My poetry has potency
I listen to my words

and know it's me
growing in the never ending curse,

of feeling and not showing it
a lesson never learned,

to let go of the echo
when I’m feeling so unsure.

Blurring every line
that I’m toeing up,

looking way behind
and like throwing up,

the person that I was
wasn’t old enough,

to see the stuff
that I’ve done and just slow it up,

I just really wanna hit him,
and tell him the fear is there,

because you let it be
and life won’t be fair.

I know that no one told you,
they were never there.

But here is where you are now
so you better care.

It’s okay to take a moment
hocus pocus on my focus,

theres magic in the habits
that have brought me to my lowest.

Growing by the moment,
yet stuck inside emotions,

the motions that I’m going through
expose a man thats soulless.

tell me about the fact that you never sleep on your left side.
describe every turn, every toss, every other hour where you open your eyes again.
your hand reaches into the humid air, trying to remember the width of my throat.

and isn't that like you? to run your tongue along the taste of piled bones against a torn mattress.

not the heat, not the growls in between,
you are beautiful, i see how you burn for me.

but didn't your mother warn you not to play with fire?
kerosene is unforgiving, my fingers striking the evening in the shape of matches.

and so we scream, you slam your body into mine.
a breath into my neck, just like this, baby?

but don't forget the way my lips burned your skin.
you won't find destruction like this in any other life.

and that is the art of my absence.

so, tell me again how you don't sleep on your left side,
because that's where the fire started.

Delete every trace,
Disguise the lingering numb,
Retreat from the race.

If it were up to me,
I'd be more than a composer..
I'd be a musical conductor,
The night stars would be an orchestra
To us all.

If it were up to me,
I'd be less of a coward,
I'd be someone you'd be proud of,
I'd write a poem so beautiful that the world might just change...

But it's hard to feel this hope all alone..
It's hard to turn the waves from our home
its hard to turn my thoughts, into poems
And it's hard to be in love, on my own
Would you let me give you all the flowers I have grown?

Could I show you all the magic I've been shown?

If it were up to me,
I'd be on my way now
I'd be a busker by the bay now
I'd be a writer, still falling hard

If it were up to me,
I'd be less of a student, and more a teacher..
I'd be a doer, not a dreamer
I'd be iconic without needing a broken heart...

Oh it's hard to hear stories, from those around
It's hard to hear that everyone's, been knocked down..
It's hard to promise that things, could still look up..

See it's hard to give up,
When all I want is to be a Giver...

A giver of hope, songs and love.

Your sun stroked fingers
smooth my dusted galaxies
spoiling orbiting blues
with swipes of stardust.

You kiss meteors, murmur
how you savored snippets
of Jupiter's moons in the
spaces of a poetic eclipse.

Adorning Saturn's rings
in your nebulous tombs,
rekindling your smile with
flames of lovers past.

The memory is still buried
within my core, a pounding
resonance that evokes the bloom
of summers kiss on Earth.

A welcome release for the
nights wandering stars.