what HASN'T happened, when we felt it should have.
To experience physical, emotional and mental suffering over losses that never existed in the first place, is like being angry and bitter about the sky being blue when our color of preference is actually Olive green...
Just because we may have spent a lot of time wishing and fantasizing about how our lives would have been different if it were.
Well, it isn't.
So to be affected by WHAT ISN'T  is insane.
There is only what IS. Anything outside of what IS is false, and requires absolutely no consideration and has no true power over our lives.
To indulge in that kind of erroneous thinking only perpetuates our ignorance and distracts us from our true purpose.
We create our own suffering.
We are each the artichects of our own temple.
Truth is truth.
It can't be denied.
If it isn't true then it is false. If it is false then it is illusionary.
If it is an illusion then it can do us no harm.
Only our own misconceptions can harm us.
Only if we let them.
Truth shall set us free.
Only if we let it.

The words that go unspoken actually make the most noise.

I’ve been searching for my salvation
In the bottom of a wine stained glass.
The pungent aroma of cheap merlot
Burrowing deep into my senses,
A sickly reminder of all the bitter tasting
memories
that I have yet to drown...
I sought my redemption from a walking corpse,
with a face like a rotted pumpkin,
sunken and scarred,
peddling his tiny bags of crystalline poison,
I carefully dropped the glittering shards of self hatred in the pipe
and watch with a desperate enthusiasm,
as the toxic pool bubbles
the glass blackening with the heat of the flame,
I greedily forced the murderous ribbons of smoke
deep down into my aching lungs...
As the chemicals saturate my bloodstream,
I embraced the familiar insanity...
Consumed by the depths
of such of falsely intense feelings....
The inspiration, wonder,
The exaggerated awareness....
As the roller coaster begins to crest the first incline,
I captured one fleeting moment of self acceptance....
But like any mind numbing and glorious high,
a soul numbing and inglorious low is certain to swiftly follow.
That’s when the sun decides to die,
and there is only one continuous night.
As cold and black and breathless as the farthest reach of space.
There, in my own personal darkness, I float about so lifelessly.
The sounds of forgotten laughter and the cry of my own soul
become a haunting chorus,
serenading me into my loneliest hour.
I mourn for the wasted time that I must surrender
to the unforgiving and bottomless well of earth’s collective past.
Every harsh word,
or loving word left unexpressed,
becomes a suture in the tender flesh of my heart.
Both  grief and guilt react like acid doused upon my self esteem,
convincing me of my worthlessness
and destroying the delicate flesh of my being.
I feel as if nobody truly knows me, understands me,
Or even cares.
I have only my addictions to comfort me, as they slowly eat my soul.
I yearn to fade away like the burning colors of a sunset,
Each brilliant shade growing darker and darker,
Then turning completely black, as we melt into the skyline
and become eternal and inseparable among the distant sea of stars.
My spring of hope finally dried out in the heat of my scathing emotional trials  
I am empty, lost, and spent.
Only God can renew me now.
I cry out to Him, I scream in anguish from the mountain top,
but my meager voice is but a pebble
cast into the mighty sea...
Swallowed up and carried away by the waves of raging wind.
I plead with Him in the night,
beneath a tear soaked bed sheet,
but the soft murmur of my own weeping is my only reply.
So I sing to Him,
and praise Him with the church’s congregation,
and He answers...
In the kindness of their voices,
the compassion in their eyes,
In the presence of their thankfulness and their honor for Him,
In the company of their steadfast faith in his power and righteousness
I am washed in his gentle, calming spirit.
Here, in the loving arms of his dedicated followers,
I am shone the true miracle of Jesus’ death,
The true gift of his life and his teachings:
The ability to live an honorable and harmonious life
full of joy and contentment.
The possibility of a man,
NO MATTER how ignorant or rebellious,
To completely tear down the old self,
To foster the rebirth
Of a new and more perfect self...
Through the awareness
of the unseen cord
that binds every human heart to another...
By respecting that we all have a predisposition for fear,
jealousy, anger, and pain,
and by knowing that we also have
an even greater capacity for love
and lasting achievement
Then we could have ever imagined...
And we must cultivate in this in ourselves
As well as our fellow man.
We truly ARE out brothers keeper.
And WE are our own condemnation,
Our OWN salvation...
The decision is ours to make.
Choose wisely...

The boatman glides over dark waters,
Calloused hands hold heavy oars.
City lights twinkle like fire flies,
On murky currents forged by undertows.
His face well carved by years of hardship,
A backbone bent by deep regret,
He's marking tickets off for the passengers,
Most still unawares
His name be Death.

I don't require complete perfection,
Authenticity would suffice...
The two swords of mind
Are constantly dueling
Within the hearts of men.
Accept what is,
Tame the ravenous inner beasts,
Forgive your brother
For his fallible, carnal nature.
Also forgive yourself.
No man alive escapes desire,
Jealousy, anger, greed.
We all have known pain,
Mourning and loss;
To understand this with compassion
Becomes the test,
To embrace ourselves with lovingkindness
Is the goal.
This accomplishment supersedes merely abstaining,
Transcends our transgressions,
Licks the wounds of fate,
Heals the darkness.
Enter the perilous eye of
the storm ahead,
Unshakeable in faith.
Brimming with confidence and joy,
Humble and grateful.
Stand, immovable, in your divinity,
Protected and guided
By the highest order of knowledge.
Take every step.
Grow, love, learn, teach, trust,
Yet remain unafraid.
Fortitude and courage will reveal
The true Warriors.

The sleepy, starry eyed sky of night
Retires in an odd violet surrender,
Making way for a swiftly emerging dawn
As the viscous black blues of Midnight's celestial shore is waning,
They ebb into waves of apricot, magenta and tangerine hues
A solitary meadowlark perched about the ash grove sits quietly
Watching the remaining vestibules of fog drifting upwards, only to burn away in the heat of the sun
A cool wind blows in from the mountainside, whistling through leaves and rustling tail feathers
The scent of the far off sea tickles the old birds nostrils, holding the promise of silver backed sardine and beach scattered ***** legs
He feels the call of the spirit beneath him, arching his wings he leans into the breeze
A cerulean blue, cloudless skyline illuminates the eyes as he soars amongst evergreen hilltops and pine ladened mountains
His flight pattern as seamless as the air on which he moves,
His mind and body becoming one with the soundless synergy of the skies and the senses,
Bones among feathers,
First was winds, now is breathing.
He is the eternal
Infinite bliss indefinable
Ancient and etheric, a consciousness made complete

Some day, if you are lucky,
you’ll return from a thunderous journey
trailing snake scales, wing fragments
and the musk of Earth and moon.

Eyes will examine you for signs
of damage, or change
and you, too, will wonder
if your skin shows traces

of fur, or leaves,
if thrushes have built a nest
of your hair, if Andromeda
burns from your eyes.

Do not be surprised by prickly questions
from those who barely inhabit
their own fleeting lives, who barely taste
their own possibility, who barely dream.

If your hands are empty, treasureless,
if your toes have not grown claws,
if your obedient voice has not
become a wild cry, a howl,

you will reassure them. We warned you,
they might declare, there is nothing else,
no point, no meaning, no mystery at all,
just this frantic waiting to die.

And yet, they tremble, mute,
afraid you’ve returned without sweet
elixir for unspeakable thirst, without
a fluent dance or holy language

to teach them, without a compass
bearing to a forgotten border where
no one crosses without weeping
for the terrible beauty of galaxies

and granite and bone. They tremble,
hoping your lips hold a secret,
that the song your body now sings
will redeem them, yet they fear

your secret is dangerous, shattering,
and once it flies from your astonished
mouth, they-like you-must disintegrate
before unfolding tremulous wings.

A piece of the sky fell
And I was just lucky
enough
To catch it in my hands.
If only for a moment...
A moment that I will cherish,
Forever,
Six months of your love
I shall guard as close as treasure.
There is no measure
For just how deeply,
Or how completely,
You.
Are.
Missed.
A piece of the sky fell.
And the rain came.
And our tears fell.
And the blame came.
And our hearts fell.
And the world became
Coloured by pain.
A piece of the sky fell
And I was
just lucky enough
To hold it in my arms...
... I named him Tyson.

She is a starry eyed, moonstruck wonder,
Heart full of hope, pocket full of thunder,
She bows her head, still blushing red,
Lies trembling upon his altar.
She's a faery sparkled, sunshine lover,
Who sought these dragon's wings for cover,
A barefoot lass, hair all a mess,
Though halo bent, still shines above her.
Her body sings like ancient winds,
Thus when she dreams, sees unseen things,
Goes surfing waves of earthly pains,
Her soul, an open harbour.
Though scarred and stained, her strength she's gained,
So takes the vow: Love shall remain;
'Tis why her Angels guard her.

Though phantoms may be howling at the edges of my mind
Ripping away gobs of flesh until my soul lies exposed
Rotting off my skull, hanging loose from my tired bones
Whilst the terrifying multitude of my unseen fear
Hath become like the vile, gnashing teeth of night's Reaper
As I bare witness to the demons rising and writhing
Within the silver pool of my own lean, haunted reflection
Yet I cannot turn away; Even in my darkest hour
I must summon the courage to stay; For this is my reckoning.

Only the sweetest souls get called home to hold court with the seraphim in the Heavenly realm of the Gods

The purity and joy of their etheral songs resounding throughout the castle halls

Beautiful, bright eyed babies fluttering unsteadily amongst the green gardens on golden gossamer wings

Giggles and grins of sheer wonder erupt as the silvery, sunlit wings of the dragonflies dart playfully away from chubby little outstretched hands

Rainbow feathered robins nestle among the willows while  hummingbirds traverse the towering lillies, stirring up the fullness of their delicate perfume

The gentle eyes of our grandmother's watch over of us as they tend to our little ones, their glittering irises shining brighter than the stars from whence they came

My tears fall like rain as I search the sky for your shimmer, a fleeting glimpse of your emerald green soul at the edge of this rosy pink horizon

I see your colors play on the surface of the water, a kaleidoscope of light dancing on the crystal currents of this great river we call life

One day I too will be but a drop of water returned unto the ocean, after my inevitable fall from the clouded, unknown skies of grace

One day I too will have earned my set of wings, and into your waiting arms I am free to finally fly, free again to shower your fuzzy little forehead with a hundred thousand kissies...

Until we meet again...
I love you with every beat of my broken heart, my omnipresent little Angel

My precious tiny baby man,
Mine Grumble Grumble,

There are no words to even express how much I truly miss you

My little Squishee Squishee Squish <3

I seek not to control
Only to understand
I seek not to perfect
Only to empathize
I seek not to impress
Only to exist

Mind is where my spirit lives while in between dreaming

As he lifted that cross upon his back
He felt not the weight of it.
Instead he noticed the earthy smell of fresh cut limbs,
The smoothness of the wood after it's been planed.
As he drug his cross through the crowd
He overlooked their angry, jeering faces.
Instead he saw kindness in an old woman's eyes,
The gentle touch of a mother sheilding her child from the cruel spectacle.
As he heaved himself up the rock strewn path toward the hilltop
He didn't feel the sharp bite of the incline waning his final strength.
He kept his eyes on the noon-day sun
Felt the kiss of it's heat upon his brow.
Blood ran down his face from a crown of thorns and
He could only taste salt,
Reminded of the cooling spray of the sea
Refreshing him as he hauled in the days catch.
They pounded the nails into his slender wrists and
He felt no pain,
Only the warm breeze carrying the scent of sage and hyssop from the valley below.
He felt the life leave his body and
He cried not for himself but
Wept only for the suffering of his oppressors...
Understanding the depth of their ignorance,
The breadth of their collective pain.
When he arose from the tomb
Three days of late,
He felt no pride in his abilities...
Only a quiet contentment
Knowing that his courage and endurance would forever
Be a symbol of inspiration for those to follow.
He ascended to the realm of Unlimited Power
Ultimate Understanding
and
Infinite Love
To wait for his children;
To watch over them in times of trial and tribulation...
A silent guide
An unspoken word
An Angel of compassion
Leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for those Hungry enough, and willing to dine with the lowly mouse;
For those who having the bravery of a lion,
Sharp eyes of an eagle,
Clever wit of a serpent...
He waits.
He wakens.
He loves.

I wait for the rains to subside
A broken shard of my heart lost in time
The winds rise, clearing my mind
The teardrops on my pillow finally dry
The cord between our souls entwine
We blossom in the golden Sun, divine

Drugs are the cure for reality
  An escape from your problems and pain
    But in excess, too much of a good thing
       Will still leave you unkempt and insane

I'll just never
understand
why he wasn't
important
  enough to you  
to try and save him...
The same question
could also be posed
  to you,
concerning your Self... Your own inner and outer health...
wealth...  
discipline...
As above so below.
As within so without.
All of life is a mirror.
Our experiences are
A Mirror.

The red pill makes you happy,
And the blue one makes you numb.
Now a half a swill of *****
'Till the noises start to run...
Pick a peck of primo powder,
Grip a rock to gain some ground,
Ride with the wave,
it gets you higher,
Crash hard and fast,
embrace the ground.

I have outgrown many things.
I have outgrown relatives who gladly offer criticism but not support.
I have outgrown my need to meet family's unrealistic expectations of me.
I have outgrown girls who wear masks and secretly rejoice at my mistakes.
I have outgrown shrinking myself for those who are intimidated by my intelligence and outspoken nature both.
I have outgrown friends who cannot celebrate my accomplishments.
I have outgrown people who conveniently disappear whenever life gets a little dark.
I have outgrown those who take pleasure in gossiping and spreading negativity.
I have outgrown dull,meaningless conversations that feel forced.
I have outgrown those who don't take a stand against ignorance and injustice.
I have outgrown trying to please everyone.
I have outgrown society constantly telling me I'm not beautiful,smart, or worthy enough to achieve anything.
I have outgrown my tendency to fill my mind with self doubt and insecurity decades ago.
I have outgrown trying to find reasons not to love my humble self.
I have outgrown anything and anyone that does not enrich the essence of my soul.
I have outgrown many things and I've never felt freer.

~Poem by Chanda Kaushik

He pulls a feather from her bodice
She laughs and turns a coy cheek.
The boa, all but bare, looks ragged.
Like her smile when she's feeling anxious.
She feels the heat of his eyes, feels his intensity.
Her fears belie her desires. She wishes she could see.
See what he sees. See this thing that he calls beautiful.
He seems to look to look right through her skin.
But all she can focus on is the curves and the scars.
The strange shape of her body. The embarrassment.
The awkward turn of her mouth. The knit in her brow.
Her conflicts with pleasure, her repulsion for needing to submit.
The memories that bite at the back of her moans.
The shadows of abuse crawling out of the seams.
Ugly, twisted devils that sought to steal her innocence.
Returning to feed again, to taint the morrows of adulthood.
All of these things color the love she makes.
Tar and feather it. Blacken it with shame.
He senses her discomfort. Internalizes it. Confuses it.
He shrinks back, recoiling from the slap of rejection.
But it isn't him at all. Him, she craves. Salivates for.
But like the ringing of Pavlov's bell, they've built a deeper path.
Men she never knew; Can't even remember. Faces obscured.
Yet she can trace the footprints they've left on her mind.
Tracks set with iron spikes running through the bedrock,
Through the deepest layers of her psyche. Below the surface.
To where thoughts exist without consciousness, without effort.
The symphony of tragedy continues to play on.
She has no words to express this to him.
She can only hope that he senses it.
Senses the murky bubbles of awakening as they arise.
Senses her need for him. Her need for his patience.
Senses her need for silence, for distance and recollection.
Senses her need for his quiet embrace. For understanding
For her troubled state of mind and damaged sense of self.
For a self that she has barely even begun to understand.

Words catch in my throat.
A thousand fears chew at my fingertips.
Terror... Valour.... Loneliness.
It all amounts to shadows on the river.
Lights play over living currents,
Her fluid movement
Shifts the gleam across the waves.
Courage is a trembling lip,
A denial of self,
A strangulation of excess emotion;
Amidst temptation...
Amidst the tempest...
Amidst self doubt.
Somewhere the steel of your jaw
becomes more than a daydream.
Morphine can't even ease this pain.
I lose my breathe.
I wait for death.
And yet, somehow, I wake again.

I've decided that God must need to send his brightest lights out into the darkest of nights...
Because that's where they are needed most.

I will try and keep this notion in my heart the next time I find myself stumbling through the shadows,
Wondering what I could have done to be this cursed.

To lose a child is like being declared legally dead while you're still on life support.
Your chest rises and falls.
Your blood moves, your heart beats.
But you've grown cold within.
Your body is empty.
Your spirit is gone.
I once believed that a pulse was some unspoken, undeniable proof of life.
But it isn't a guarantee of anything.
Believe me. I have seen it for myself.
And it ******* killed me.
Now my chest keeps rising,
blood moving,
heart beating,
soul bleeding,
mind screaming...
Yet no one seems to notice that I am dead too.

Smoke filled the streets
The scent of burnt pine and ash trees
Acrid and sharp to my nose
The mountain all but lost in the haze
Bridges appear and disappear
Ghost drivers in shining metal autos
Winding in and out of sight

Seated on the edge of the riverbank
Watching raindrops fall across the city light's reflection;
A living Monet of color and fluidity and the sutble refractions of life.
The bridge above me is humming with traffic,
The railyard to my left fills the cold night with the timeless bellowing of midnight trains,
Used syringes lay amongst the driftwood here.
A crudely painted ******* adorns the trail head,
Overgrown with brambles bushes and blackberry vines.
A solitary ****** cruises the shallow dregs of shore
On an endless quest to find her mate,
Painfully unawares of his fate,
Fallen victim to a poacher,
Some careless fool with a greedy and discontented heart.
The tents and tarps of Portland's homeless, the lost and forgotten, line these hillsides;
Their many dreams and hopes lie broken amidst the rubble of this everyday existence.
I sit here often, smoking and thinking, and watching the ever changing lights.
Every now and again I take a picture, gather a stone, or fall asleep to the sound of rain
And the smell of earth and leaves and rushing water.

We are all merely farts
   On the Great Wind...

The silence without you...
   Is SO loud.

My hands reside in a state of quiet contemplation
Whilst my mind rattles the very foundations of my emotionally charged cage.
This poker face eloquently hides the scores of sharp, smoldering daggers
That lie lodged in the fabric of my sweet, shivering soul...
They serve as a searing reminder of the cruel cacophony of my youth;
The burning heart of my innocence.
I have grown to accept the irony.
There is no white horse...
No shining knight of honor and valour.
Only a succession of lies
And a procession of sly, sneering eyes.