Paradise is a state of mind
In a place where there is plenty-
A place where on your down time
Things look more than just pretty.

Paradise can mean a lot of things,
It can be multiple places.
The coming & going of years
Passing over different faces.

Paradise can bring you fortune-
Her smile may even give some fame,
But she levees a heavy tax
For all who stand to gain.

Paradise takes your heart & soul
Just to make you feel at home,
Not knowing whether you’ll get to leave
Feeling broken or as a new whole.

Paradise is a vacation-
Paradise is a job.
Paradise is exploitation-
Paradise is a massage.

Paradise is a place to enjoy
As others are made to suffer,
With money standing in between
To play the role of buffer.

Paradise is a cup of coffee
Paradise is a broken promise
Paradise is a rolled up leaf
Paradise is a stolen profit

Paradise is whatever you
want it to be,
As long as you make it yourself
& don’t steal it like a thief.

You feel like
A ghastly mist, crawling up my toes
Touching frozen ground as you wrap
The soles of my feet in pasty white.

You feel like
Wet hair seeping through every thread
Of a pillowcase where you rest your head
Cold, warm, cold, warm—uncomfortable.

You feel like
Sore eyes from screens too bright
As you type in bold, black thoughts
A manifesto of the conflicts within.

You feel like
A room with no light, air, and sounds
Stagnancy echoing—the streaks, the blowing, the ringing
Were all dampened, washed out, unheard of.

You feel like
The sudden flash of blindness in the sky
Overlapping the deepest violets with such crisp tear
And they, too, tear as well.

You feel like
An intrusive intrusion of an intruder
An interlude to all the things you've done
An intermission to the tango that has just begun.

You feel like
A stale yet warm yet ugly yet comforting embrace
I wrap around you just to seep in every inch
Of what only you could offer.

You feel like
The last beginning of the endgame
The enshrouding entrance of what is to come
The naked piece of the puzzle
I have yet to grasp fully

You feel like
Bitter goodbyes
Unfiltered eyes
And crimson skies.

To wish for a wish,
To break bread with you.
Maybe one day I can be,
What flies in your dreams.
At night I think and wonder
Why can't I be. What I am.
I'm always down trodden.

You always know
Where you're going,
What you are doing,
why you are moving
Around like you do.

So hopeful, so bleak.
I hope there is space for me
In that confidence.
I pray for nothing,
Just...please.

bubbling, boiling, the ****** acid sizzles
my insides like water hissing as it turns to steam
helpless against the fury of a forest fire
it chars my throat,
tears springing to my eyes

i can taste the salt on my face
but all i see is red

mirthless laughter echoes
the way black coal smoke billows
from the smoke stacks of my
lungs

the searing heat of hatred
irritates the skin on my wrists
i scratch and scratch and scratch
until the skin is raw
until the skin is broken
until the skin hangs off the bone
i feel nothing but the rage

giving me strength
giving me focus
giving me calm

the lava rises, shrieking,
into my eyes,
pouring from my ears and nostrils,
seethes between my clenched teeth and sealed lips

my breathing
even, deep,
matches the rumble of the cracking earth

and from its core more fire comes
evaporating the tears on my cheeks
the blood on my arms
the rain from the very sky

The lake is little different
chlorella puts a green coat on her
when the wind comes
thick ripples appear
remnants of lotus and withered reeds
some pierce up the sky
some bow to the water
the branches of willow on the shore
still they keep the same demeanor
they like touching the tip of your nose
sometimes you bump into their arms
little surprises await in the cold
of wind and drizzle
you walk slowly on the periphery
in the fine rain of the morning
vivid knotweed guarding the mound
lettuce offers four-petal florets
radish flowers are not in full bloom yet
though the rain of last night
is still hanging around the corner of your eye
the lively vegetable farm by
the lake doesn't lie
little cabbages aren't afraid
when we lean forward we see
it is a fun-sized garden.

Tonight
winds are small
still there is a chill
the warmth of poetry
for me it's always been
here
it's great to be able
to write some tidy
things down
like butterflies in springtime
as always enthusiasm
can set poetry alight
brighter and brighter
tonight
i indulge in warm writing
i take the initiative
to be with poetry.