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.

Dear friends and family,
Have you ever noticed the silence of the forest?
Not a sound penetrates these dense thickets of brown and green,
and when you walk you can feel the stillness,
the tranquillity and serene.
Footsteps stir the dust creating a blizzard, it stays when you progress,
even the earth's natural instinct is to dissolve back into nothing.
The forest light never shines, and come to think of it neither does mine,
because i've travelled deep enough in and there is no returning.


The fauna here is beautiful, so much life when there is death,
birds chirping out their sweet call as if begging for me to not end this nature walk,
and when I do I know they wont stop chirping, their life will go on,
as will you when you come to terms with what I've done.
I have to find the perfect spot and more than not a perfect place,
because when I leave this earth I want to give back to natures grace.
I will be a bird,
free to explore the next journey without the burden of the world.
I am ready, I want to fly with the assistance of my noose I wont have to stay alive.
Dear friends and family,
Have you ever noticed the stillness of the forest?
because I do not make a sound.

Words to a page,

Numbers to paper,

completely different but still written.


I paint pictures in my mind imaginary tales and things so define,
while he slots the figures and logistics in between.

Can words go with numbers?

Will the real world meet imaginary?

I believe so.

Because I still need someone to count my words,

and he needs someone to pull him away from reality,

Once in awhile.

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.

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.

The screen is our religion,
dreary eyed and mouth wide open we are absorbed into the graphics.
Swirling around us on the the Tv plane are the stories,
“breaking news” we are breaking ourselves,
because the tendrils come shooting out and grasp our brain feeding us poison.
Our soul carers called the democratic love playing dress up,
a wolf in sheep's clothing,
and while they play we are neglected,
bad parenting.

We don't get to play,
we are the ants,
in systematic order, we provide,
the only time we get to play is when we retreat inside our mind.
Then we become the stereotype “ignorance is bliss”
while the world falls to pieces, is it because we voted for this?
Maybe.
We are the ones in control and yet we have no power,
we lounge inside, the clock is ticking by the hour.
The world is broke with each secret kept,
each person pretending that its okay,
while the connected, open minded ones feel powerless and hide away.

The colours of the universe dance like the northern lights around us,
and the  origin shifts depending on a beings perspective,
but we all agree that we exist.
The light takes us all to many places,
our own micro worlds are like an island to us all,
we never see the invisible link made of colour.
The connection that turns each island we have made into a country,
and the colours that bleed inside us that makes us a collective,
and not just a single entity.
Because paints can bleed into one;
and they can be separate,
but we all create our own pictures regardless,
and that is the nature of the universe,
to just "be".

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

Theres burning fire in me,
a heat that makes me want to scream and rage,
there is water too, to douse the unrelenting flame.
The water becomes a tsunami,
they battle and dance with each other, nobody else can see,
but here inside my body it's also invisible to me.
I feel every blow and every lick of flame,
and I also feel the water, molding into tear shaped rain.

The days I feel the sunshine are beautiful and warm,
anything to keep it there from an oncoming storm,
travel on adventures, mostly inside my mind,
because sometimes ill be to afraid to really step outside.
In case that sunshine suddenly reveals the clouds holding  rain,
or the fire who without warning can sometimes take blaze.
The elements confuse me, I wish I could understand,
instead of a tornado who gets emotionally out of hand.

He, was always well composed,
what a father should be.
And she, plastered a smile day to day thinking next of what could be,
but it was always just a thought never acted.
The world sees what you want it to see,
how foolish of them,
how foolish of me.
But as a child you also see what you want to see, when the people you love the most hide behind a veil of protection,
Until that veil shatters.
And you are ****** into a world of unknown called adulthood,
you see the bruises, the letters, the threats of violence,
you remember his face,
but now behind his eyes it wasn't love that you saw,
it was possession.
The smile that you loved on your mother was to keep the tears at bay,
and the nightmares you had of her crying and begging were alive because they were right outside your door.

Now left to pick up the pieces,
there is a girl left abandoned,
a farther who hurt because he never loved,
a mother who still says “what if”,
and a facade unravelled.

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.

Every night I pass my mirror and I hear the beckoning call,
"Come to me my love I won't hurt you, not at all".
I turn to see the bright familiar face a ghostly apparition shimmering in the mirror,
she always lures me with intentions that make myself quiver,
and yet I yearn to go back always for more,
Mia the perfect girl; the final form.
My hand raises as I begin to touch the light she casts,
I see myself reflecting in the background,
I am faded while she dominates the glass.
Darkness entails me when I step through the mirror,
a sickening feeling of blindness and sheer terror.
All I hear is the echoing laughter of the sickening girl, hurling insults and making me want to dive deeper into her world,
"Disgusting
"Worthless
"Horrible"
And
"Fat"
These are only the mediocre things she says when I'm fighting this horrible trap.
But again I always come back always for more,
I conjure this, as I ***** on the toilet of her bathroom floor.
Mia is holding my hair, consoling while Im chocking and sprawled.
"Good girl" she says "You have nothing to fear not anymore"
She picks me up grasps me tells me I'm now beautiful,
" Thank you" I reply "then why do I feel so horrible?"
"For you are killing yourself you see; look back into the mirror and follow me"
I follow In desperation willing myself to live,
I want to be perfect but is dying something I truly can forgive?
I glance again, a reflection of myself and her by my side.
She whispers in my ear "you are not truly alive"
I look back towards myself she is now gone but I still stand there,
We are one
now a whole,
Her world is my own and now I'm left all alone.

Dear reader,

We have lost faith,

If ignorance is bliss,  

is feeling bliss in moments like these, also ignorant?

It is the barrier towards change.

Without fire;

there is  no hone towards retaliation.

Without water;

There is no grievance for what we are losing,

for what we have already lost.



If we have one shred of hope left in this world

it is to rise,

as if we already haven’t become to the invisible shackles,

that make us turn a blind eye,

while keeping us moving on schedule,

so that we don’t witness the truth.

if we haven’t succumbed to the temptation;

We shall accept,

not what we have been told,

or what they want us to believe.

We shall accept our emotions, on the premise that;

Yes we have lost control,

but we will get it back.



The Domino Effect needs to ignite,

like a match to a flame.

With one collective cry of righteousness,

others may view with open eyes,

that will travel past the layer of superficial distraction,

and see the real motive

to what causes such pain in the world.



Dear reader,

Think deeper,

care unconditionally around you,

and try to change what is wrong.

The people who are meant to,

have failed us.

It is up to you to fight against it,

to gain the control that has been taken,

and make it not an illusion but a reality.

To grasp the freedom that is deserved, not just given sparingly.

We shall be a humanity.

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.

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 .

A cape coloured in blood,
her eyes a piercing blue,
her brown hair long and flowing
A forgotten tale told anew.

She is no longer a girl,
youth has found her finally,
but this isn't a story,
of a happy adolescent variety.

She was a girl, who trusted and loved,
who ventured into unknown with curiosity, looking over and above.
She wanted to see more than what was on the surface,
her intuition askew and intentions unnoticed.

The world to her held magic and the people did too,
everyone was  bright no darkness flourished
but even light can cast shadows,
only to her do those shadows not exist.

So when he stepped into her sights,
her life changed for the worst,  even though she thought for the better.
His piercing eyes held love,
his caring meant comfort,
his manner said i'm here for you,
and his word said trust.
And in a world where everything has been turmoil, and all she needed was real love,
she stepped into his arms,
claws retracted,
eyes wide,
teeth gleaming,
The wolf.

Do souls search for the light when they die because they never found it on earth?.
Why do we appreciate and celebrate a life gone when it was already there to love?,
we just never took the opportunity.

A list of "to do's' and chores becomes a list of regrets,
because we never really saw what matters most,
Life, while it is still searching for something here.

Static* says the phone and you say nothing,
while you wait for them to say something,
but there is dead air between you.
The silence is deafening but not enough to muffle cries as you remember what you two were.
Deep inside you mourn the person you used to be,
now shadowed by whats overcome you.
And when they look at you it hurts,
because they see an apparition of where you came from,
burning inside yearning and pleading to get out through tear stained eyes.
"I love you..”
Static
“I remember you”

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"

Borderline,
It isn't about being on the cusp of reality,
or if you have other personalities,
Borderline is...
Bordering on breaking point,
on the border or shifting emotion,
when all it takes is something so insignificant to make you feel, such high intensity until you connect the dots to figure out why.
It's about feeling alone when the person you care for isn't there, even temporarily.
Like apart of your soul that's attached  has been ripped out, that's why they call it attachment.

Mending the  pain and feelings you experience require bandages of your making,
such as liquid poison or the calming of your own blood to see your alive.

You feel other people's emotions,
like touching their skin and absorbing their values, traits, hurt and happiness,
you can put yourself in their mind for awhile, because it helps to not feel your own for to long.

Borderline personality is many things more than I care to explain,
But we aren't the Borderline,
we are buried underneath trying to connect in ways that seem "normal".

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.

Every word said by you I cling to,
like my fingers  grasping the edge as I dangle from a cliff,
will the words make me let go?
Or make me pull myself up again?

Your touch is valuable,
like a gem never seen before,
people crave to see it, feel it,
always needing more.

And if the time comes and you say you cant do this anymore,
will you look me in the eye and watch the tears fall?,
as I cling to not only your form,
but the spirit that I gave my half to for so long.

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

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.

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.

Whirling emotion,
Control is hard to grasp now,
An ode to destruct.

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.

Collating rain drops on the window
can I just say its beautiful,
creating a pattern, feeling of safety at home.
Amazement of  the drops being separate,
then how it forms into a pool together as one
How individual rain drops have colours,
trying to stand out before they fall.

We are like these rain drops,
we shine before we fall,
We pool together as a community,
We also fall serperate away from it all.

Just like these raindrops we are on the other side,
Looking out instead of in it,
looking through instead of seeing,
gliding on the windows with the feeling of no meaning.
But just like these raindrops we can pool together,
to seap through the window,
to create a puddle,
In a gloomy world.

Blank,
My mind is silent as are the words that try to form on my lips,
Is it because the world has no future?
Or will I just not be around to see it?