As I walked down the bridge between masada street and balfour
I saw you pass by,
the gurl who i met
a month ago ,
who I thought was the cutest
chick,
who told me she was from germany
and I gleefuly replied
my great grandparents lived there ,before the war.

As we were talking
I realized her boyfriend had been flirting with me the past two weeks or so,
without ever telling me that he was taken,
which angered me so, I  felt like the world closed in on me.

she bought me a beer we had our laughs
than she left me there tipsy, with my drink in  hand
to run off with her boy toy of a boyfriend ,
in a crowd filled with  people...
the next day she messeged me sayin'
do you wanna hange out?
I said nope I won't hang out with a btch
who leaves me drunk and alone in a crowd full of noise angst and chaous,
and as I saw you today
all I can think of is that,
and a friendship that could've been
but thank god it just wasn't .

i stood in my new flat today
counting the spins the fan
made in its centre.
an americanism, too out of body
for me to keep an eye on.
what now?
but to wait till the inertion sickness
crawls its way from the soles up to oesophagus.

tilt back till back flat against the black flat floor.
(i hated that sentence but it needed some air.)
wondering if i can melt beneath the new money wood,
can i stand upside down,
ankles halo’d in my space and my head in the neighbours.

the hallway to the bedroom where he sleeps a little more soundly
now i’m out the bed,
dares me to leave him alone.
“you’ve clawed this distance out” i murmur back.
“i can trace it in the skirting boards.”

sitting up i go to close the window
and lock it, unlock it and smile at the little piece of freedom
i can’t ever give back.

Three AM
When the eyes can close
But the minds don't shut
They say penguins can't fly
But they do
In her world, where we lived on clouds
Magic and Superpowers
Where people were real
And not.
The dark haired boy whose named she couldn't fix,
And light haired Liz, with her tall brother Will.
Sleeping in caves, hunger games style
Skipping through stories, shifting through worlds
Safe spaces,
Born within the mind
Distort reality when it hurts
'Escape realms'
Worlds change from fantasies to dreams
To insecurities, hatred and pain
But the ceiling remains the same
Dull
And plain.

Be responsible,

and legitimise nothing --


with a nice story.

Everything is a continuation
of days gone by
which we can dream
as a hold in our lives

Boulders and push moraines
eternal snow, powerful rivers
migrating birds and giants of the forest
the earth born from stars

.....It is so much larger
.....than the tiny dream worlds
.....that divert our attention
.....as a hoped hold in our lives

.....But the stories of arts
.....science and politics
.....that divide us into differences
.....are too small to unite us

In stories about

the past we read how people --


looked back at the time.

we are the stories between the armpit
and the hand
between the whisper and the sigh
forged by galaxies of wounds
in the fragility of light
of spaces crushed
by the acceleration of time
our irises boundless
sometimes

we are the stories that tell
our soles when to stop
our bones when to sing
that put sunflowers
in our haze
cranberries in our waitings
delight in our might
skyscrappers of thought in our deeds
promises in our hands full of mud
over caskets

we are the stories of love's failure
(aren't we asking too much from love?)
of decay of pretend of parasitic laughter
of the violence of bodies without minds
without singing in the hearts
stories of fists strife and toil,
the boredom of dawn
repetition of self-deception
circles not round
triangles full of hurt
of the rigidity of one plus one
equals two
the rest is wonder

so many stories exchanging nouns, verbs
attributes just to capture
what is forever escaping alluding flowing
naturally undisturbed in the exchange of
vowels
like dark matter that escapes iself
only in dreams

was it the awe of vowels that invented the world?

incessantly on the edge
of chaos of blindness of knowing
of loss of void of grief & joy
of floating to the unknown
or pausing into certainty
hard working minds and eager souls
errect citadels of meaning
in dialogue sometimes
or as oppressive as
the denial of slippery roads
of sad guitars or
maddening violins

our shadows sit closely next to us
precisely when
we're stepping into the light

Rack my brains
Rake through and find the right memory
Tip it out, squeeze and shape it
Mold it to a more sensical form
Then, observe your consumers
Subtle changes
Until it becomes almost an original story
Forgo accuracy for entertainment
More colourful, less accurate