Letters scribbled down on
Paper as the pen engraves its mark
Even when it leaves the paper
The colours remain
The shapes linger
You tore the clouds from
Their places in the sky
While the purples, blues
And pinks bled
Like red lipstick marks on tissue
Stamps on new bought
Postcards that stick where
They are stuck by flying through
Time, countries and air that
Smell like metal and lemons
But the colours couldn’t show
What thunder and dirt
Showed up under the
Doorstep when you
Decided to walk away
And no matter how many daisies
I watered and loved and caressed,
My veins will forever be painted with
Rotting petals
Discoloured leaves
Like old sunsets
And falling telephone wires
Those do not leave
Even when they are left
I will shine the broken glass
And wash the buried fire
To me you’re still home.

You walked through every tornado
So you could say that you made it alive
Through wind and rain, snow and ice
Did you bother acknowledging the
Warmth of the sun in your two melted brown eyes
And that you don’t always need to be
Struggling or fighting or competing
With something bigger
Than yourself to win
It might look like glory
Because it tastes like fresh clouds
And small lights hung in the middle of the night
But you’re tougher than tree bark
Put together stronger than bricks
Your cement must be the opposite of an escape
Only, you’ve trapped yourself hunting for a release

Hair string across your bathroom floor
I never hated the yellow light
Like your other friends
But the tiles were always catching my criticism
From the time I spilled oatmeal granola
In your kitchen while you held the milk in your
Hands, laughing as I stumbled after the mess
(Now I know that Sunday mornings aren’t supposed
To be neither clean neither spotless)
To the Wednesday afternoon we spent holding
Galaxies in our palms by your door while it rained
(Now I know music is not just
For sounds or dry escapes)
But most of all, to the Friday I walked onto your
Tiles and felt vacancy in all but one spot
Where you left behind a map as if to
Say, clean up your mess this time
(Now I know that these lettered days
Are just pathways, not destinations)

I like to sip my iced coffee
Without the lid
It seems to look more accessible
Unlike the strings of stars
That remain in the sky; the ones
I trusted do not shine anymore
A box of Oreos sitting across
The wooden table sits nearly
Vacant and once again I’m reminded
Of you and your
Carefully drawn departure
Trailing you went all the ways
You worried that the plants
In the corner of my apartment floor
Would not get enough water
(I made a pond one day,
Scared to deprive them of your
Love like I was).
And how you only ate peanut butter
With sliced bananas
(The air smells like tangerines now).
All the soap in the world cannot
Erase the paint stains you left
On the bathroom counter next to
Your blue-orange toothbrush
Canvases are just better off
Untouched / Uncarved / Unloved
And always accessible.

Try calling me again
And see what voicemail
Greets you this time
I change it up
Each time you ring
To prove that I’m not stable
Never your rock
Always a moving shoreline
Trying to get away from the sand
That holds it in place
Never a tree
Rather the blowing leaves on it
Rustling lack of comfort
Falling when the air turns grey
Full of carelessness
Empty of passion

Find outlets when you are sad or angry.
- You never did well when you wanted to talk and no one save the craters in the moon would listen.
- I’d have to walk, sneakers thumping on the main road into 3am putting your shoulders back into place.
- The stardust on your nose was almost gone and your smile out of place.
- Who stitched your words shut without threading through the electricity you exert in the carefully thought out letters when they shine volumes on all the little things that make you see solar systems in coral oceans?
- I love any excuse to hold you, reminiscent of the nights I crave the coldest ice-cream, we buy two scoops, and you let it drip down your warm hands after holding the cone too long without licking off the excess that craves you more than mountains wish for valleys even at the highest peaks
- When you’re looking towards the red of the sky and talking of answers that to me taste like blue dreams and fears that make me envision yellow stop lights blocking off speeding trains on the corner of Freedrive and Bluckoren Lane next to the corner store, rope stitches hold my heart in puzzled rows while I figure out how to piece you together
- But I can’t fix people, though 4am can only try.

Candles keep on burning and smoking
Birds keep flying and singing
And the silver of the black of yesterday’s night
Comes out only on pinned on the times
I seem to miss carnival rides of ecstasy
And stuffed bears with little orange bows
And ring tosses that lack aim and ring and tosses;
Just throws
While the rooftop I now sit on
In the final times of empty streets
That smell like stale popcorn
And paint from fresh vandalism
Will not take me back
Refuse to take me back
To school-less days
And fresh air that hinted purple dreams
Open oceans echoing full laughter
Wild hair, barbeques
Raw stories
Energy / Love / Energy
Even the floral print on my leggings
Is turning white
In fear of loose memories not sewed on yet
And a silver-less night of tomorrow
Maybe red will be the next best thing

Pens running out ink
But my words are just running
Out of spaces to put themselves in
Trees are grown in allocated spots
So we have room to pick apples
Never sad in their growth
Unless something is wrong
Even bumpy roads are still solid
So if you trip
You’ll end up on the ground
Not beyond the earth
Regardless of the hollow
Veins on the inside of your
Elbow my make you feel
The yellow sprinkled on green
Sprouted on brown
Can bring back home in
City lights and iced coffee
Maybe you’re none of the above
And maybe you’re all of the above
At least know that the wind
Blowing in your face
Could be forever
If you wanted to stay
And allocate your own design
So your branches can also expand
The way your eyes hold
More and more galaxies
Every time you blink

I was never told how I was to grow
I was never told which heart to sew
Grow up strong; grow up weak.
Grow up happy; grow up weeping.
Strong heart, hard face
Run faster, you're in a race.
What if every word that flew out of your mouth
Was written on your skin.
I'll tell you, they're engraved in me.
On every wall within
These words are not boomerangs,
You can't ever have them back.
But these words are boomerangs,
They will be thrown at your back.

Could you tell?
That the air one night didn’t smell like purple daises
But rather orange melons
Or how the dust on your bones was starting to melt
Even the way the glint of the moon was once stark white and showed me the ways of the staircase up to old castles studded with green vines and rotting stories
And now only threw me the keys to the doors underneath the grass in the backyard to show me the way down
Hoarding wooden panels and abandoned notes
So I could stop climbing and start wondering
Could you tell at all?
How the rhythm of the beat of the night
Turned from black to metallic
And you didn’t even blink an eye
So when time broke all barriers
And oceans evaporated
You were still blind
You don’t want to grow up.

can I swallow your pills / you can swallow my pain / watch thunderstorms travel hills / watch me vandalize old trains / swim with city lights and / smoke night pollen / give up all your fights / don’t hear the daytime callin

Sputtering feathers
Like a gleaming ocean
That has diamonds glued on
The tamest parts of it
Remind me of all the words
You said outlined in gold
Soaked in red petals
They tasted so good
But died fast
You need to put life in the
Glitter that rolls off your tongue
Because all that shines
Does not appeal
Think heartbeats on
Wooden carvings embellished
In the croaking of frogs
On a cool summer evening
Or laughter smoked on the
Leaves of yesterday;
It affects your lungs forever.
Then maybe, autumn won’t
Seem as
Permanent as your
Laconic-less ways of gleaming
May suggest
And find ways of growing
Stems in my liver

Begin anywhere.
Like on the sands with names of missing people engraved on them with blood.
Like on the drones with deceit and disaster dripping down them like a flood.
Like on the ashes of burned down homes, lost dreams and no childhood.
Your days go by too fast for you to give one simple care,
Are all the happenings around you fair?
For the kid on the road, is there a dollar you can spare?
Tell me that the old sand on the path outside your house
Didn’t whisper to you the stories of those days
When bombs would be bells,
The moon’s light wished you well,
You’d get up every time you fell
And this wouldn’t be a life with so much hell.
The smell of phosphorous and fire were not supposed to greet my sister today,
The sight of dead flesh, empty eyes and red burns were told
To remain on the TV screen only,
So what are they doing kneeling in front of my people’s eyes?
I never saw the ocean as just blue,
But today the rush of water only brings me brown and black
As I remember that hundreds of people die from contaminated waters every hour.
As I remember that some people have to walk miles just to get water,
As I remember that I am much more than someone chained to the lies of the media.
The government is wicked, so wicked is dominant.
But they forgot iron bars wouldn’t even stop me from my prominent
Ways.
There are seeds that were planted in me long ago chanting about
Freedom and justice, happiness, love and bliss.
That and this.
Because every time I looked to the ground I saw clouds dripping with mercury and ugly flowers
Smelled metallic rust reeking air as cities burned
As fire glinted off my mother’s skin and smoked thanks because
At least she was alive.
I could
Break it, stretch it, bend it, crush it, crack it, and fold it,
All these facts yet we just keep stacking it.
Dollar bills and coins affect people like poetry,
But words are not items you can buy.
And why do we have to
Muster courage,
Just to say hi.

You can't touch graffiti, especially when it's mine
Freedom of speech, freedom of thoughts, fine.
But when it comes to art you turn the other cheek
Not trying to look gangster, thats not the way I see
It's just a way of expression, letting things out
But when you come along to see it, you yell and you shout
Leave the artist be if you can't appreciate their works
Don't visit galleries but if you take art down, it hurts
Paint, glue, paper and a steady hand is all it takes
But stencilling ideas on walls takes courage; its not fake
Always wanting everyone to follow rules, but who's rules are those?
******* creativity out of kids in school, but without petals its not a rose
Open your minds, see that you're not the most right
You have a status in society, so the rest of us don't see the light?
There's nothing more than a human wants than to be understood
And not just if they're broken, depressed or from the hood
Everyone needs a way out from their heads
This form of art keeps their sanity well-fed.

Rain can fall hard,
Like a storm sometimes.
While the drops of water
Pitter patter on our
Windows, doors, the
Sidewalk, driveway, roof.
You can see the
Individual drops
If you look close enough
As they hit a surface
And dissolve
Into a river
As the other drops
Join them.
Surprises can be
Like this.
So can
Anger.
And so can feelings
For one
Another.

We are born free people, yet there are always restrictions.
We choose if we want to break them, whether with facts or through fiction.
Whether on walls using diction,
Or any crawl through confliction.
And no amount of chains and barriers
Will restrain us, no contradiction.
We understand we’re not on ice,
That there’s always going to be friction.
As expressers, fighters, artists, world changers
It comes from an Italian word, meaning scratch.
Look at it again and a whole new world
Has hatched.
The term graffiti, referred to the inscriptions, figure drawings, and such, found on the walls of ancient graves or ruins, as in the Catacombs of Rome or at Pompeii. Use of the word has evolved to include any graphics applied to surfaces in a manner that constitutes vandalism.
75% of people think its vandalism.
Toronto spends one million a year on graffiti removal.
When artists get back in the game, they haven’t given their approval.
Why don’t you use that money to feed the thousands of poor in society?
Instead of worrying about the art that the citizens need to see.

I never got A’s in elementary school art.
Getting marked on art still sounds like you need to be smart.
But graffiti doesn’t have to mean anything,
Not every letter is a symbol.
There are complications too but it can also be simple.
Almost every kind that I saw on the streets
Took a soft place in my heart, eventually turned concrete.
Let me reel back to grade 10 when I actually took art courses
In the media arts classroom I was taught people as my sources
Banksy, JR, Sofles, Katsu, Kidult, Shepard Fairey.
After my first graffiti assignment I understood clearly
What would happen if you brought a spray paint can near me.
The reason for graffiti is a simple one,
Not always about rebelling, or having fun.
Every artist craves to paint in his or her own way.
And all of us have messages that need to be portrayed.
Like, I was here, I’m alive, let me leave my mark.
This city is mine too, and I want to give it my spark
I belong, I have a voice, and I crave to make a change
These walls are too voiceless when it comes to the speaking range
My love for social justice brings in political ties
Through graffiti one can tell what country thrives with lies
It gives any surface a story, makes it come alive.
Change the system if you strive, until justice is revived.
To try to help the oppressed,
The shapes and lines were mine,
But they’re the ones on the line,
And to sit and do nothing would be an even bigger crime.
I even changed my initials to KKB
The B is for Banksy, its everywhere you see me.
My email has a Banksy, my Twitter did too.
Graffiti is my life, though you already knew.
Humanity is lost within the walls that we made
Graffiti brought it back to me,
And like the ocean did I wade.
Inside the political aspect that structures our brains
And the society that gives us money to drain
All the false information and the things we don’t need
Gives me hope to find these messages written on the streets
Sometimes freedom of speech isn’t so free at all.
But if Facebook deletes posts, documentaries have biased calls,
There’s another way of speaking, even if we fall,
I love how it’s not typical; no tag is the same.
Its breathing life on the walls, not stuck in a frame.
It stands out.
Stands outside of a museum where you always have to pay.
To see something that may or may not catch your attention right away.
That makes your head sway,
Give you some kind of reaction, moves you to action.
Not something you have to think hard about,
There’s little analysis needed, a splash merrily seeded.
Its urgent, its in the moment, for realization.
Once the message has been received, it’s an artist’s confirmation.
I integrated graffiti as a part of my every day life, including school
Drew it in math projects, French presentations, writer’s craft essays, it was my arts night welcome sign tool.
I will carry this with me through university
And it’ll take me further in the arts industry.
When you walk by graffiti in the street, do you ever take the time to notice it? Like, really notice it? Do you ever think about the person behind the spray paint can? Writers are not only being underappreciated for their talents, but they’re being harassed, looked down on, all for no reason. Do you know any of their stories? Do you know what thoughts and feelings sprayed out of the can when the paint hit the wall? Do you ever think about the history behind the art? To breakdown the styles of graffiti, here’s a simple introduction. There are tags, the simplest forms of graffiti. A signature. There are stencils. There are stickers, also known as slaps. Wildstyles are also used, and they’re more intricate, more colourful, and harder to read. It’s a particular style of writing developed in New York City. A piece is one that takes time an effort, and requires more than three colours. A blockbuster is used to cover the most space in the least amount of time. And a heaven is a piece that’s put in a hard to reach area, like the tops of tall buildings or on freeway signs. There’s the style bubble, old school, brush, abstract, bombings, whole car, ignorant, landscape, realistic, billboard, cartoon and sharp as well.
A sense of tranquility seeps into my veins every time my marker hits the paper, full of energy, full of hope. Starting graffiti was a way to combine my passion for speaking out against oppression and my love for the arts. Even though my work is not displayed on the streets, it has the same style, and it may not have the same effect but it counts as an escape for me. It doesn’t make me a graffiti artist, and some would even argue that doing canvas work kills the purpose of graffiti but I always want my work to make an impact on people no matter which way I do it. It’s something I love to do, and anyone can take that any way they desire. There are stereotypes that I’ve had to battle, but in the end, I know my true intentions. I don’t need to make a name for myself. I don’t need to create a reputation for myself either. True, this is not real graffiti, but that’s as far as I choose to take my fascination. I do it because of the escape it provides for me, the sense of freedom, and the sense of power in my markers.
These are the little movements of writers, all of us trying to get at revolution. Art is not supposed to be limited in frames. That’s why to me, the streets are some of the biggest forms of freedom – do as much as you like, however you like, all free. The poor and rich all have to see it. No one can avoid the message. It is not only artistic expression; it’s a protest. A scream of anger and emotion aimed towards public spaces. Graffiti artists did not start the war, they just respond to defend our vision of what graffiti and society should be: free. A battle against commercialism and a way of saying ‘no’ to materialism and society’s over consumption.  To the government, you are not the only ones who own these cities. What about the rest of us that do not exist until we leave a mark of our own? This is a game of action and reaction, if you will.
Taking care of our society is our obligation. That means changing anything harmful to us with every mean possible. Graffiti seems to offend a majority of society but if we took the time to appreciate and understand, a lot of good can be done if we turned the negatives into positives. So if we aimed for change and acted on it, especially with art, we’d be much less stressed. More often, we’d just remember, to stay blessed.

She walked in with a cut up eye, stardust in her broken bones and a smile
And before he and I could ask, "what have you done now" she held out her hands
In her palms she collected galaxies that sprouted not from this universe but strength.
And when you looked in her eyes instead of brown,
You'd see songs from seabirds that I never heard because,
Seabirds don't sing,
But in this scope they also tight line across the ways her eyes lit up the moon in the sky.
And then she says, "little sister, never let anyone make you manageable. Always remain untamed."
The swirls in her dress when she spun out of the room
Burst out flared frayed and flamed.
She was an atomic cloud of energy, but her rain didn't fall; it splattered.
Then that night wrapped in white sheets that failed to hold me still
Watching her from the bed across from mine,
I whispered: "welcome home, I’ve missed you."
But instead of peaceful prayers and stories of springing surprises,
I hear the sounds of hurt dripping into soft pillows and wet tears.
My sister never cries.
Sitting up in bed with the streetlight glowing on her face
The only thing she tells me using sea salt and lemons,
Dangerous dreams from swimming with the devil
And daggers made from hopeful rising levels
Is, "please don't fade away.”
The cobwebs on my lips where spiders have spun intricate art
On my teeth told her I don't speak very often.
This individuality has been stripped off my tongue
Now I only taste fire made of wooden chips, not adventure.
The sand grains from the park on school premises
And not the beach where at least they'd be water kissed.
Please don’t fade away.
I could be the replica of everyone else; my shadow kind of looks like yours doesn't it?
I sunk back in the sheets afraid of her tears but before I could disappear into blankness
She gathers feathers in her words and asks,
"Who wouldn't drown the stars for you?
You painted yourself with the colour of the ocean
But only you understood the ocean is not just blue
During sunset it’s the colour of fire running through your veins
As you sink your teeth in the bar of yogurt, ambitions, dreams and raspberries.
In the middle of the night it is the colour of the moon
And the ruffles of waves that shake you awake.
During the birth of dawn it is the fight in your heart bleeding electricity in your eyes,
The light of illumination never lacking loyalty in those dreams of the sea you swallow."
What’s more familiar to us, time? Or memories?
Instead of playing life on the record player
We play it by the clock and repeat the same day over again
Our air smells the same, and we all play the same games.
The message is urgent and it lies in all of us.
Please don’t fade away as I lose all of my trust.
Dying in secrecy that no one wants to touch
It’s a boundless barrier, scary bordering scarier.
Please don’t fade away.
Everything inside of us that craves to be heard,
Is bottled up in the same fashion trends clothing our bodies
The same career choices that teach no new hobbies
The same sentences cling to the walls in hallways and lobbies.
The ignorance in not trying new things
Flies into everyone
Maybe it was a plane crash
Made of rumors and old traditions
That killed people’s appetites for new choices
That suffocated the volume in people’s voices
That left me swimming between everything but rejoices.
When I cant think right I walk left
But we are not old photographs that deteriorate our personalities
We are bodies of water but no one needs a shore
No one needs to send you approval when you’re so sure
Like I was told using sea salt and lemons
I’ll build on that with cucumbers and daisies,
Break out. And please, don’t fade away.
How can someone made of flowers be degraded to dust?
How can you sit there in chains that turn you to rust?
How can ugly gnomes manage to catch stardust?
How can monsters keep murdering like they must?  
I don’t know which way the wind will blow
But when it does it will blow strong
And I will not blow with it.
I heard you say society tells you to be yourself
You are yourself, and then society says no you’re doing it wrong.
Here, watch me, it’s like this.

If I could, I would.
And if I would, I should.
Always wondering why others don’t make change
Before looking at myself and seeing I’m in the changing range
I’m more then capable.
To set chained people free, to disable
All the evil and the hurt,
All the bleeding and the dirt,
I’d pick up every single child,
Bring them back outside the wild
The one painted as far away,
Out of our sights, out of our way.
The people we have labeled as numbers and statistics
As if they don’t have lives and homes, seeming unrealistic.
The little girl I watched with pain on the television.
She watched her family members die, crying, just envision.
Walking on the rubble, as I watch her stumble,
She will be a woman before she hits the age of eleven.
The traumatizing scenes before her; the opposite of heaven.
Is she another number, too, without a life of love?
All this peace we say we want is like a murdered dove.
If I could feed her faith again, and teach her life is good,
Fill her stomach’s starving screams with love she understood, I would.
Add the mother on the street, holding her baby tight.
To protect him from the bombs flying, braving off the fright.
They all have futures bright as the morning sun at noon.
But before dawn is what they see, darkness a filled balloon.
My mother never had to face having her kids in danger
So why would I keep quiet when it’s a stranger?
I look at them and see the same face in the mirror.
If I could tell her he’ll be safe and so will she the same,
Nothing’s going to hurt them, not even their names.
Hand her keys of relief,
Slaughter beef in the streets,
Fill her stomach’s starving screams with love she understood, I would.
And to my brother in Peru, working as a slave
Fields built just for drugs, he’s ordered to behave
Before they cut his hands off, for misconduct, it’s that grave.
Working for pennies, the money is funny.
Revolution’s underway, so lock and load in any range leaving the world unsteady.
If I could tell him he’ll be free, to just wait and see,
The government won’t be mechanical, racist psychologically.
He’ll leave the land of too much distortion, and give him the peace that’s his portion, I would.
How can the light so bright make a man so evil like the times of medieval?
Cold war’s over but we just keeps getting colder
Like we’re filing invisible morals into empty folders
Can you even feel the truth until it comes your way?
Like players pray for hope,
It’s severe what the hopeless will do for play.
Keep shooting rockets at generic topics,
Until the lyrics hold weight unlike 2-D objects.
My people are hungry, tired and sweaty.
Dreaming of revolution looking at the machete.
Innocent children drowning in screams
And we can’t hear them; we’re not a part of the same team.
Acting like the army didn’t bring hell here.
For most people, pile on the blood and the fear.
When driving on a road, construction means we steer
But I’ll get back on track; life isn’t just for me before I die in remorse.
Fight for my lands with words like bullets, loaded with force.
Whatever we take in risk is our matter of course.
Pay attention to change, I know that I will.
Too many dollars down here, I have more than my fill.
So change I will, because my will is to change.
Quit dreaming, its illusions they’re scheming.
But I said I’d bring peace, so ***** the policing.
I said, if I could I would.
And if I would, I should.
Well, I can, so I will.
Make me a martyr, this is not a fire drill.
Make me a martyr. I’d do it still.
Make me a martyr, I’ll prove to you the charter.
Just make me a martyr.

The loneliest nights keep me up.
It's not hard to do when I've drank a cup
The substance being crazy,
With a dash of hazy,
Sometimes physically lazy,
But never mentally motionless.
I only needed your caress.
And I always do, in and out of distress.
Why won't the sparkles glide off your tongue anymore?
I try to swim to them but I'll never get to shore.
I'm lost at sea, sometimes they're oceans.
Time always travels, but never showing emotion.
I'll make it as I always have done.
Still it doesn't change the fact that you're my only
       Loved.
One.

Whatever she saw, she looked at with light,
Struggling to understand she never left without a fight;
"I must know", she argued, an obsession she possessed.
But little did she know, sometimes mystery is for the best.

Sad waters swish and sway in the wind when the pressure is superior
But they’re still when there’s immobility left to move them
I guess what I’m trying to say is that as people,
We’re only moved as a result of the push that others spell for us
Rarely do our own aspirations swim up to shore and
Though they gasp for air,
No one believes they can save themselves.
But we are not water; we are only made of it.
We rely on winds, but do not realize that we are winds.
The power to destroy someone doesn’t only derive from fire
The power to save someone will not usually come from soft sands
None of us need to be caressed for.
We are oceans, but much more flourishing.
Animated. Thriving. Prosperous.
You make the rules.
How can you not, when you have lightning inside your heart?
Every time it beats it sets a strike so hard everyone can feel the upshot.
You shouldn’t be suppressing something so electric.

I am what you’re alive for, and I’ll let you start over,
And over again, before the last chance you have is done.
My name is life; though it’s not always fun.
I live in your veins and breathe in your heart,
My name is passion, and I am very smart.
You were born to use me,
To live by me,
And to inhale and exhale me.
My name is love.
You can’t run away from passion, life, or love
But this might inspire you to bring out what’s underneath to above,
To let your inner Van Gogh out or maybe, just your soul.
Pleasing anything and everything but you,
They made it your ultimate life goal.
You may still think that’s exactly what you want.
Engineers, lawyers, doctors with crazy fonts.
But you come to think that maybe that’s not for everyone…
And for that, they all make fun.
But maybe, you’re good for something that doesn’t need you
To memorize formulas, letters, numbers, symbols alike, it’s true!
Maybe you, need to be memorizing shapes, lines, colours, and words that rhyme.
Despite the way no one else has your kind of flow, it isn’t a crime.
Don’t worry about judges or surgeons, with their fancy titles and big pay,
They have their own light, their own great ways.
If you’re better with a paintbrush, then stroke away, or splash, or stipple.
Anything to show them that art is not that simple.
Its takes courage to speak out what the world craves to be said,
If one doesn’t write books or poems, there’s nothing that will be left to be read,
And children rely on stories, it’s what keeps them innocent.
It also keeps the rest of us wide awake and vigilant.
So the world bursts at the seams,
With people aching to fulfill their vibrant dreams,
Of being the ones who can finally fly; oh so very high.
The world is bursting at the seams,
With people craving to feel the colours in ungrouped teams,
That pop and crackle and spark when touched.
Turn into stardust and glitter but in the hands, are tightly clutched.
But there might be a need of people,
Who love dandelions more than roses,
Who stand strong, even as every door closes.
Who play with ice rather than fire,
Who from their risk takings, would never retire.
And who rather they feel the softness of the sand
When the wind blows it around on the beach in their hands,
Than the blankets that they sleep on.
Who look to clean the chessboard of their enemy’s pawns.
But what we see is mainly what we hope to find,
And if we look at life with love we can find it to be amiable and kind,
One can achieve their goals if they let go of the headaches for a second.
Impossibilities should never be counted, thought of, or reckoned.
So breathe; you don’t have much left of your fast travelling time line.
Recite; you don’t have much air left but your voice is just so fine.
Write and your fingertips will never stop screaming,
Just like if you run, you will never stop beaming,
Never hitting the pavement with the steps of wraith.
And if you can feel... then you will always keep close faith.
You have not badly slipped, or played the wrong note.
Because even in the midst of beautiful gardens,
Weeds were never remote.
And then you walk through the streets of love.
Hand in hand with a culture fitting you like a glove,
As the smoke draws you in a feeling not unfit;
Feelings your heart clenches; at least you can hold it.
Some have lost this rare, valued treasure,
In the waters of functions and formulas, always measured.
So never swim with them if you are one to tight line,
At the end of your life you can say, “This life is mine.”
Always one to dream, never one to follow
Never let them tell you the mind is hollow
Always experiment, don’t be the child of a shadow.
And they put art at the lowest hierarchies,
Displacing the solution to locks on creativity.
Saying art is nothing but they don’t know where we’d be
Had shapes not evolved and paintbrushes never
Met paint and gave birth to an image you can see.
That you mixed and threw together, you’re clever,
No canvas should ever be empty,
Odd reasons say still… there are plenty.
And only an artist can solve that problem.
Breathing life into objects, one can make into an emblem.
So now what you do without math, science, or neither?
Yeah… I wouldn’t give up either.

How do you feel when the waves from the ocean come out to grab you in the water with them, and you cannot go? How do you feel when your old memories pull your soul to a place you miss, but do not remember? How do you feel when the words that live inside your mind eat away at your heart, yet you're even stronger? I want to see the way the moon light hits your face and still makes you look beautiful from every angle. I want to be the one to dust off the dirt that people throw at you, that you don't cry away, that makes you look beautiful anyway. How do you write your 'a' 's? I want to breathe in your scent every night before the dreams start. I want to keep a piece of your writing stapled to my wrist so I have a chance at being as eloquent as you always are. You never say 'sink or swim'; to you, sinking was never an option. How do you feel about your house number? What goes through your mind when you hear the word 'back'? What makes ''to delay is to lose.'' Your favourite quote? Why are blue jeans your favourite? Why do you always look up to the light but never down on the darkness? If I could be a star in the sky, the unlimited space beyond planets and moons still would be unable to answer
why
every
answer
from
you
creates
a tsunami
under
the depths
of this
earth.

because i lost touch with reality,
ventured in my brain a little.
got rid of all the dust, mentally,
and it was the opposite of brittle.
infact theres a whole other world in there,
just for me to vision.
and to be honestly completely fair,
it was always made of indecision.
coming back to the world is like a resurface
but not exactly to breathe air.
my source of survival stays to my own mind, versus,
daily affairs who need my care.
so there,
you see a flare?
of a feeling irreplacable?
untraceable, not erasable.
creative minds dont survive near me,
as my heart has her own philosophy.
even though i do produce cobwebs from time to time,
i have sights to see, places to go and heights to climb.
still, i was never one to fully mime.
im all mine to find, envision and be,
faceless, frenzied, fallible but... free.