I might be foolish, inane, when I said I was born to be brave,
I might be witless and strange, slowly forging my cave,
Self distractive and lethal in every way I behave,
I could be tainted and ****** by every smile that I gave.
Might be a slave to my craves, eternally dancing this wave,
Might be a vicious hypocrite in every inch of my claims,
I might be drowning in shame and guilt I’m failing to tame,
Despising what I became hence I’m loathing my name,
But there’s awakening hidden when you just take all the blame,
Like a messiah who’s risen, purely cleansed by the flame,
I’m more in touch and humane when only instincts remain,  
Today I’m squealing in vain but I’m most enlightened in pain,
Hear me now and heed me well, I’ll dance on top of your grave,
If you doubt me for just a second while I’m falling from grace,
Watch me destroy my diffidence and watch me make it my slave,
I’m more enthralled in disgrace and more enchanted displaced,
I’m more enlightened in pain.

There lived a man on the corner,
he was old and grey.
I smiled as I walked
past his box every day,

but he was no drunk!
Not a cigarette in his beard.
His hand soft as most rocks—
unable to be feared.

I offered him a home,
a roof and a treat
but he kindly declined—
firmly planted in seat.

I asked him one morning—
I had nowhere to be—
I asked him “why be hungry
when you can eat for free?”

He smiled to me,
teeth on perfect shelves—
He said “to prove I will always
be able to do it myself.”

He said to me
“kid, handouts can please
but when the weather gets warm,
watch how they flee”

“Wanna know why I’m here?
I could’ve built a house alone.
Now I’m too old to chop the wood,
so not on my own...

I would never live there—
not even a day.
If I didnt earn it,
I could never stay”

He laughed to himself,
hearty chuckle turned cough,
“be tough as hell, kid.
Kindness makes you soft.”

he is the moon that shines down on me when i'm lost in the labyrinth of a cornfield at one in the morning

and he is the sun that peeks behind the clouds after a misty afternoon spent studying at the local library

he is the sand that shifts under the sea in the wake of a creature rising up from a good afternoon slumber

and he is the sky that envelopes the world in a palette of colors that reminds us of the passage of time and time again

he is a house built on love and passion with pillars that shake but never break as the earth falters and cries

and he is the horizon that paints my perspective a burning flame the intensity of a wildfire nobody in the vicinity foretold

he is the breeze that greets me on the balcony as i laugh with strangers that assure me i am doing just fine

and he is the moment of being half-asleep when i mumble my words in response to my mother who kisses my cheek

he is the lexicon of forbidden words that i store behind the door at the back of my heart which beats once in a while

and he is the silence that infiltrates the damp mood but also gives me a draft on which i ink the first beats of a song

I’ve been dipping my toes
into his daydream.

The one where silhouettes
dance across the walls,
and unzipped dresses leak off shoulders
like guttered water finding its way
to the soil after a downpour.

The floorboards become puddled silk,
and I realize I wouldn’t mind drowning
as long as it’s in his endless stream of lust.

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.