Skulls have tales,
a human with an adventure to tell,
their lives imprinted in their bones, as they made their footprint on the earth,
each gene forms a twisted novel of health,
a spoken word a new intention into the universe,
With every physical touch there is traces of dust that formulate a pattern left behind,
it is magical enough, that continues to carry the story on as we would a prideful torch,
but we don’t even realise.

That’s why skulls have tales,
they have the tales the human misses,
they catalogue the who, what, why and when,
They are protectors as we function and move through our own story,
They are the canvas that holds our creation and our identity in physical form.
A crystal skull sealed in wax, could be viewed, loved and be an endless tale forever,
Magical moments sealed for a continuous life journey.

When walls become your imprisonment,
A no win scenario with a raging sickness,
You miss your camera capturing snapshots of life passing by.

You are one in a collective of people, holding each other metaphysically to barricade the vulnerable, this is more than just you.

You pace, you pass time, and you precise your ideas of freedom,
You may even do a painting or two,
A Tik Tok while the clock ticks.

Reflections of your most inner turmoil surface,
Pressures of life continuing with you boxed and it builds
Deadlines
Deaths
Destability

When you just can't take it any more,
You bash against the door, striving for that one touch, one feeling of hope you will break free of the airborn seel

The door opens

One

Point

Five
is  sprayed on your steps, and in your mind.

You would  do everything to chase the sunrise as it greets you again

I was smaller then,
You protected me,
I have thrived with strength.

Thankful, not for pain,
But for opened compassion,
I see the wounds heal

You showed your best love
Physical, and for safety,
I carry the rest.

I hear nothing but waves, and the air cascading around me with flecks of salt,
But i see infinite stretches of vulnerablity, it's as if i want to cradle this liquid into a glass and rock it to sleep as the waves and water do to me.
It is already the beginning of the ash mixing with the salt,
And the coral as white as the rarest of albino,
The layers of life are being heated to an extra degree,
The sun which gives us prosperity and hope beams in an angry, mocking setiment as if a child has been abused.
Which it has.
And the child protection workers are nowhere to be found.

As a family we have to admit our mistakes,
We have to strive to be better,
We need procedure, supports to at least be good enough,
We need to stop beating, abusing, and bruising.
Because our child will withdraw, our child will retaliate, and eventually fight back or destroy itself in the process.
And we will go along with it.

Nothing about us without us,
Always about us, you're without us.
Including the moments in history, that deserve our religious screams, our outrage and defiance,
The human rights that slip your systemic mind from time to time, because it comes with a billboard that has a painted letter of a capital D.
We own the crippled and crumpled pages,
Your oppression is our spark of history,
Flattering the pages and creating a novel,
a permenant marker of our precence.
Will you pick it up and understand?
We made our place in the palm of your hand,
This is about us, and without us you wont stand.

Today has risen,
A new era and decision,
What will fate give me?

Starting poetry again,
Was once a comfort and friend,
Now flames burn from ashes.
Paper transforms into an electric pulse,
From a hand extended outright and grasping for connection.

Together once more,
Was a friendship, loving, a journey through all that was life,
Not making narrative sense.
Now we rise as equal companions ready to slice letters with our thumbprints,
And tear at the nature of paper.