You hate my poems
You say they take me from you
that they're pointless
a waste of time
maybe you're right.
You read them,
just the words as they fall,
and say you get nothing
just syllables.
I have lost count
of the sighs and eyerolls,
the you have no talents,
they sit in a memory box
along with the times you've asked me to stop.
Stop.
Just like that.
Stop pouring myself onto paper,
Stop looking for beauty in darkness,
Stop healing.
You prefer me broken, fragile, dependant,
the girl you took from nowhere to god knows where
a once pretty, broken thing
to hang silently from your arm
while you talk proudly of the soul that you saved.
You fear that my writing will end us.
I fear that my stopping will end me.

Where do you go? When you're not here? Do you miss me? I do.

I miss the me that was without all that you are.
I miss the me before that moment when the earth stopped spinning at your hello.
I miss the me that believed in love and had not witnessed the irony of your beautiful scars.
I miss the me that didn't hurt, that rode the wave and let things be what they would.
I miss the me that never felt your touch, that never brought his lips to yours.

Now, I am consumed. Swirling within your grief at being taken, drowning within my grief at the sound of our boy's laughter.

Now I am lonely, my thoughts of you driving me further from the light and deeper into a melancholy orbit, where the only existence is within your unbeating heart.

I see you, all the time, a suggestion of the life I could have had, had the reaper played fairly, his attraction to your flame stronger than mine.

There is no regret here, I loved, deeply and without remorse, every inch of your being.

But today, I'll die a little. For you.

I will scream into the void with you. Take my hand, let me calm your fears.I will weave my words into a shelter, a place of grace for your troubled heart.

Walk with me until the stars dim forever, until the sun implodes and only dust remains. I am here with you, there with you. Let my tangled thoughts be your remedy, your darkest dreams my salvation. Take my light, for I would rather walk in darkness unending than see the weight of sorrow on your pretty brow.

You are my privilege, my haven, my friend, this will always be, as long as there is breath I will use it to sing of my wonder at your strength and my joy at your existence.

If you believe in nothing else, I beg that you believe in me

I hate being up in the morning
every morning the same,
rising with no hope of relief
I mean, why bother?
There's no warmth to nestle in,
no dark to slip into
no sweet scented dew
to take this ache from my head.
Frankly I feel mocked,
as though old beady eye is thumbing his nose,
laughing maniacally at my frustration
He deserves a beating,
to be pounded with fervour
but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
So I sit and smoke
giving my best thousand yard stare
rivalling Clint Eastwood,
while he stands proudly smirking,
defiant, unyielding
a stand off, silent
as I ignore his twitchy responses to my stoic suffering
His resolve only stiffening mine
as I refuse to make his day.

~


Illumined by a seamless crescent moon
suspended above our heart’s desire
Breaths filter through wisteria dreams
as silhouettes embrace against a background
of fireflies and pine needle whispers

A scented breeze through whispers moves
as hearts entwine at midnight's call
with gentle hand to lead the way
and silent smile to loving eye

For in this gaze I know a shimmer,
to taste these lips, soft of twilight wine
Lost now within this dark abandon,
the scent of jasmine feeds the air as
passion grows in dewdrop longings

and there, discovered by the dawn
to purest love our hearts succumb
no more to dwell amongst the lonely
our faith restored we lay, unmoving~
*Forever here, forever one

a collaboration with Calpurnia Mockingbird*

If you have something to say, say it. Don't bite your tongue, swallow those words down, set them free.

Set them free that I may hear them, feel them crashing into my consciousness and lifting up my eyes to yours.

Make a wish as candles gutter, wish for me, for us, for an end to this mess of limbs and longing.

Say your prayers, kneel before all that you've ever wanted and plead for remorse.

Sing your song, others may dance to the melody but the rhythm will always be ours alone.

Write me a letter in indelible ink, that those words will always stain my world and sting my eyes.

Take my hand, my beating heart within your palm, so the world may know that once, we loved.

When I was eleven I came home
with a piece of paper
back then I knew
how much those five letters  
would determine how much
you were worth
and as a kid, I felt pretty
worthless
there was a time I remember
before the paper
where all I would do
was draw

Mountains fascinated me
and that’s what I drew
all the time, mountains
I drew them with snow caps-
Without snow caps
I drew trees at the foot of them
Plaster a setting sun in the distance
Made them look like teeth
And a road came from them
Leading nowhere but to you

I was eleven
When I tasted the value
Of myself
Slapped across my cheek
Like a tattoo
And the first word
To be printed on me
For everyone to see;
Failure

And they all knew that
Was true
I could never turn my mountains
Into Everests
My trees into the Amazon Basin
Or my lakes into the Atlantic
And I ran through the world;
A blank piece of paper,
All of a sudden everybody had
A reason to use a sharpie

I’ll never be able
To make my mountains
Into Himalayas

And I can never stop them from
Using their Sharpies,
After a while your skin color
Doesn’t matter anymore
What they see on you is a story
And they can tell me what they think
But they’ve never seen my back
The things that I’ve carved on to the
surface of my spine
She feels them sometimes when we
have ***
trying to figure out where the period
ends.