We need to stop analyzing the past,
stop planning the future,
stop figuring out precisely how we feel,
stop deciding exactly what we want when we want it.
Sometimes, we just need to stop,
and see what happens.
You see, what we learn, and who we become,
in the process of waiting,
is often more important than the thing we were actually waiting for.

Lips find lips,
Eyes close.
For a kiss unseen
Is sweeter, she knows.

Bodies lock,
Fully intertwined.
Like the last puzzle piece
You hoped to find.

But this spark was
Far less expected.
And for that, leaves me
So much more affected.

There is a chemistry
That reacts with contact,
Somehow unbeknownst to me,
But now, volatile fact.

Breathe out, together,
Scarcely breathing in
Before returning to that small
Paradise where we've been.

There is no world there,
No one else exists.
We've made our own universe
Inside a stolen kiss.

i am a gambler
in life betting
all my coins,
fingers crossed

and fate,
like a child,
loves to play

Some times when I cannot sleep at night,
I imagine all the people of the world and
Wonder how they came to be.
You and I are on the same planet,
Spinning ever so closer to our deminse
And some times I wonder
How that came to be.
When the brain that is in my head
will not stop thinking,
I wonder existentially
About how things came to be.
Then I become very concious of the things
That never came to be, or in fact, cease to be.
The ones that lie in their graves
So cold and old and only bones.
And then I remember that one day,
That will be you and me.

This is
a cattle nation,
an endless sea of
black and white
floating perpetually towards
a smudged horizon,
grey and faded and
seemingly farther away with
each step.

I feel confined in this world of
flat-irons and resumes
and the words
and the people who say the words
but really mean something else,
expecting me to speak in the same
cookie-cutter sentences and
plan out a logical progression of mundanity
to cloak myself behind,
placing my footsteps carefully
in the molding
that was set by the infinite
faceless people that trudged on
before me.

There is no fork in this path,
no place where it splits into
two strips of gravel,
but there is grass on either side,
waist-high and swaying rhythmically
in the breeze;
I step out of my molding,
out of my cloak
and there is mud soaking my feet,
grass grazing my bare knees
and I can see music
and hear color.
I look at the black and white creatures
who can see only shapes and shades
and their grey destination
and I turn around.

I feel free in this world of
choices and serenity,
allowing my feet to lead me
to where the tall grass
meets a pond;
my body caked in dirt,
my hair loose and curly,
my lungs full of air.
The wind whispers fervently,
words unlike
anything I have ever heard
telling me of that feeling
between hiccup-sobs
and moving on,
between being tied down
and pulling away,
reminding me of the
moments of calm and
moments of chaos that
eventually led me

Here.

Staring into the reflection in the pond,
where the transparency meets
the slow ripples,
and I see

Me.
Alone,

leading the way
to my new destination.

every day a blue renegade
mercury falling out of the sky
solar system come
come feel me die
a star so burning that i cry
orange yellow black and why
do i hold on to relics what am i
the glow of the moon
me shapeshifting into the form of you
dark china drifting in fading out
what is the night without the dreams
echoing in the chambers of
a building that is baroque
time goes by i become confused
wrinkles ephemeral death is forever
life is so gray it threatens my soul
what can i say
each move is a play

Without shadow
an agony, slits me open.
As when I bleed.
I write a poem.

It hurts,
when you touch the words,
the lines, the paragraph―
the page.

From teaching
to be a learner―
a long odyssey from―
innocence to scream.

My namesake, my akin
dies daily. I dig a mass grave
to find my twins,
where the god lived.