I've been a construction worker
My entire adult
Life.

Still, I cannot
Seem to rebuild
Her confidence.

I've been a poet for
As long as I can
Remember,

But my encouraging
Hollow-point-words shatter
Against her insecure kevlar.

Suppose all I can be is
Sunlight, water and
Soil.

I'll try that; I've been a
Farmer's boy since
Birth.

Unfurl your hands to me, Grandmama.
Your hands are browned and gnarled,
yet textured by age
as pressed flower petals.

O tell me the story of a soul:
As mysterious and delicate
as the heart of a rose,
And yet as always,
as strong as oak.

It’s shattering,
the splintering Crunch
of greasy potato chips
between my greedy molars:
chips that taste like stale smoke
and the salty yellow Crunch
of the Mylar bag
that holds them closer
than a health-crazed mother holds her child.

It’s drowning my senses out,
the accountant-firm Crunch
of black coffee characters
beneath my crippled fingertips:
keystrokes that sigh like short fuses
and the riffled paper Crunch
of the overpriced notebook
that was sold to protect
them against non-quantum uncertainties.

It’s pointless,
the mortar and pestle Crunch
of sundried willpower
before my monolithic day-planner:
obligations that loom like thunderclouds
and the omni-present Crunch
of the rigid ticking deadline,
that has concocted its scheme
to unravel my pleasant net of silky procrastination.

it's hard to tell your story
life needs to make at least some sense
to be put into words
words are usually on my side
but in this case
my words are forests where my emotions can hide
in this case
silence
is my only sound

it's hard to open to a stranger
the words
the stories
things happened long ago
how do you tell them?
and what lights do you use

do you want to shine on your own role like
a victor
a victim
a bystander
what's my part of my life?

i answered the answer of why my life is falling apart
with silence
i have nothing to say
but silence masking my pain

I used to think that your smile held the key
to this wide, bewildering existence.
Because it was both.
But then you see,
I never forgot
The song you sang to me:
The one about the green mirror of the sea
And the lie of the blue sky.
And therefore why
Some vast emotions
are better kept locked away
Lest they be mistaken for truth.

So i tried to be Snow White
And did the whole pin-up girl look
Red lips, black hair, white skin.
then I joined a website
and learnt how to cook
and how to wield a rolling pin.
Then I sat and waited for a charming prince
who never came.
So I got up and made an apple pie
and lo seven guys turned up in a pinch
but most of them were really lame
and short and they didn't like the pie. I cried.
I threw the pie into the trash
where the rats choked on the apples
and waited for their own true love's kiss.

(But then I needn't have worried about making a hash
of things because later on the steps of an abandoned chapel,
The Anti-Pest Society gave me an award for getting rid of all the rats
and that's how I got work as an exterminator -which I am justifiably proud of and good at-
So hasta la vista baby, I'll be back.)