what is solitude?
a cocoon of iridescent
paintings of oil on bulletproof walls
mama’s warm embrace in fetal form

a prison of darkness
where no one knows your face
where reflections are only imagined
where hands are far from reach
and reality is...

a place where beauty is created
creation is sentence
and sentence is desolation

childbed

this feeling is a place of escape
absence in stagnant emotion
blank space
a feeling of regret in cloudy white
fog on a warm spring Monday morning

it has become cold
but not for all
only for your reflection
a bulletproof window

wasted time on marble floor
sand trapped in a room
seeping out a window to reveal sunlight

a beach of perfection but pollution
sharks all around me
as i watch from the bars
yet a beautiful clear ocean

thriving life and vivid colors
i hear the hum of distant whales
but my lungs overflow with water

conditioner in my curls
in need of a thorough rinse
and i in need of the ocean

touch me as brick turns into paper
a familiarity i once knew
a past life in present form

i sit in full awareness of your bare flesh
you reside transparent in most forms
my hand extended in subtle care
your heart belongs to memories

my memories resurface as fear takes a hold
of being used and alone
of you not seeing me
of me dying alone

in fear that my last love is my last love
so as you fill my brain and it forms a puzzle
speak to me before insanity fills my neck with thorns
before paper becomes brick

on that night we gazed north at stars and confessed love
hands clenched and intertwined like grapevine and prayer in golden chalice
gifts from wise men on the birth of our love

time flew by and distance ached our feet
we loved eachother as you found another
loyalty was rikety as out hands remained clenched

my heart grew conflicted
my mind nailed it up
my tongue said hold on but let go
i was happy as well as sad

now that the nails have been removed
hearts are blocked by tomb walls
awaiting resurrection
awaiting and hoping that yours still feels the same

clarity spoken in whimsical tones of timid grey
face of paste as mind reflects seventy-three
feet of cinder
passage of bright fog
destination an illusion of mind

if love was a place
i’d make it home
where i rest within you on beds of water