I am a cynic,
I want good things to happen to people who deserve them,
I want to see humanity show kindness to one another,
I want animals to be treated fairly and with respect, not murdered mercilessly for our food, clothing and entertainment,
I want war to be a vacant memory,
I want the homeless to have shelter,
I'm naive.

How can I be both?

I naively ignore the contradictions of myself
I don't believe in love, I am closed off,
I can't let good people in,
and yet it is so evident that I want that for everyone else.

there's an awful lot going on around me,
and most days I love it,
this last year has been the best and the worst

but sometimes,
I can feel it creeping over me,
this overwhelming itch that can
not be scratched
it sinks deep below the surface
it's this niggling feeling that everything is the best
and the worst

there's so much going on all the time
life has a habit of feeling like a
dichotomy
one second you're so high and everything is
the best; people, love, experiences
and the next you're plummetted and reminded of
the worst; yourself

as a writer, the reconciliation of the two sides is
the best and the worst

I couldn't fully contemplate 'dark thoughts'
until I had them -
I never belittled them or doubted their existence,
simply their lack of presence made me somewhat
ignorant

I couldn't fully recognise them in myself,
until one night
sat alone, so so alone,
and wondering if it would ever be morning again,
and contemplating whether or not I really cared.

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

Golden Sunlight
Reigning Down
With No Thought
Toward Ending
Straight Thru the Earth
Streaming Confidence

Beautiful
Our Time Together
A Film In Motion
Ever Stopped
Flickering Light
The Projector of Our
Being