I was born in a world full of voices,
I've been quiet ever since darkness swallowed my day,
The room was filled with laugher...
My only choice was to

MUTE MYSELF.


Let the story begin.

©MH

Small prayers muttered in discreet whispers,
are softly spoken inquietudes said in reverse.
It's the Cynic, the pathological saint
sliding into my thoughts.
come anew and ready to live again.
my mind lacks any real estate to be reminded of any  once past reflection.
memory has failed me,
and thorns have surrounded me.
And here is where i've found myself.

sunken, defeated by nihilism
left alone with a beacon
a new friend,
with a new tune
whistling attraction.
packaging fight,
telling stories of grandeur
saying bloom,
like a flower, bloom
like two lovers roosting in on each others noses;
celebrate the end of a road
and the beginning of a new one.

There is this look that you get,
And I can tell you are taking it all in
Every element all at once

Every particle of the universe,
At your fingertips
Awaiting your exploration

I want to discover,
The hidden secrets
Of our existence, with you.

A life worth fighting for is a life full of trials and hardships. Trials that feel like thousands of miles and tears that will never end. A heart that will mend through time and happiness.

Dreams are being chased and faith is being challenged every step forward feels like 3 steps back. Walls feel closer and reopen like a beating heart. As if a part of you will never be lost.

From dark days, to a new beginning. All wounds from my past are just healing I feel as if an old life is peeling away with nothing to hold me back.

regret number one: i didn’t do it for love
i confess i know too many languages
i didn’t ferry the moon across my heart.
too much fear to break the rules.

regret number two: i wrapped my voice
into a seashell and buried it into the sand.
i broke my poet’s promise to always write in caps.
i am too unsure to write in triplets.

this is where i apologize
for bringing us to the end.
every poem is too long
never enough slices of happiness.

this is where i admit
i broke yet another promise
fingers dripping with orange juice
and i couldn’t give you a slice.

final regret: this one’s a whisper
as my legs stumble a beat
and my heart misses the horizon.
don’t let go of me just yet.

i take it back. there is
no conformity in lowercase.
a quiet breeze, a soft freedom
a will to sketch a greyer plot.

and now, for once
there isn’t enough room for regret
all i can do is hope
this is not the end

sit here with me, won’t you
and hope this is not the end
that this moment will come again
and there will be more oranges to slice.

Any inhaled past
Will keep recycling
In your lungs
Exhale