We want to tear in -
To taste all the juices
Knowing that now,
All too soon, we could lose this.
We want to drink
All the things in this world
And never
Stop to breathe.
For the wheel
Takes and it gives
Some things will die
While others still live
When the day
Gives way to new day
We're afraid what we love
Might all fall away.
Still, the world demands
That we must let go
And let the deep rivers
In motion all flow
Dropping our leaves
Going back to our roots
Re-evaluating
What we know to be true.
Stop to breathe.
Before the next bite,
Stop to breathe.

We don't have to walk far
Under the cover of canopy
To find exposure.
Once outside the city,
Outside the usual framework,
Outside the boundaries of polite necessity,
We can truly breathe.
On the trail
I bathe in dust
And my hands converse with trees
When asking for support.
Nursing logs remind us
Where we stand
In an ancient cycle,
And we can confess anything.
Stripped down to our bare humanity.
It's the intimacy
I used to chase in pillow-talk,
But without the dance.
The trail is always a soul's journey,
Whether solo or shared.

I have learned how not
To deal with fury -
From my mother,
My father,
And so on,
And so forth.
I have learned what inside
I don't want to be.
Left untamped
I would be fire.
Left unexamined,
I would own my rage.
Instead, I turn it over -
Laugh-crying at some,
Numbing at others,
Until I've far surpassed fury
And settled in even rockier
Despair.
I shake at injustices too great
And I heave my sobs
Into a furious ocean
Of everyone else's.
Better to quietly, privately drown
Than actually burn it all down
As would my mother,
My father,
And so on,
And so forth.

Crafting scissors
Gardening shears
A pizza roller
Instruments of humble vivisection
I wield, I rend, I create.
Needles and pins,
Nimble and thin,
I pierce, I pull, I close.
With measured patience
I choose my weapons:
Ink, passion, time, and wit.
An armory of precision and gut.
Boulders bruise but roll away,
Fire burns, but I'm already ablaze,
Arrows lodge shallow or all fall short,
But the cold?
It slices.
The draining thought:
Is this the end of my creation -
Is there no more?
I slowly bleed out.

A heart being broken,
A promise made abandoned,
Where did all the good times go?
They all just seem to fade away.

When it all came crashing down,
Have a drink,
It will bring all your sorrows away,
Or at least that's what they say.

Those self destructive thoughts;
And frustrations,
Gone for the night,
But made worse the next day.

-HIY

Tiddy tuddy tuddy thud.
That's how the egos drop,
Some lift it high above their head,
Some just put it in their name tag:
And wear it.

Initially its a boost of confidence,
And it grows warmer in their head,
Then it became a source of power;
Generating their mind,
But they don't realise it.

All those tacky wacky silly studs,
Not knowing they're way over their heads,
Chewing something they can't swallow;
And choked themselves;
Of their own ego

-HIY

They come in dreams,
Some in plain sight;
Some are never clear,
But they are never bluffing.

They show you who you are,
Even more than you know yourself.
Just less than what you've already seen.
But they are who you are.

Power animals are just what they means,
Your source of energy;
Your nature when all that you know;
Simply turned to nothing.

Be it deep in your scars,
Or visible for everyone to see.
Because you will know it from within;
That is what you really are.

-HIY

Our life is like a fly,
All gathered for some junk,
Buzzing around in a crowd,
Never staying on one focus.

A little shake;
Everyone is in uproar,
Angrily circling around,
Coming from thousands of directions.

They fly away when scared away,
Only to sneak back when unseen,
Until one day when least expected,
Splat!

-HIY

The end to his potential was swift

They'd told him after all, he had no gift

There was nothing for him to share

No reason for him to care

Why should he ever dare..?

Putting himself out there..?

Best to stay invisible

In the corner of the eye, dismissable

"Nothing to see here"

Just unworthiness and fear

They'd told him after all, there was no hope

The best choice for him, was the rope.

Ages of writer's block,
Unmotivated of ever being productive,
Witty lines became depressing,
Every word seems so boring as ever.

A new start was all that was needed,
A shove from the back for it to begin,
Its been a while since ive got this feeling,
More longer that i could remember.

October is the creativity month,
The hype is really living up to its name,
And so here i write for the first day,
And all i could say is; Hello there Inktober!

-HIY