Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.

I think the sun has grown jealous
Of my friendship with the moon
I prefer dusk to dawn
And midnight instead of noon

Our bodies are not temples,
I will not be invaded as such.
We are ecosystems.
Made of grit, blood, and change.
Packed with multitudes of intricacy,
We love like gushing streams.
Wound like thorned bush.
Hurt by humanity like hunted prey.
As we burn, as we are cut down,
As we are wounded, crippled, abused,
We still grow.

two little bees were flying round a tree
one said to the other will you marry  me.

one he was the king the other was the queen
both of them agreed and set the wedding scene.

they invited friends insects that they knew
ladybirds and ants and lots of others to.

then they both got married the wedding was complete
flew in to there hive for a bite to eat.

Why does doing the right thing
Always feel so wrong?

Sometimes
The panic
Is more dangerous
Than the pandemic