I flew above the horizon
Soar high with the eagles
Flew up high to cross the great sea
With my magnificent wings

I joined the clouds on the skies
I flapped and flapped tirelessly
To reach the paradise
On which I can almost see.

The eagles gracefully flew over the mighty mountain
They reached the other side
They have entered their destination
A beautiful paradise.

It is my turn to ascend like them
I charged, pushed myself higher
But I lost my grace, I hit a tree
I fell down to the dirt

I tried to rise from the ground but I can't
Tried all my might but my wings are broken
I can no longer fly
I can no longer land on paradise.

I have been braver
Fool ashamed to be frightened
What shouldn't matter

i want to tattoo daisies and desires
on the worn duvet of clouds
on a mellow autumn day
i might float home
with the bees and ladybugs
to stay dry and to build
art that will never be seen

These are wounds
piled on my desk.
They bleed for
attention and ink.

These are nameless,
kept away from view.
******* children,
of my quill.

Urchins in rags,
unkept and unfinished.
They haunt my dwelling,
as beggars do.

They are dismembered,
without proper structure.
Perhaps faceless,
void of identity.

Give them names,
would equate their freedom.
Label them,
and they shall see the sun.

Or not,
and leave them,
as they are.

Untitled.

Maybe there’s something between us.
A fire that we kindle but try to put out as if we are ashamed,
Blinded by the light.
But as that fire grows larger,
It becomes harder to control.
At some point,
We must accept the warmth that the flames bring us.