Store me in a foreign wooden house,
but please
let me out.
Daylight seething through skin
and bones I don't have.
Rain wiping hand-painted
stage pearl-white smiles.

Make me walk
and then run on my own
without strings holding up
my wrists and calves.
I hope by then a mile
knocks the wind out of my lungs
and while I pause for breath,
lay rest, look up
may it remind
me of the crown I wear,
the color of the sky.

Tear up scripts
made for me to recite,
and let me write
all the stories
I'd rather hear,
not just act out
with my time.

I'm not cut out for a role
I never auditioned for
or this life.

he
for whom
total abstinence or extreme indulgence
six of one, half a dozen of the other.....
sempiternally steeped in perfect equanimity,
effulgent as the primal flare
within that inner cave,
eradicator of the veil of ignorance
cast by the lilting tunes of the cosmic flutist,
my crescent bearing jewel
complexioned like camphor
who’s pure as jasmine

© 2019

Save your self
from your suffering
by seeking liberation and relief
through philosophy.

in a fitting finale
i summon
the vanquisher of death
to end
this interminable cycle of transmigration

the ask....

a taste of ambrosia
stealthily hidden
in the tranquil crevice
between
a potpourri of thoughts

crescent bearing jewel
pure as jasmine
grant me
the nectar of immortality

©2019

My existence isn’t something
you test out your empathy on

My humanity is not something
that asks for your sympathy

My life and loves and lived experiences
are liberated from your thin,
watery approval

Your opinion holds no bearing in my body.

A safe place for me is
Behind the scribbles of my surroundings
Below the noise and talk
To wrap it up and put it away
Is a gift I can own, no guilt
No games, only immersing my body in the whitest sheets imaginable
With a touch of hair and
A lemon juice smile
A push of my hips and
Seeing my eyes out
What more could I ask for this while
Except more secrets
A whisper, a flame
A pillow with color
A mirror with no reins
Reflecting the plant alive in the corner and
Knowing I am not insane
I'm sitting on carpet and
feeling the ceiling through
My skin, precious like skin
Yet so filmy and thin
And if you should ask
I don't grave it I cool it and
Taste like fresh cucumber rain
I don't feed pain anymore, I just
Let it go again and again
With the blades turning
Watching the blame returning
I send it off with a love spree
Then it's silent in me and
I am free with only
one foot off the ground