Or I would be, could be if the
sea was a memory, distant periphery,
granted sideways glances between
sought out land masses that can
offer some known substance, sore
eco thumb prints making them
seem special, almost terrestrially
relatable, debatably to people,
less contested to ideas, thoughts
and reasons beating back brazen
treasons of the seventy percent
that needs to take over, its
meaning is deeper than dirt.

Everything is ghastly when the sun goes away.
Not away for the night, completely taking flight
withholding its brightness, no amount of
politeness able to woo it back from the dead.

It doesn’t just leave, some people fear
being burned enough to shun its rays and
keep to tunnels and caves that would seem
safer save for the isolation they discover
too late. tunnels are hard to shake off

It’s not hard to chase dying candles when you
realize you’re missing the sun. addiction
It’s not hard to stop caring enough even if the light
you were running towards is real. depression
It’s not hard to lose hope because you may not live
long enough to make it back outside. cancer
It’s not hard to relive the past and accidentally push
others away when you need them most. ptsd
It’s not hard to forget that your mind can always move
even if your legs can’t carry you anywhere. ms
It’s not hard to be out of energy before you’re
able to make it all the way out. insomnia
It’s not hard to run away from people forever because
someone betrayed your deepest trust. fear

It’s hard to keep reaching until they finally take your hand.
It’s harder to keep holding after they let go.

Don’t stop searching the darker roads.
*We don’t want to wander alone.

I saw a man whose face I should have known.
He was with men and women I recognize
from the sections in my head where I
put them to rot.
can I be more forgiving than the world?
I don’t despise anyone. I just don’t let them in.
I assume because they’re heading in a different direction,
or no discernible direction, they won’t be worth the time.

I never consider that my path could be the different one.
I’ve always just assumed and put the others in their sections.
Send the wanderers away for another to deal with.
Separate the wanderers so there’s no mistake.
They’re away from me. They’re not the same as me.
I don’t have to deal with them.
When the realization sets in attitudes can change.
realization that everyone we meet is wandering through their
fishbowl castles and burning corn mazes,
right next to yours.

it’s time to put separatism aside

We all have our different sections,
our strictly separated sections.
We all seem to be different,
we all need to be different.
or so we think

Look closely enough and
the world is just a giant cracked mirror.
Look closely enough and
we’re just finding ourselves.

we need to hold hands more…
                                                           ­       look into each other’s eyes more…
we need to be honest about important things more…
                                                           ­                            tell our secrets more…
we need to be alright with silence more…
                                                           ­                              take chances more…
we need to let go of the past more…
                                                          p­ay attention to the little things more…
we need to fight for ourselves more…
                                                           ­                       watch the clouds more…
we need to talk to the trees more…
                                                           ­                       listen to the wind more…
we need to move on more…
                                                           ­                                          laugh more…
we need to hold on more…
                                                           ­                                        forgive more…
we need to enjoy more…
                                                           ­                                               feel more...
we need to believe more…
                                                           ­                                          know more…
we need to live more…

                                                we need to love

Stained glass snakes turn thoughts into ghouls
while sanity blows the barrel to ****** ******.
Glistening molt forms a lead-lined home
through fissures where brain and bone used to be.
Slithering kaleidoscopes mar face and eyes
but anguish seems friendly in multicolor.

Becoming mad doesn't mean I now have nothing to say.

At my first attempt to speak it strikes. I taste copper and the sting of candied fangs injecting crystallized honey, I can only bite back. It shatters behind its shining eyes and long body falls away while I chew the head, paying no mind to gashes in cheeks and blood filling stomach. I feel my tongue begin to melt and drip down my throat, mixing with blood glass and bile. Death appears to me, stepping out of a pink clown car winding up to throw an unlit birthday cake, I'm not ready, I have so much more to try to say.

I remember I have hands. I remember.

I push my fingertips in below the ribs and open my stomach to shovel the contents out onto the ground. As I do the soil turns black and grass grows into twisted thorn bushes around my body and into my wounds posing me as a grotesque homage to the sadistic. Death sets aside the cake to watch with a smirk but it isn't long before Elvis tapes a "kick me" sign to his back and finally drops dead and sinks into the ground and I feel the thorns grow thicker and longer piercing into and out of my flesh burning and spewing red smoke replacing the air making breath heavy and unforgiving I reach through and pull out my lungs to spare myself but Death is distracted he won't let me leave God missing Teresa in chains Stalin playing Pat-a-Cake with Shirley Temple on fields of infant bones and burnt bacon I try to twist my eyes out next but the snakes hold them fast so I watch

through horrific shades the earth fold in on itself.



*Yes, I remember.

We are God, Maybe not God as in almighty
but God as in we can hold everyone tightly
spreading respect and compassion both daily and
nightly finding wanderers who sadly have all
chosen darker roads but didn't want to be alone.

It’s just difficult to process all this
power we possess inside so some of
us can’t help but turn away from open
arms and hearts ablaze with right intentions.

We always need to be pulled more than we’ll ever admit.
We always need to pull harder than we ever will.

What if that were to change?
What if on Sunday mornings we didn't pray,
instead we said each other’s names?
What of pain is just the love we keep?
Happiness is letting it flow.

because in your laugh there's something more than joy,

because in your smile there's something more than passion,

because in your soul there's something more than grace,

because in my eye there's nothing more than you.