the sky leans into me,
wild-flower and moss hide
in small crevices.

i feel all the freedom of a
woodland flower,
every bright inch of my being

blossoming from the stem.

the clouds rush in little rivers
their whites billowing like shirts on a
washing line, small temples of god.

i think of you, and every
muscle remembers my love
while you dream of the sea.

the heavy heart is a heathen
corrupter of better nature
committer of soul-treason

fueled by the miserable notion
that death is twilight
and life is dawn

to flight, to flail
to rage, to rail
to weep, to wail
to no avail

to unhope

and all of this minus the mercy

©Jason Cole

Truth: damaged people
tend to do damage themselves.
Keep your eyes open.

Don't tell me to get of my phone and play hopscotch in the wilting paddy fields across the house
the same paddy field that decorated the chest of every newspaper last Thursday, written across the title  in bold; 6 year old girl strangled to death

don't tell me to get off my couch and try make some friends
the same friends that got my neighbour's daughter gangraped at her sixteenth birthday party

don't tell me to only fall in love with a person of the opposite gender,
not after hearing the screams of the lady across these cracked walls, whom as usual would make excuses to cover up the reasons behind the galaxy toned punch scars across her no longer smooth skin, a result of being beaten up by her drunk husband each night

don't tell me writing isn't going to get me anywhere, that only science will, not after you've seen me bleed across these pages trying to make you understand my passion and love for writing & trust me when I say these numbers & stupid scientific terms will never be able to diffuse into my numb skull the way these lovely letters  have

don't tell me that the numbers written on one piece of paper that is graded by a person who probably had a million and one reasons to make me fail, defines  my intelligence, not after looking at that girl from high school who failed  her maths & ended up becoming a world renowned poet

don't tell me that it's right to hate a person because they were born a shade darker than I am, not after the person who saved my life that summer night I was sprawled across the bathroom floor, overdosed on drugs, was 'fifteen shades darker' than me

don't tell me that I don't have a right to stand up to you because I'm younger than you, not after a 50 year old man ***** his 12 year old student; in no way does your age define your maturity

and dear generation X & Y,

don't tell me what is wrong and right, for I am old enough to face the consequences of my actions, for there is no way I will learn without making mistakes,

and dear generation  X & Y,


we'll show you how life should be lived.

Thank you, sit down.

I can see the light,
it surrounds them.
It shines from within.
The light,
it spills from their mouths
and winks when they blink.
I see it spark from their fingertips,
roll in waves behind their footsteps.

Luminous beings,
such surreal things,
and I, a mere spectator.
Set apart from the rest
by the sharp pain in my chest,
I can do nothing
except concentrate on my breathing
and think about what I should do next.

before
all
the pieces
are
broken apart
then
we
shall make
a map of the heart