You, the dead of winter.
I, the reincarnation of spring.
You’re my gospel, yet
you’ve never believed in faith.

You, the stinger of a honey bee.
I, sunshine and lemon trees.
Always giving you enough sugar
to make life sticky sweet,

but the lemonade seems to remain sour.
I still pour a glass and see it half full,
but you seem to look right past and
view the world half empty.

I experience life through a wide
angle lens, full technicolor.
But you always have tunnel vision,
my monochromatic lover.

authority, a position unknown to minority...


Military will only help temporarily,

Until the repetition

Becomes addiction

To violence.

Then like a sheep to its Sheppard,

Follows the police.

Diminishing the quality,

Of equality.

As chaos doesn’t subside.

Authority turns ruthless,

dressed in weapons everywhere they ride.

Contradicting by disrupting ‘world peace’.


Desperately in need of headgear and a mouthpiece,

Praying to reach a pleasant release,

Before hitting solitary, on the edge of madness,

With fear of fatality,

That could have you permanently resting in the cemetery.

How is deprivation of freedom correcting one’s behaviours?

Is gaining the ability to fend for your nation now classed as an act of superiority?

The knife scalps it,
The chaplain advised them to watch and pray,
He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse,
Once or twice this side of death,
He will just do nothing at all.

i wish there were more ways to say that i found an oasis in the form of your touch
i wish i could count the pains that i carry like satchels everyday
strung off my shoulders
i wish i knew why i refused to let them fall
i wish gravity would just have its way with me
toss me aside and find a new giddy little thing to run this so called world
i wish i knew how to tell you that i want to be a bird
not because they can fly away from here
not because they grace their homes with bright colored feathers i could never adorn
but because they are hollow
they are hollowed out, weak, frail and somehow it makes them stronger
or perhaps i wish not to be hollow
but to filled with something other than you

Poetry,
Its a relationship with yourself,
It's something you've poured into,
Released your emotions,
Entangled them in understandable metaphors,
And buried them in verbose language.

You gift me gold,
bringing back old habits,
remember though that
I never aimed for the stars
nor the way they shine,

I wear the gold around my neck,
with no sparkles in my eyes,
wishing it was silver instead,

you see;
gold bends and stretches,
but silver reflects and deflects,
it can handle reality,
even when things heat up.