delicate moths wish
to kiss
  your oxygen-eating fingers,
   as you gently consume
    sun-dried limbs
     of monster-trees.

     your dear children,
    born of the plant flesh
  you disintegrate,
dance on the whistling breeze.

should one of your young
  dare to tiptoe
   on brittle blades
    of winter-deceased grass,
     she will grow
      more impressively
       than you,
        her mother.

    she will indulge
   in tender gluttony,
  softly swallowing whole
the homes
of woodland denizens.

conceived of woodpecker houses,
  her own daughters
   enter the world,
    spread their mother's warmth,
     just as your sweet baby
      did with yours.

and forever you burn.

In order to perceive yourself as worthy;

How many more achievements must you accomplish?
How many more ‘wins’ must you have?

How many more followers must you have?
How many more likes must you have?
How famous must you be?

How many more characters must you create?
How many more images of yourself must you envision?
How many more masks must you wear?

How many more versions of the ‘self’ you need to create?
How many more ‘to become’(s) must you be?

How many more times must you reinvent yourself?
How many more times must you meet yourself?

How many more of your parts must you hide, silence, ignore, suppress, and crush?

What more must you consume to come to know your worth?
What more must you pretend to be till you allow yourself to ‘just’ be as you are?

There is no amount of ‘doing’ that elevates your self worth
There is no amount of sins that can ever depreciate your worth

The ‘self’ is eternal
The human’s ’worth’ is a sacred eternal gift
A gift that can never be robbed

In this acceptance
There is no longer a chase to actualise the true authentic self into this world

In this acceptance
The magnificent self emerges

Thank you for being here.

By NwK

John Keats
Coughed tuberculosis all over his sheets
And died at 25
And remains unalive.

download instagram, download twitter, download what’s-app, download flickr,
update I-message, update linkedin,
restore photos from iCloud bin
back-up Tinder, back-up Scruff
X’d twitter, doomscrolled enough
access Pinterest, access Ring,
screenshot snapchat, Grindr ding

face-id open, passcode close
settings, delete find your iPhone
close friends, bank app, sort code,
messenger, poke, block, link, follow, repost livestream selfie be real location tag pin dropbox camera notes volume up siri off
Wi-Fi on,bluetooth disconnected 3G 4G 5G
which account do I logon?

safari, google, duck duck go
buy apple, by android,
huawai’s cheap though

forget this for you page
forget this Alexa home
forget this algorithmic poetry
forget this phone

Tender flesh, pale & thin;
Cigarette burns pock cratered skin.
Entrails that entail, poison foretaste.
Hidden, not much to be read, that
Of false smiles, on a plaster face.
The cancer within,
Almost at its brim,
Building to the self-consumption
Surely bound to take it's place.

creation like an all-consuming fire
splintering sense of self until a chest fills with bone shards

aspirating ***** / spitting up blood
if only for the sake of the

tradition

sounds like suffering / smells like delusion
feels like an unexpected weight

and yet it is better than the silence
the silence before / the silence after

                                                          ­                                             is this love?
                                                           ­                                            is this love?
                                                           ­                                            is this love?

                                                          ­             is this it?
                                                             ­          is this it?
                                                             ­          is this it?

do you fear fear

a nail biter? a bedwetter?
or are there other compulsions
you cling to

step out, from the stale shade of the dark
that consumed you
no longer does it
feel the warmth that the sun casts down
sometimes, it's all one can do to beat the blues

this road of life is rocky
and it sees us all stumble
you chart your course

stick to it

as a blade meeting grindstone
water's introduction to limestone