Eight years of commitment to file away,
I’ve never been good at finishing tasks,
instead I fiddle my thumbs when asked,
dramatizing a victimized perception
to anyone who will listen
as if they aren’t suffering in the dirt,
as if I'm special when no one is special
because we are all perfection
reflected on earth

As a perfected being
it's my responsibility to let you go,
to lay down the second arrow
and redirect this energy
into a meditative state,
instead my finger slips on the bowstring
and the cushion stays fluffed:

Instantly my psyche self deprecates
and turbulent sensations erupt
over time and how it was spent
leading up to this exact moment
and all that arises is loneliness,
allowing the arrow to fall into my chest

Telling myself over and over,
"alone doesn't have to mean lonely,
just move forward"
until the double edged sword cuts
this perceived loss out of my gut
and humility bleeds through
as a reminder
that we only part to meet again,
whether in this life or a different one

A highlight of consequence in believing
that everlasting phenomenon exists
and the value in unlearning resistance
to the push and pull of ocean and moon
because acceptance heals all pain,
but to cling only strikes odds with gravity,
forcing the second arrow loose

The day that we declared
each other as home
is a memory I now
have to try and hone
with every mental muscle
that I possess,
and turn it into treasure
labeled with a reminder
to keep forever
so I won’t forget

Now I want to hide away
in our old backyard woods
because this dull city
is that much more mundane
with your absence,
and all I can do is stare at the spot
where you last stood,
trying to accept once more
that life is impermanent

It’s hard not to wallow
in this murky water
that once was our cuddle puddle-
a mind goes where you let it
so I attempt to focus
on your brother instead,
he is a mess but will be alright
even though nothing is right
and we will never be the same

The one thing that will last
is your grace,
as you made sure
to let the world know
how beautiful life is
even when it hurts:
we keep you in spirit and name
our sweet angel, the fierce,
Princess Cheetah Sage

One step in—
the air bleeds thin,
heat curling at the walls,
lungs straining
beneath your brand—

One look—
the room sways,
the way fire bends
before it gives in to wind.

One smile—
a burning magnet,
searing my thoughts
laces undone with just a look—
knowing when to forget
how to hold back.

I meet you there—
skin against skin,
a shiver between shadows,
a heartbeat, staggered and wild.

Your mouth—
an invitation between gasps,
a tide swelling, slipping,
breath against breath,
falling further in.

Fingertips etch urges,
scrape constellations into skin,
the night between palms and sheets—
a hunger deeper than air.

You collapse,
the world now a quivering mess—
a slow-burning ruin,
softened into embers,
breathless—wanting more.

Strength is weakness,
being soft is empowerment-
to pointedly disappear
in a world built of thrones
is a well of fluidity
that will outlast whatever
masculine energy
attempts to hone

Heavy lies the crown, it is hard
be free with the wind
like a fallen leaf
and you will catch
a swift ride home
from Mother Earth herself

Only when you are certain
that there is nowhere to be
except right where you are,
will you find exemption
from the urge to shape
or control
and instead follow wherever
the next adventure begins-
it takes one leap,
then you let go

Everything is different,
aggravated noise is swept
off into the distance
I wanted quiet, here it is,
and I still can't relax
as questions persist
over an everlasting cause
while answers dance alone
just beyond the hanging clouds
of resistance
showing that I make choices
but don't really know
what's missing

My life is a constant reminder
of being trapped in a blind spot
from the bind
of one’s own
misperceptive thoughts:
it’s a feat of escape
to consciously accept
what might be an earthquake,
unknown until it hits,
but this only makes it harder
to dissipate

It didn't matter when I was young,
it shouldn't matter now
but inevitably
wherever you go
there you are
so I lose patience,
looking at the nothing
I've become

Wondering why I spend
precious time
to go out of my way
and make life hard

The stars do not fall
with our might,
the universe has motive
of its very own:
possession is a mirage
that takes hold
we die when we die
but there will always be
an endless light
being fed to the living below

Where a mother just gave birth
in a dreary hospital room
filled with loved ones and flowers
next-door to a man who died
alone, in the peak of June
on that same day
with the same replenishing light
reflecting in a perfect sky:
meaning is also an illusion
that we create

Why make sense of things
that are better left on the shelf?
Answers are bittersweet
figments of "truth"
akin to religion
and its unfruitful ruse
for it is no secret that language
plays a fickle tune,
each voice with its own sacrilege
to project as a catalyst
unknowingly for the downfall
where we all lose

To a bullish sense of self
deemed more important
as people shout and yell,
it's unbeknownst to them
that self-righteous anger
is also best left
on the shelf

She wakes up every morning
with a frown on her face
as he stumbles from his bed
and into a chair that
he will never get out of,
there is tension in the air
as she downs another
exclaiming, "bottoms up"
when it makes her glass world
shatter
at the rise of a cup

All he can do is watch the pieces
as they become pronounced
while the shift of retreating cats
induces a pitter-patter
and more pictures fade out;
the happy memories
now stained
from her cigarette smoke
to ensure they'll die together,
yet somehow alone

He is cursed with a disease
that has rendered him pitiful
but alcohol doesn't care,
she drinks another swig,
becoming more cyclical
and deems the mans hindrance
as sinful

Stuttering, he can't escape
a liquid she's drowned him with
by pouring it into her own veins-
maybe it's better this way,
to watch the walls as they cave in

What else can he do
as he slowly degrades
from Parkinson's?