we are blossoming now.
scarlet petals unfurling;
revealing our golden hearts.

and i want you to know
that my love grows best
when its roots entwine with yours.

kiss me in the storm and wipe the raindrops from my face,
you're more afraid to know my tears.

so that's what you meant, when you said "forever",
you meant "for now".

well i guessed that eternity was a fake
and the last page number would be even

but then i was wrong because you took more than i could give you
and the odds were never in my favor

french songs sung with the breath of cold ***
and dizzy dancing on the back porch with you

but it didn't mean enough to be remembered,
the photographs burned out with our love.

i want a love that is tangible
like fresh, clean sheets warmed by the sun
and later, anointed with the sweat of our bare bodies

Green apples at lunchtime,
You were the only friend of mine.
We played in sand and built castles from our growing imaginations while we hoped our bodies would grow just like our minds so our hands could reach the monkey bars and… maybe one day the stars.
Back then I’d wish on those and hope you’d pinky-swear right back to always have an ear out in case I called for help.
Those were the days I’d spend making cards to send to you just because you might need to know that you were worth every glued-on sequin.
We stayed outside catching fireflies until the sun escaped and those jars were the only lights to guide our way.
Those summer breaks spent chasing salamanders, our fingers, our toes, warm river mud pressed between every one of them like an unofficial glue promising to keep us together.
All our thoughts concentrated on an everlasting summer,
No more school because we felt educated enough if we could be together all day.
I guess the river washed it all away, like the current wiping the mud out from between our toes, off our fingertips, off our minds your words turned cold,
Conversations dwindled and the best thing I could hope to come out of your mouth was hello.

And now you walk the way you used to walk when you made fun of girls on pageant shows.
Your lips are stained a perfect color of rose,
But you grow thorns when you speak.
Some say you flourished.
A blossom under fluorescence but I always liked things to be under incandescence. A phenomenon of light produced from our warm bodies under a shared blanket watching the stars, sharing our hopes our fears and our scars.
But now when the temperature rises it’s because you’re not looking at me anymore.
I’m a just another flower budding on your wall,
But, please watch me blossom before I fall.

i'm in love with a boy
but i change my pronouns to say that
i love her
because of the ones who cannot do so.
because of the lovers who have to hide.
because of the injustice people have done to people.
we are all equal in birth, but live in an unequal society.
i am simply another girl who loves a boy.
no questions asked.
no awkward glances, no stiff hands to shake.
no glares, no whispers.
because i'm privileged enough
to be on the side of love that someone deemed
acceptable.
and because i don't agree with having to pick and choose who you get to love
based on their possession of particular parts.
you love someone for their energy, their personality.
the way they hold you in the night.
the trust you share, the bonds you make.
you love them because you are you and they are they.
she loves her.
he loves him.
she loves him.
he loves her.
or her. or him.
the pronouns
should not
seem odd
to us.
but our society majorly consists of
gritted teeth and
disapproving eyes.
and because of this,
because i love someone
of the opposite gender,
and because i do not
suffer from any hate,
i will quietly fight
the cookie-cutter
for you
with pronouns
and poems.

your heartbeat
is the only metronome
that i want to be in time with

you are a breath of fresh air to the melancholic poet in me.
for once i am not moved to write words of sorrow
of despair or heartbreak or bittersweet longing -
but words of joy,
of eloquent sighs and satisfied sleeps,
of whispered words of love and curious inquisitions,
of two souls revealing themselves to each other,
of vulnerability and crossing the bridge between discomfort
and feeling at-home
in our love

find friends
someone sent you a friend request
look, some people you might know

nudges to connect
the more the merrier
spend more time looking at screens

immerse yourself in technology
who needs real life?
hey, you need a new phone

it's brand new
it's brand name
it's calling for you, my dear

September. Six o´clock.
I can hear the neighbours talking and birds singing.
Outside in the orange air there is a familiar smell, and it moves me to dance.
It made me so happy thinking of summer evenings to come (some with you, too).
Now, with a little bit of encouragement and care, tomatoes grow, much like my love for you.
Summer.
Sunset.
Embrace it.
It feels surreal. All a dream. Time passing and smiles coming and going.
Coming. Going.
But why not staying? I dream of staying still. Poised in the golden light of the evening, forever.
What a delicate feeling. So long to grow into this and so quickly to leave it forever.
Forever. Is it possible, or just some idea dreamed up by a poet who thought too much.
I want to stay in this moment. Tomatoes. Sunlight. Distant conversation.
Dancing. Soft grass. Bare feet.
First love. Forever love.
So bittersweet is summer.
So simple are wishes this season.
To feel like a poet by simply encountering an eloquent evening.
To be a poet by speaking the words that summer brings.
To live forever in a moment, to not feel sorrow for the rest of life you would miss.
To be everlasting. To be ever-dancing. To be ever-young.
Summer.
A few moments of daydreaming,
and it's already gone.

the caffeine is crucial
for this day-time creature,
the low-lit room an optional feature
for my attempted artistic-flair
paint brushes discarded on the floor
i took up drawing, graphite stained hands
and red eyes in the light of morning's sun
through the cracked window
of my old apartment-turned-studio
it was that morning i realized
the faces on paper would never
come to life
or serve a greater purpose than
good looks and candy-to-the-eye
it was that moment, i realized,
there was much more than re-creation
remixing and redoing
redundant copies of someone else's idea
and in that moment, when i realized,
talent is subjective and in the general eyes
of the artistic world, i was **** on the side
of the street where van gogh and picasso
strutted their dead-man's artistic *****.
and now i know that there's got to be something
more than staying up all night drawing from a
photograph a classmate gave to my sight
and earning ten dollars for every hour spent
dragging pencils across leaf-thin skeletons of
plants that could have grown to serve better.
and now i know i was made for something more
than sitting on my **** cold bedroom floor
and replicating the eyes of a sixteen-year-old
spanish self portrait photographer.
in the western world, the people want me as
an artist making prints of their faces and loved ones
but for the rest? my hands are needed to build homes
for those who have not had the privilege of holding a
pencil or seeing their faces on a mere piece of paper.

when the cobweb scheme of reality
collapses to reveal our dream-world
i'll be home.

She said,

"I am happy with the occasional dash of rage,
anxiety, or depression.
In the end,
it makes for a beautiful portrait,
and you've been here
to witness the brushes of my past six months
painting something incredible, "

and I was in love.

as much as i feel
wiser
stronger
more independent
i am suctioned into
digressing
repeating
forgetting
and walking right back in
to this nightmare of a culture.

i am in love with how your words caress me
how your voice echoes in my mind like soft, slow piano
delicate words and murmurs before sleep

i am in love with the way your smile lights a fire
deep in my heart
where i never knew heat could reach

i am in love with your ever-present joy
your experience of love and life
and the way you find strength in pain

i am in love with the movements you make
under the sheets in the afternoon sun
and with the glow on your skin
and the way that you come to me, passionately

i am in love with the sounds you make
when you whisper, laugh, or sigh
and how you send shivers from my head to my fingers
down my spine and to the tips of my toes

i am in love with the way you reach for me
with your questions and with your hands
always searching for more of my soul

i am in love with the way you hold me
for a moment, forever
for a breath, for the night

i am in love with the way you love me
patiently, vulnerably, honestly
how you crave my spirit whole

Night-time, to me? Well, that’s a tough question.
Night is a time where sleep is an exception.
Rest is elusive, dreams are abhorred.
Night is a time when I’d rather be bored.

Night is for tired minds falling from skyscrapers.
Night is for weary-eyes, pencils to papers.
Oh, let me tell you, counting sheep just won’t do.
Night is a time when I long for you.

Night is a time to have too many ideals,
Night is a time to break too many seals,
The terrors have come and the wishes have past,
Night is a time that I hope doesn’t last.

your body sings in harmony with mine
one hundred hushed hymns of adoration
each kiss a silent prayer
each look in the eye a soul confessing
showing the bare truth of our beings

we have studied the lines of each other
memorized the scriptures on our skin
anointed with sweat
under a temple of holy white sheets

our love is an offering
we give all that we can

it's scaring me
that little forgotten things
like biking to school in the cool morning air
are coming back
and the lack of familiarity reminds me
that i am losing
what i am meant to be.

i resent it all
the technology that brought us here
but what good is here?
and why
do we want to stay
in this wretched place?

sometimes i wish to strike the earth
like those super-heroes
flying superficially above the cities
protecting man-made hollow halls of brick and metal.
i'd crack it right open
make my way to the heart
kiss the inner-core better
and sew it back together with patches.

*problem solved.

eras una tormenta,
y yo, era un pequeño pájaro
asustado por tu trueno,
luchando para volar en tu viento,
sin lugar seguro para aterrizar.

we are spinning in a sea of cotton cloth
and swirling hues of happiness
the joy - contagious!
as you arrive
a wave of excitement hits us.
there's no need for clumsy intoxication -
we're drunk off good feelings.
this is the party of all parties
one that will never be blacked out.
you will not question what happened tonight,
but you will ask,  "was it real?"
don't worry about a ride home -
we'll sleep under the starlit sky
music booms out of the trees
we have the moon and white christmas lights
strung against the contrasting skies
to guide our dancing feet.
who cares what style?
we dance through it all -
hips sway and arms reach up to kiss open air.
never will we forget this night.
leave your phones at home,
to disconnect is the only way to  be connected.
there are no clocks -
a girl with stars in her eyes tells you,
"out with time!"
we go barefoot here,
for the moss kisses our feet so gently.
there is a piano over there, between two oak trees,
and we play our favorite songs
and partner up to half-stumble-half-waltz
to classical sounds.
when our feet grow tired
we make s'mores and tell stories
of our collective past.
do not worry,
for tonight we embrace our youth,
and toast to a brave new world.

the wolves call like hungry cats calling on the stairwell back home,
and i tremble in the night with my blankets wrapped around my frozen legs.
tonight is a night for letting go of the past,
but i can never forget the sounds of her broken-heart,
and the images of the mind that she lost to the twilight-sky.
tonight is a night for remembering the golden words spoken,
but my memory is bronze and i can't hear the sound of her songs in my mind -
only wolves and a breaking heart that beat out the rhythm of her love for me,
ever-slowing sounds like petals of a rose wilting by the window.

jasper, come home.
not only because i love your smile
not only because you smell like rain and cedar trees
not only because the way you hold me feels like himininn
not only because when you sing songs softly to me my ears rejoice
not only because i haven't hugged your body in nine whole days
not only because the things you say make me feel secure
not only because i enjoy your company in the woods
not only because swimming is less scary with you
not only because you make me feel like gold

but because when i need someone to talk to,
my first choice is you.

you are not judgemental.
you are confidential.
you are caring, respectful, and loyal.

and sometimes i need to cry,
and sometimes i need to laugh,
and though i'm happy for you that you've gone so far this summer,
sometimes i want you to be here.

teleport to the chair next to my bed,
or as i'm painting with the easel you made me,
appear behind me and say something into my ear.
anything. anything.
just please, be near.

It is incredibly fragile.
More like a web of hair winding through the city
Than a spider’s web that bounces back.
Electric current run through my veins; support me.
More moved to soak in the sun than taste the flow of a water-dam or take in the scent of a coal-burner.
Knock it down,
Down and out with the lights they go black.
They cannot see, cannot search.
Their voices throw complaints at this power-gone-out,
But I laugh.
Reading with the light of the still-rising sun I smile behind the safety of my book.
I do not need to be recharged,
I’ve got the power of the sun to bring me to stand.
They’ve got themselves depending on breakable things,
Leaning on a dry branch as if it would hold them up as long as they need,
Don’t know that a dry thing will snap if you push it too much.
How easy it would be to bring down a place like this,
All strung together, their failing crutch.
Must be in sync.
Must be connected.
But don’t they know?
Connection disconnects when a sacrificial tree topples and their circuit ceases to exist.
Their power cannot reach their devices and their shoulders fall.
Does anyone have a generator to bring them back to life?
And why won’t they regenerate when the lines are cut?
Come back to life,
Find your power in the sun.

sometimes the feeling is too intense for a midday coffee out in the town
or even a sunday afternoon stroll along that beach we never go to anymore. but that
feeling doesn't go away simply because it's unwanted or because the time just isn't
appropriate.
that feelings hangs around in it's unwelcome nature and nags at us to give it
some recognition. maybe if we stopped for a while, sat down on a salted log
somewhere along that coastline, and listened to the silence that comes along
with that pestering feeling, we'd understand just why we need to feel like that.
so often we are surrounded by the
standards
that say, no, you can't feel that, no
you can't express that, no you can never ever tell anyone you feel that way. maybe
if one day we realized that it only takes a moment of knowing and
accepting
that you feel like it to make it all start to go away.

my feet are happy
my ears are happy
my arms are happy
and my legs are happy
my heart is happy
my head is happy
my soul is happy
that you are home.
finally finally finally.
happy happy happy
i really did miss you.

These days I pull out my hair just to feel some relaxation.
It’s weird, and I know that, and I don’t want you to lecture me or tell me something I already know about tics and trictillomania.
I’m off, and I know it.
Let me breathe, okay?
I could just end it all, I guess, but that’s what I’m afraid of.
The end.
And naturally, on average,
I’m nowhere near the last chapter of my story,
but that doesn’t do much to calm me.
Must keep on living.
Must live.  
Must do more things.
Learn more.
Be more.

for better control, command yourself to return to your happy place.
shift into gear, delete your worries, give yourself the option to escape.
alternate which function you serve to bring brightness to your life.
turn up the volume, press play on peace.
don't keep tabs on your friends, trust that they will back you up when needed.
monitor your indulgences, keep an eye on your power,  and don't exhaust your system.
when you're tired, power off, and remember you can always restart.

i said stop! stop that now!
but my blood won't listen
and my lungs won't listen
and my brain won't listen

and all the external features are blind to me
they turn away and frown
they stamp their feet all over me and let me down

and inside i feel like a hurricane
it's been let loose, destroying my sanity
my soul feeling much like the storming sea

my skin is a cage and my heart is trapped within
it calls out to the open air, says, "let it all blow over!"
but no one is near to lend a four-leafed clover

i'm **** out of luck,
got to get through
the panic
*again.

and i saw faces before me
blurred out of recognition, coming closer
their bodies exposed, bearing only skin
blue-grey and hanging off their bones.
tell me that's another nightmare
tell me that it's the first time, then.
lost wives and sons and daughters,
a single man giving up his home.
sometimes the pain is shared between us,
spread out to those unknown.
i've felt their aches and known their hopes,
without knowing why.

the absolute language
a song  so foreign yet
            so familiar
echoes in my ears
slips through my veins
through my veins.
a passageway to my soul
no longer restricted.
     the chorus doesn't hesitate
to be sung.
      like a lady serenaded by her darling,
               i give my full attention.
this is my lifeline.
           i, like the marble
w
    i
n
    d
i
    n
  g
d
   o
w
    n
the funnel,
inspired by the song of life.
the absolute language that is
all-encompassing.
     it commenced on the very
first day and will never freeze over.
once i have realized the beauty
   and the harmony of the song
  i will not sleep until my eyes
go bloodshot.
  for through any trials,
  with the song in my soul,
i will survive.

learning to be alone
& enjoying it
reading books about persia
& sipping cold coffee
expecting open arms of friends
& receiving a ride to a motel room

oh universe,
you love me in some strange way.