sometimes i paint
sometimes i write
sometimes i do what i think i might
sometimes i play piano
sometimes i play guitar
sometimes i steal from the cookie jar
sometimes i dance
sometimes i sing
sometimes i try to do everything

yes, i am a jack of all trades--
master of none, but better than
a master of one.

what is it to you
if i pave my own path
and do not speak up
when you expect wrath?
you see, i am
quite the silent kind
but look into my thoughts--
i've a chaotic mind.
these lips are shut
so you may not hear
what lies beyond
my skin austere
though you may peek
into my spirit
through words
that i write vivid.

the stars are out
but the city lights silhouette them
and the noise in the buildings clutter
the symphony that is you
but i hear the faint melody
as you walk towards me
every step a single note
and i draw nearer to the sound
but then you’re already here
and you wrap your arms around me
and i wrap my arms around you
and you utter tender words
and those words turn into music
and the music fills the air
and the air fills my lungs
and i breathe it all in

and we listen

to the beautiful sound

of silence

i forget things so easily

one moment it’s there
then with a gentle breeze
it’s gone

and maybe for now
i’ll forget little things—
     like how to ride a bike
     and where I put my keys
     and how to play guitar
     and when your birthday is

then a lot—
     like all my friends’ names
     and the heaven above
     and where i live and who i am
     and whom it is i love.

bang

goes our love
as we make a run for it
they’re chasing us like
chasing smoke from
the cigarette you lit.

bang, bang

goes our beating hearts
as adrenaline surges in;
as i feel your breath
in sync with mine
as we’re skin to skin.

drip, drop

the blood flows down
from deep cuts on your arm
but you say by
no gun or blade shall
our love be disarmed.

we are the runaway
king and queen;
in our kingdom without rules.
for scepters we have loaded guns;
and dollar bills for jewels.
for a chariot, a beat-up van;
our thrones are worn-out couches.
we dance in our majestic castles
masked as abandoned houses.

bang, bang, bang

goes our palace door;
the enemy arrives.
and so we run
like we always do--
that’s how our love survives.

and so we run
and run and run,
soon we’ll escape this place--
this world where they
don’t get our love
and so we run, they chase.

watch me
as i undress;
pull off the sheets
of an ancient chest.
i give you now
the long lost key;
go on, my dear
and unlock me.

i know you seek
a work of art
but all you'll find
is a rusty heart
with rusty gears
that spin no more
yes, i'm broken
from the core.

"hold on," you say.
you hold my heart
and gently fix it
part by part,
then with such grace
you place it in;
working smooth
as how it's been
a billion years
before it failed;
before false love
my heart impaled.

i am awakened with
     a tingle of static
     that runs across my fingertips

and as my eyes try to focus
     on the blank white walls,
     a contented sigh escapes my lips.

it’s been full moons since
     i saw the sunlight
     through dusty curtains seep

so I stare a while
     and with a smile,
     fall slowly back to sleep.

I chose to build a fortress
in the middle of the woods
and line along the edges
pillars of aged books.
Now why, you ask,
did I choose to build
a thing so odd,
what is it for?
So strange a thing
on the woodland floor.
You see, I have a plan
of shutting myself away
from the reality that is the world
and the sight of it decay.
Here in the safety
of letters and ink,
I can finally breath fresh air
and think.

let me evaporate
     press your hand
     against my chest
     so i may disintegrate
     into a billion tiny
     specks of light
     for i am the
     sun incarnate--
     my soul a ball of fire,
     my mind a solar flare.

     press your hand
     against my chest
     so i may disappear
     in a wave of dust that
     spins and spirals
     and carries light
     into the skies
     of midnight.

and i will disperse;

     into little dots
     that settle down
     above this old and
     humble town.
     and as you stare
     into the void
     you shall see
     what happens when
     a vessel is destroyed.

     so press your hand
     against my chest
     so i may disappear;
     this will be
     my legacy--
     all will know
     that years ago
     the sun was here.

He ran far enough to know
that in the end there was no end;
that at the edge was a turning point;
that the pavements simply bent.

He was the chaser of suns,
almost always on the run
one foot in front of the other
but the chase was almost done

For Time was chasing him as well,
behind his back, so close
and overhead were clouds that cursed
him for the life he chose.

And in the end there was no end,
but there was no chaser, too
and Time was left alone without
anybody to run to.

it comes in a blur
     unfocused, unseen—
eyelids weighed down
     by heavy thoughts.
as i stare blankly at
     the projection screen,
uncertainty ties itself
     in lovely knots
around my eyes
     which have seen so much,
around my wrists
     so i may not touch
the box on the side table
     all wrapped in red
then i am pulled slowly,
     gently back to bed.

my voice is lost
     in a sea of others--
          an ocean of opinion
               is drowning it in.
i only wish
     to speak sweet words
          but with all these screams
               i cannot begin
                    to try to word out
                         what i wish to say;
                              no, i cannot bring out
                                   what i wish to convey.
this ocean's too loud
     and i'm sinking; so please,
          from these darkened waters
               my soul
                    release.

people are made of paper

they can be big or small
and ruled or plain,
and perfectly smooth
or with a bit of grain.

you can take them and fold them,
fly them as planes
or float them as boats
in puddles in rain.

you can write poems and stories
that may inspire or destroy;
you can paint on them pictures
of sadness or joy.

you can crumple and throw them
right into the trash;
you can light them and burn them
until they’re just ash.

but please, if you ever see
a crumpled one,
try to iron them out—
tell them they’re not done

and if you ever come across
a piece torn apart,
try and tape back together
that broken heart.

the curtain dances
with the wind
  to the music of
   your cheeky grin
    as you look at me
     with those hazel eyes
      my words i have
       to improvise
        my back shivers
         my voice quivers
          as with such grace
           you touch my neck
            and kiss the lips
             that long for you
              dear, my heart's
               a wreck.

i now live in a plastic house,
coated nicely in yellow and green and blue
made pretty when people come to visit,
but entirely different when the day is through.
"move!" this house now shouts at me,
says i’m putting its patience to the test
"i’m sorry," i say, though quietly.
"i thought this place was made for rest."
and as i walk through these colorful halls
i hear the lullabies of familiar walls
but time has changed its color scheme
and everything’s had a shift in theme—
rarely do I now see this house aglow
in its lonely blue and green and yellow
maybe during christmas eve
i’ll think again of wanting to leave
but for now with every tic and toc
i wait until things are like how they've been
before time put up a brand new clock
before the table grew tired of the evening routine
you see, in this house they do not speak
they spit out words of annoyance and hate
unlike before, when lullabies
tucked you to bed and then you’d awake
with the smell of pancakes filling the air
mum, let’s go back to when things were fair
and lovely and playful and gentle and sweet
dad, what happened to your dancing feet?
i live now not with family,
just people with whom i’m supposed to be.
and so once again, i lay in bed
and pray: God, let not this house be dead.