he talks of the weather
and i secretly hope that he speaks of anything else.

not because i am not interested
in the way the trees will sway
on a certain day,
or the amount of rain that
will come our way.

but because i am much more interested
in who he is.

i want to know why the weather fascinates him,
how the world makes him feel,
i want to know his favourite movie or book
(please let him be a reader)
and the way he takes his coffee in the morning,
and i want to hear about who inspires him the most.

i want to memorise all the smaller
more vulnerable things.
in hopes that one day we will run out of things to talk about,
and then we might turn and say,
“the weather is meant to be nice today.”

roaming the streets up late at night,
we kept walking even if its dark.
just followed what feels right,
even if we didn't know where to go.

i remember we're laughing
romanticizing the years,
falling in love and getting drunk,
now im 18 and im terrified.

uncertain about the future
as we long for summer to come back
spent our time distracting ourselves
because we can't be kids again

I have today grown old.
I was never told,
Make every day count.
I counted days,
Missed some years,
My advice may fall on deaf ears
To those who know how to live their lives.
Everyday. Everyway.
It's not easy.
I recognize the mantle
On my children's faces;
See them counting milestones,
Running theirs through the paces.
How do I tell them
Count every day,
and not count every day;
But make every day count?

If I could turn back towards yesterday,
I'd walk down the road of our childhood,
And perhaps not be so desperate to reach the next town.

Before, the years had whispered quietly, "Growing old is not a game,"
But amidst the secret paintings of sunrises and stars,
We were not able to translate the message.

And all that I am capable of doing now,
Is bowing my head in shallow commemoration,
To all that we once were, and all that we tried too hard to become.

So friend, I pray for you and for what we did not savour,
It seems that years of innocence have stranded us,
Between feeling too much, and too little.

As the curtain opens and our second act begins, we part,
For you and your ship have set forth on a voyage towards forever,
And I am left standing alone upon the sands of youth.

little balerina
glides gracefully with ease
the soles of her feet bleed
but her smile aimed to please

little balerina
each twirl immortalized her
prancing around me like magic
everything she does is a blur

little balerina
i can see her smile wavering
as she dances with such splendour
around a truth she's been denying

little ballerina
such a beautiful form of art
but it's time she accepted now
an end that broke her heart

Kiss me with deflating lips
Beach body beached on my mind
Fated errors in our minds rejoice
At distance confirmed and hammered in

To lift a veil and see the wolf
Corrugated eyes blend with the sea
Of unthought masses watching TV
Of the dark road, the foreign path

It's hopeless when your sleep
Loses its pull, its fire to be
What happens when legends draw their maps
And don't mark the road you knew they'd make?

I know I'm too young to feel this desperate
Never found the days that would keep the nights warm
Never saw the glint to the Tigers bite
Never saw the moon above the wave

Too old is an expression lost on eyes
Glassy for timebomb putty
Artists weary become manufacturers
When ignored, when declined

Beach body, that's what I had, a belief in clicky thoughts
Understanding caved in to knowing
And knowing fell to fact,

I've built my way, carved in gritty stone
That as sand my footstep knows
I'll crawl forward, step by slip
And follow the path up till the ahead.

We don't know our Best Before Date,
And that's a good thing.
But if you're in the Dairy Section,
Fire on all udders,
Don't kowtow to bullies.
Remember, the herd has your back.

If you find yourself in Produce,
Then produce;
Don't be content being
A pea in a pod.

There are the cereal killers,
Using wry wit,
And Rye Not.
Many are marbled and flat,
But not us,
We're Christmas Cake,
We Endure.

ME, I'm in the Meat section,
An offering of flesh and smoke
On the BBQ altar of rendering.

Yes, we have a definite shelf life,
Growing stale, curling at the sides,
Drying out,
Souring and curdling
Till our expiration date.

"No, Stop!"
I cry, for the first time
nature is trying to change
me
into an ugly old man
hair here there and everywhere
tired eyes
Alas, my mind wants to go on
and its a price
we all pay
so get ******* on with it
I'm having a tweezers day.