as the stars trickle down from the sky
they take the form of raindrops
every time they splatter down on me
i feel every shattered aspiration
in those little splashes of starbursts
i feel them stab into me demanding to be set free

crushing a dream
is like ripping the wings from a butterfly
and then asking it why it can not fly

You think the world hates you.
The current always pushing,
The worms always digging,
And the fisherman taking your friends.

But the world thinks nothing of you.
Because you're an oyster
In a sea of oysters
And nobody can see what's inside.
It could be a pile of dirt
Or the sea's prettiest pearl.

So you can wait your whole life
Expecting someone to come
And crack you open
Or you can find your own light
Make your way to shore
And bide your time outside the ocean.

"Oh how you drift so slow,
don't you know you have a long way to go,
She smiled and whispered, my beauty lies in the flow
For you see,
In the end i'll just be the sea,
But that's not the prayer unto him I make,
Behind me, therein lies my legacy,
For where she touched,
she left flowers in her wake"

like a phoenix
i'm reborn
from the ashes of who
i used to be.

I went to check up on you today
but then like fate, my hand stopped me
so I didn't see what you were up to
for the better.

like a phoenix
i'm reborn
from the ashes of who
i used to be.

I'm the happiest I've been in weeks
Today I did something that I could've let
ruin me
but instead I held my head high and
didn't let it affect me.

like a phoenix
i'm reborn
from the ashes of who
i used to be.

my friend told me
that he saw self improvement
in me that i didn't pick up on
until he said it,

and now i see...
like a phoenix
i'm reborn
from the ashes of who
i used to be.

“But maybe your real job is shopping…”

Sleepwalk through stock footage.  Life as
documentary.  Soundtrack of horror movie score:
ambient electronica, bubblegum nostalgia and
**** love songs.  Everything becomes
visual metaphor: blackbirds, barcodes and
birthday candles; Big Pharma pick & mix;
lipstick ritual; pigeon superstition; fraying flags
of fading empires; migratory patterns of
shopping trolleys; special offers; fantastic prizes.
Worker bees are vanishing - they all want to
be queens - and our hives overflow
with honey, but are empty and dead.  We got
infected with aspiration, with individualism.  
Generically unique career consumers: remember
when you were more than your credit rating,
more than your demographic, more than your
market-driven self-diagnosis?

i could be that girl
whose voice is low and melodic
and coats your mouth with
acacia honey
whose eyes are the color
and depth of
midnight
whose presence is thick like
new york summers
rosy like
los angeles in early spring
if i braid flowers into my hair
if i write enough poems
if i learn to show the skin of my essence
but remain an abyss—
i will stop making art
when i become it

Trampling through their city paths,
Hunting ground, mean street.
They perch aloft towers of oak;
Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped
With silk leaves, soft to touch
And hard to climb.

The Sun sets over the seven lakes
Of spring kissed, freshly mown
Fields of scorn blessed by
Solitudal and beady eyes.
Gates keeping out the world that
Wishes them harm.

They sit so high peering down,
At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might!
And think:
“Pfft you all wish you could fly

Hope is my companion today
we hold hands while humming a song from "Cabaret"
we hug, we smile, dancing to infinity
it's a short opening, but it is worth praising our ditty
i have to hold on tightly to you before it ends
you come, you go, causing my heart to distend
this time i will take something from you
your warmth for cold days ahead
your potential of a newborn baby
your armor to keep away adversity
i want this moment to linger eternally
you perch in my soul and your whispering became a roar
you fill my body to the core
making me fall in love
in love with life,
in love with love,
in love with you