I'd rather be the moon
For she can be gazed upon
without the blinding pain of the suns' corona
She is noxious in the darkness
Autumnal,
cold and grievous
Hanging there heavily,
lush and languorous
Like the womb of the world,
she guides the ebb and flow of life
Selenic and motherly,
She is fertile and ever changing
Her surface is cratered with millennia of wear,
but she still glows beautifully, unaffected,
like a goddess of the night

And I am a Woman
who so knows herself
my inner power
alive and kicking
more as each
Blessed year
passes by
My light growing
my blood flowing
into the Universe
as it speaks through me
I have strength
that could electrify
a thousand stars
gathered over many years
of my life's battles
and wars
Mine is a quiet sort
Of fortitude
unstoppable with tears
I am my own warrioress
When it comes to my fears
I have my guides
and they know me well
goddesses and angels…
old friends
wielding
magic spells

But nevertheless
I have
A vulnerable side
Underneath the layers
Of protection and pride
an enchanted forest
of moss and green
a sacred space
that only few will see
Inside this inner sanctum
I am as soft as
fine silk
I let down my guard
as emotions flow
like milk

I am an unlikely
desert flower
Who just wants to
open up to you
to be opened
petal by petal
to receive the waters
of your tender care
most vulnerable
with her
stamen exposed
to be cherished
in the cool night air
I am delicate
as tiny spring buds
caught in the
harshest winter
storms
yet who persists
despite the odds
to keep her
cold spots warm

There is a rumor
In the foreign lands.
Some say
(especially in the East)
I have the elixirs
to tame
the most savage
kind of beasts
(Indeed,
Sometimes
as they come for a
sweet, well deserved rest
lay their huge, furry heads
upon my tender breast)

As for you, my Wild One
I think I hold the potion
to the key to your heart
to your beautiful soul….
Yes, poetry in motion
I want to bring it such light
Ignite your embers
To a spark
I could fill you up
So much
You just might not
feel your inner
Dark

But there is something
important to remember
The One who finds my key
Is the one
Who will be crowned
Defender
Of my tender soul
In all its hues
And asymmetry
Oh, Please, my love
Use it wisely
With the most loving
Of discretion
For under the armor
My heart beats raw
Laid bare
To love and passion

Otherwise
My pain will have no end
And I will have to go
Into battle once again

Now
Inside my
sacred cave
I rest
Need to re-charge
For the next
Battle cry
Lift up
Your heart,
To me, my love
Release it
Let it
fly

I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I’m fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.
Without a sound, the city’s jacaranda petals fall effortlessly onto the ground.
As they fall, I begin to realise that we are all living in a world where the minutes are working overtime.
I’m reminded of the days when you and I devoted our time to the art of rhyme.
I no longer know where you are in the city but I hope you’re doing just fine.
I’m not where I want to be at this current moment but please give me time.
It’s within our simplicity where I discovered how beautifully complex we are.
Our circles might be smaller but our hearts are much bigger now.
The circumference might have drastically changed but the love hasn’t.  
It’s no mystery why my aura will always long for the company of yours.
Even though I’ve got two left feet, I still want to slow dance to the rhythm of spring’s heartbeat.
In the capital city, October skies glow with a shade of purple.
Went from breaking up, breaking through to breaking new ground.
So even though I’m hurting now I know I’ll eventually be safe and sound when summer comes around.
These pages do not have enough space to describe how phenomenal we are.
It has been a while since we’ve seen each other so where are you now?
I value all you taught me about life and the importance of true friendship.
The circumference might have changed but the love between us hasn’t.

I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I’m reminded of the days when you and I devoted our time to the art of rhyme.
I no longer know where you are in the city but I hope you’re doing just fine.
I’m fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.

A whiff of Frost on the greenish grass
As I step out into a cold October morning
The leafs have long been fallen
The air so pure and cold
It hurts my lungs as I walk along houses
Of strangers that I've never seen
The solitude gives me certainty
I let my mind wander
How I love the cold times of the year

I always felt like I was on the verge
of losing you,
that I would forget the curve of your teeth
when you smile,
or the strength of your hands
propped up against my shoulders,
but that strength was never your own.
You just used it to see over my horizons.
You even said it yourself.

I was the one with broken fingers and spirits
that carried you through the shadows
of your valleys.

I was the one you stared at through salty eyes,
clutching your ribcage,
looking for your sister's heartbeat,
even though you could only find your own.

I was the one who laid next to you on the concrete,
starry-eyed and promise-drunk
looking up at the shooting souls
that tried to pass through
our atmosphere,
using the tails of their lives to better our own.

But I was the one who needed you
to make me better.  

I was the one who wanted
your January weddings.

I was the one who was your orchard,
your baby girl, your butterfly,
little wanderer,
the fragile thing you were so afraid of losing,
of letting go,
but crushed in between anxious palms
and phone calls.

And then you realize
that no amount
of milky coffee and doughnuts
can cut the bitterness of loss,
but you have to learn
to eat breakfast alone
eventually.

I should write you October
and I swear I tried, but pens
aren't ribbons, and this time ink isn't red.
The autumn wind whips through the fens.
The chorus line is silent and sober.
The lead singer was found dead
under the bridge. (Haha get it?)
I knew it was stupid soon as I said it.
I swear I tried to write you October
but my heart heavy head
is full of Autumn clovers
and fickle friends.