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.

So many can never find the words, the feelings,
because if they speak, what they know
It becomes a solidified highlight reel,
and not just a spiel, a tale told in the confines of safety to a person with a ticket that transforms them into the audience.

They devour the reel of desperation and despair,
The hurt child deep inside that starts through the mind, and leaks through the pours of your adult body, it paralyses you with fear, ruins your relationships, destroys the peaceful nights and waking moments.

It slaps you with a ghost hand and phantom pain, reaching from the past to remind you in the present that it still lingers,
they are still there  and they always will be, that it is their job to inflict pain.

Just one moment, one semblance of safety, is when the person with the ticket shows up to your screening, reaches for that ghost hand, and instead of twisting and pushing it away like you always beg, plead and scream to do
they grab the hand, hold it and say:

"This trauma is real, not a show, not a highlight reel, I will guide your scenes, your desperate cries and pleas, and I will help your child heal"

When we are born we are born to be made,
Shaped like clay from the confines of the universes hands.
Like art.
And like art we are critiqued,
And like art we become,
Until our colours, thoughts, behaviours form,
And we are human,
We are all in one piece,

And these people stand and these people stand and give their verdict,
And these people stand and extend an invitation to us, an invitation that tells us to now be a "Starry night" instead of a Picasso painting,  although they don't know even Starry night had their Picasso days.

And these people stand as they extend their arm, capturing the essence of our being on the street, when sometimes our clay is soft, or when the paint bleeds from us.

But our arms and wrists  can bleed,
But our minds are told it cannot,
With the exception of one day to ask: "Are you okay?"

But by then I'm already in the kiln, and already dried to the bone,
Because I am an artist,
And i will shape myself again.

I awoke.

I awoke hands claspsing around me, grasping as if all they had was me to hold on to, and maybe they did.

Because this man was not so innocent,
This man pushed the people he loved away, by treating them like a punching bag,
and with each blow became more of a reason to escape, he tried to escape his emotions, they tried to escape him.

So he was alone,

And that loneliness I forever have felt,
As I watched the wizard of Oz as a child and felt like there never will be a place like home, so I understood that loneliness.

He invited me to not be so lonely with him, and I tried not to be so afraid

I went to sleep, I stared at the cupboards afraid of the figure at the end of my bed,
I went to sleep thinking that I wish my mother was here
While his hands trailed down the road contours of the body, not yet developed.

I cried uncertain if this was okay because only parents can touch their children, but why did it feel so wrong, when his hands slipped underneath my underwear, I cried and slipped into a sleep.

I awoke,
To gaining his innocence, because he stole mine.

Mine.
The sanctity of that one word brings comfort like how the
caresses of your touch brings trails of starlight,
That word bounds more than the physical,
But with each it fulfills the moon to which it's purpose is to shines upon our moments,
its glow is to illuminate the illusion of all the time in the world.

And if that's all the time we have then I will conjure more,
Even if it's imaginary
Because you are worth the value that reflects on a mirror,
And I don't need the list to narrate those parts of you,
Because it reflects on me everyday.

All I want is the wholeness of you that
makes the day seem bright from the moonlight before and everyday
the affection that grows which never tried to by its own making, has developed and intensified because of you.

A feeling indescribable that it isn't on a list of my own.
But you can take and name it for me if you must, we can share the growth that it comes from.

Because what's mine, is yours .

Advocate for the world around us,
We are the only things left,
to hear our voices heard,
but the throats of our souls left parched.
I can only sit back and bask in privilege,
while i'm encased in invisible shackles,
and the person to my right, chained to me as well but just blissfully unaware.

We are together in mind
a connection, but it is lost because there is no Wifi.
We are together physically
a presence, that is unseen because the daily zombie grind pushes on.
We are together spiritually,
a thread, that is closed because we don't see a human.

And as the veil stays while we sip our Starbucks latte,
could you imagine if the curtain fell?
The pain rushes forward, and a suffering of another is felt.
The world we have lived in isn't what we are living for,
but designed for us, and it hides the suffering in a department store.

The theatrics is over now,
It's time to close up the play, remove the backdrops and settings,
see each others life in a new way.
Pulling back the curtain to see more is a hard thing to grasp,
because you're pushed from your comfort zone,
to see who we truly are.

1, 2, 3 They can't keep the heart beating,
make the time stop, on the day I counted  for so long.
Birth and Death are cruel paradox
Celebrating  birth just to take your life away,
The always kept  promise that we will all be gone one day.
Let me grab the clock  so I can rewind it for you,
It's the only way to not feel hopless in your time of need,
you thought you were going to live,
But I felt the soul from your body shift  from this universe,
Energy can not be destroyed nor created
But I lost a piece of energy I wish I could of saved.