Another beautiful crisis
brightens Sunday's morning news
and waking refreshed
... as if
I still decide on a sleepless-in
possibilities dissipating with ease
into golden rays of early afternoon
zero balance cloud
there are old friends to still not write to
projects to incomplete abound
***** ones that I particularly hate
a few small fixes around the house
I need to leave for another week
neglected strawberries in the fridge
which have grown plump and rich
grey beards overnight that merge
the scent of expired fires on the beach
and stubbed out cigarette filters
I can always listen to the summer rain
gurgling down the broken gutter
after the inspiring insanity
of the past few days
it's nice to discover any
kind of mental rest impossible
and with all those wonderful plans
happening all at once
there's a special loveliness to be found
discovering they're all ones I can't face
then there's parties to attend
... of course
... I wish!
but maybe a quick check of my email
hope you're having a perfect weekend
and that it's beautiful where you are
—roséline xo
you pain

There was no earthquake
no shattering birth
raging against the pane of existence
sending butterflies cowering behind glass
and wolves baying over a bloodless loss
in a forest where one tree falls to a soulmate
breaking free from clutter with a passionate flair
like a newly clustered sun's first real pulse
of living light
flung into a dark sky to dwell on its joy
at brightening its view of the universe

when I met you

there was no pepper spray
of subdued stinging elation
burning under my skin
when you climbed over everything
and demonstrated against
all I had ever defined
choking the air with a perfume
so hot it welded every flower
within miles into a single staggering
placard blowing me into a garden paradise
from where winds were strengthened
with a strange unprotesting fascination
only guessed at by curious angels
only sensed as the singular truth
amidst the nonsense of existence
by a philosophical idealist

when I met you

there was no starving ants' nest
hunger to consume you morsel by morsel
carry the idyllic seeds aloft in triumphal succession
and acclaim the day as evermore celebrated
store the piecemeal plot as sacred land
my eternal home to build on as we will
and relishing the daily harvest
the piled to spilling their vanity fruits
of Aphrodite's labouring shaken womb
by putting your heaving bodice of attraction
on display where the highest peak
looks up at your shockingly favoured nature
and in its warm shade curls up
contrite

when I met you

on a never to be exceeded
memory pillow of accomplished desire
below the tree line where it melts
the final crystals of snow
and rolls over on to its back
hard time ink tattoos giving way
to slipped on morning lipstick
like a puppy wanting a rub of its tummy
discovering the pleasures of green grass
on its first summer
of life

when I met you

there was no play of your fingers
skimming down my back
touching every vital chord
of merciless disharmony
tormenting the hell out of me
with a soft on my eyes stream
of exotically attired tireless servants
loyal only to our exchanged look of adoration

when I met you

performing in concert with your lithe body
by suddenly trumpeting the flash of lightening
generated by a momentary show
of everything you possess not static
and worn to part plush glimpses skin on skin
from shifting notes dripping under lazy dresses
dropping their quavers on to velvet carpet
and rubbing in the salted healing potion
you drummed up on quiet sleepless nights
inside a perfection of smooth conniving visions
bolting the bedroom of mad freedoms from inside
and banishing every other maiden's swan song
from this man's dreams of orchestral piece

when I met you

I found only the more
perfect body
personality
kindness
and love
and that
my dear one
was more than I deserve

way way beyond
what I couldn't find
what will ever be
envisioned
enough

when I met you

to think maybe the other bits
will follow
but it doesn't have to be so

when I meet you
and meet you more

I want to be in love with a tattooed boy, so tall,
Or a fierce, strong girl, sugar sweet.
I want someone to hold me at night and whisper sweet somethings,
So much more than nothings.
I want them to write me notes more beautiful than any poem could be.
I want to be cherished by someone I can call "darling",
But most of all, I don't want to be in love with you.
I wish it weren't true, but somehow I've fallen in love
With a stubborn girl who says she loves me,
Who flirts and teases and cuddles and squeezes,
But wants to be "just friends".

Soar higher and think beyond the skies
Searching for the unknown
May land you in familiar territory
Keep the wings aligned with the wind
Nature’s guide will take you along its path
The worldly binds chains us to the ground
Clipping our wings, not allowing us to fly
Heavy as lead, we drown in sea of expectations
Completely drenched, the body soaked to the bones
Lying there along the sidelines, waiting for the sunshine
To dry the body and soul of all the limitations
Gaining consciousness and power from the Sun
Looking beyond the sky, the unknown looks familiar
Sometimes unchartered path is more inviting
To a traveler like us, helping us to reach our destination

I don't like labels.
Labels mean restrictions.
Oh, you want to do that?
No no, you can't!
Labels mean expectations and
Expectations means disappointment.
Labels mean something has to be
Ought to be
Like this
& not like that.
We'd constantly be thinking if what we were doing
Was what we should be doing.

I like labels.
Labels mean structure,
And structure means order.
If everything was in its place-
Exactly as it ought to be-
We'd be okay.
We wouldn't have to worry about crossing over the lines
That the world has drawn up against us.
We'd know what to expect
And what to feel.

I lost it some say,
when I went away,
I lost it she said,
after we were in bed,
I lost it they spoke,
when I didn't laugh at their joke.
But I did not lose it,
it just was not there,
I created a facade for them,
but now I do not care.
I am a butterfly coming out of its cocoon,
flying high above the fears,
during a midsummer June.
I did not lose it,
when I turned you down,
I did not lose it,
when I did not drown.
I swam to the top,
and took a breath of fresh air,
and swam to the shore,
and dodged every snare.
When my feet felt the sand,
pushing between my toes as I would stand,
I did not look back into the ocean,
for I had passed that hurdle,
and am now running in full motion.

They asked us to write a poem
in class
I thought about my B2 yellow pencil
and the way it used to
move easily

It was like if my words
would flow submerged in a labyrinth
and come up to breathe now and then
to show off in front of my face
that I would never place them in paper again

I knew I had to find another source of thoughts
and I asked
I was told that they'd seen my poem
hidden in dead end streets and alleys
where most of the best stories
go to die

they told me that Vincent Van Gogh
used the street as his canvas
and that Nicholas Copernicus found his passion
within the streets of a starry sky

I found my poem
with a case of severe amnesia
lost in an alley
snooping between the leftovers
of the things that he once saw me living

He said he got lost
a few months ago
when he started to feel unwelcomed
around me

I convinced him to go back home
and fed him
and asked him to return to my hands
or at least
to let me place him in paper

But he decided to leave
he grew arms and legs
and kicked down my door
and he was gone again

I knew there that everything that comes back
never does it not even as remotely
as how it was

and I'm here thinking
why did he leave again?

I think he found his color and shape
in the streets
far
too faraway
from me

I was yours from the beginning
but you were never mine
I guess I should've seen it
should've read all the signs
I was there for you always
but you never were for me
I guess I should've noticed
but I was too blind to see
It's true there were no promises
no touch, no hugs, no kisses
but you should've known that I would fall
still you didn't try to catch me at all