you are not the first man
to take off my clothes,

but you are the first man
to see me naked while
my clothes are still on.

I can rewrite this poem
as many times as I want.

that’s the reason I do this.
the reason I sit up at night,
scribbling down sentences
that may never reach anyone’s ears,
stringing together words
that may never inspire anyone,
forming poems that may
never actually matter.

that’s the reality of it.
one day, these poems
aren’t going to be remembered.
maybe they aren’t even
remembered now.
maybe when they
reach my readers,
they go in one ear
and straight out the other.

but here, on paper,
I can erase what happened.
here, I can change the story.
here, I am in control.

I can rewrite this poem
as many times as I want,
but I will never be able
to rewrite the past.

When you were at your worst you drew my blood
Then, sensitive as a lamb did return
To lick the very wounds that you did shape.
For that did I linger, your supplicant.
You filled me when it suited you; each time
Was I left wanting and unsatisfied.
And for the beacon of hope too far off
Did I repeatedly return, prostrate.
In your presence did I forget myself
And in the glass my form returned a lie.
No likeness liked but liked the wanting still
Until with bored and carefree glance did you
Make real what was reflected all the while.

Calamity is coloured yellow - quince deep, pear shallow - intervining yellow of narcissi palms and morning rise, connecting crusty sunbeams of past, present -----------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------
yellow is this line connecting what one may choose, as Latin connects meaning of smart words, and Greek of relevant.
Calamity - yellow - meaning. Yellow holds fullness between, as it is cut off from the glorious star. When we pass through calamity, our meanings will merge and we will dream yellow, for there will cease to be difference among us. Shakespeare - Goethe - Poe: who shall set apart?
Such is nature in yellow that real and unreal may collide in its shape, and make all sense. For I have bled yellow when she weaved her last and sunk beneath Canal Grande - like a candle in autumnal sunrise - hundred and twenty years ago. For I have cried yellow when the fire - ignited lighthouse rose from seas of amber, twenty seven years after. For I have laughed when fungal trees closed on million - lighted city (jewelled and lonely island), today.



And so yellow is sewn to make an etching.

They say I laugh alot
But don't see the pain
They say I'm easy going
Myopic to see the struggle


You're carefree most say
Careless you mean to say?
You've it all one implied
Do I have you I replied .


I'm simply moving in my pace
Encroaching if be extra space
I appreciate my every win
And embrace my fallen knees
Caress my scares
draw a tattoo if cool .


So I learnt to be grateful for others
Laugh, tease, cry and celebrate theirs
Be a real friend not some make believe
You'd regret as long as you live .


If I'm to let go of my principles for you
Then you're not worth it anymore.


Diobimma

When I promised you the world
I didn't omit it's flaws
So I nudge your awake
To the reality of my world
One beautifully flawed.
Diobimma

When I mention my demons
You picture creatures of horror
Contorted faces of terror
Alive to haunt my dreams
And corrupt my mind
With malicious laughter
You imagine twisted voices
Laced with insanity
That push me into the dark
With a touch as cold as a knife’s steel blade
You fear the thought of them
Of me

But my demons are gentle
They’re quiet
I feel their warm breath against my ears
When they whisper softly
Perhaps you don’t hear them because you aren’t listening
For their sharp words
Are said out of love
And their nails digging into my skull
Are only there to keep me safe
In the absence of their presence
I am worse
Which is why I let them stay
Because my demons are real