Sunlight, clocks, alarms:
They call for us, "Wake up!"
Convincing us to stumble out of bed,
Unwillingly,
As the bedsheets, the blankets, the pillows,
Are all we have.

Bosses, teachers, parents:
They call for us, "Now work!"
We persevere through the day,
Unwillingly,
Another coffee, another biscuit,
Are all we have.

Paperwork, homework, chores:
They call for us, "No rest!"
Barely surviving, we continue,
Unwillingly,
The hopes of evening, night, and stars,
Are all we have.

Eventually, it is another day over:
There is no cheer, only a sigh of relief.
We stumble to our beds, wondering,
Unwillingly,
When did we become,
Like this?

you can't hurt me
you can't hurt me
you can't hurt me

"Good girl!"
he said, as she took her first steps.
he gave her a hug, and she was proud.

"Good girl!"
he said, when she answered the question right.
he gave her a gold star, and she was proud.

"Good girl,"
he said, after her fifth shot.
he kissed her slow, with his hand on her thigh, and she was embarassed.

"Good girl,"
he said, with a fistful of her hair.
he pushed her head down, and she was numb; she stopped being proud a long time ago.

"Good girl,"
she told herself, when she finally got
it right.
she gave herself a pat on the back for realizing she alone held the key to her own self worth.
and she was proud.

went to the bookstore again today
stomach tight like his hands around my wanting
mind restless like a bird by the road
red car comes and devours its mother

saw an older boy again today
hands tight on the handles around my watching
moves as i walk past like fire inching back
i say i like his yellow bike

1 July again this year
tired like every useless word they throw; pennies in a well
itching for solitude like a red bug climbing in her hair
a black cloud comes and eats my yellow cake

have a nice day i say again
i hope it's a good year i say again

She was the unfinished puzzle
She was the guitar with broken strings
She was the meadow stripped of green
She was the crooked table of support
She was the inner voice of reason

She was the dream forgotten leaving a shadow of frustration
She was the rush of a fresh storm promising heavy rain
She was the ever-changing bricks in a decaying building
She was the wrecking ball extinguishing it from existence

She was the heaven-sent false prophet
She was the flower ripped from its stem
She was the blank pages of a neglected book
She was the dust covering all abandoned objects
She was the frustration in desire

She was the locked door
She was the vacant room
She was the thought with no voice
She was not love

calf’s eyes sparkle
it’s mothers are dull
repetition kills joy

Tie me up and poke some holes,
in my heart and in my soul.
Watch me drain, I feel cold,
I'll deflate and you'll move on.

Simple things fall through the cracks,
she loves his love and all it lacks.
Inside the collapsed heart, I lay,
drowning in the blood that remains.

I won't move, no I won't fight,
I'll wander on into the night.
Because every single word I say,
floats into irrelevance anyway.

In the space between paychecks,
walking back and forth to nowhere
in a post-wage, first world shooting gallery,
                         we make
bland backgrounds,
                                dull grey blurs
from miles of stretching, chain link work weeks
                       sore legs stride fast
                        all the same.

Think of climbing but your lead feet won't play.

Blaming long nights for stiff necks,
wax poetic. Piling losses
pin each stanza to our thin, unrav'ling sleeves
                            we'll take
our chances
                        with cheap drinks,
cheap thrills and priceless conversations
                       swelled tongues talk fast
                       all the same.

We're taught to pave the roads to our own graves.

“Repetition", he said, "bores me.
I like things new and fresh.
That’s why I never get committed.”
“No", she said, "that’s not the reason.
Don’t you enjoy every time you watch a sunrise?
Don’t you enjoy listening to your favourite music on repeat mode?
Don’t you like reading novels?”
“I do listen to my favourite music over and over again. After a few repetitions, I will change it certainly.
I do enjoy reading novels. But every time I read, it is new one.”
And there she stood clueless,
Looking for right reasons for him,
As he walked away,
Probably thinking he won a battle,
Without even considering
That he may be losing the war-
A war within himself.
“He didn't mention sunrise though.
Did he forget to mention it or
Did he leave it purposely?”
She wondered as she watched him blend in the crowd.

When the walls come down,
there's that eerie sound,
can't you hear it far away,
pulsating through the airwaves.

Inside broken hearts,
there's a missing part,
no words can fill,
a void as empty as these.

It's a chilling scene,
to see a shattered dream,
lying on the floor,
naked and alone.

There's no mystery,
in the lies we believe,
but we hear them through,
and we let them grow.

And in the end,
we're back here again,
with the walls falling down,
and the missing part.