The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

The worst way to die
is to be forgotten
while you're still alive.

it’s raining and there are four people
huddled in the living room under
a tin roof, and the rain droplets
pound down like our hearts,
thudding loudly, this friday afternoon

there isn’t enough room for a fireplace
and i think it’s growing colder with each
breath i shudder to take, but i like to
imagine that if all the broken pieces of
our hearts could be fitted together into one
a spark might, in the dark, ignite
enough to keep us warm for just tonight

i do not sing the storm. i do not sing rage, wrath
the lightning bolt, the scream. Despair i do not sing
i do not sing struggle–revenge poisonous blast–
the hurricane, the quake that tears the city of peace

i do not sing no border. i do not sing no flag
i do not sing no warrior but she that fights all fear
Poverty & sickness-night, the blade, the club, the trap
blows, wounds, cries, lies, bursts & war-blood i do not sing

i do not sing despise for any thing or being
i do not praise no richness no governors, no kings
From all this flower-garden i pick one single rose:
creation is just dew upon the rose of love

i celebrate one flame. i only sing one blues:
the flame of endless loving with you & only you