i killed a bug today.

in a moment of panic
squished it until its corpse
combined itself with the page
laying underneath.

remorse washed through my entire body.
guilt lay at the foot of my stomach,

and for a moment i wonder if God feels the same.
guilt for crushing me
with the weight of all the pain
i am forced to withstand.

i wonder if he ever feels sorry
for letting me go through that.

for letting me suffer.

if there is ever any remorse
for almost killing me.

surely he does right?
feel sorry for it all?

please tell me he feels sorry for all of this.

Summers warm grip smiles,

Morphs in winters icy stare,

My love for you wanes.

People think that pouring gold onto our skin,

and dressing in Gods’ gown and Jewlery

will spring angels upon our plate,

and we can feast like it's our last meal.

but our skin is rather useless,

it hides our heart and soul,

drowns it in confusion and

stabs its arms and legs to a cross,

lingering in the single moment,

never to move with the essence of time,

Frozen.



Our hearts are who we are truly,

not the skin we wear,

or the snapshots of their whole existence  

we have imagined

to capture the essence of their character.



People are more than a moment,

they are a transcendental soul,

trapped in the weak boundaries of human nature.

He came covered in a dark cloak
To cause destruction and pain
He started in china in the winter
Then came to italy and spain

He quickly spread to every nation
With tentacles of despair
Causing hurt and devastation
Thriving on weakness and fear

Little did he know
There she was, the power of light
Bringing together humankind
Not to divide but to unite

She helped them rise and build their strength
Making a worldwide deal
To shine above him
To love, to learn, to heal

Little, large and tiny embers
Flew as if they’d grown their own feathers,
As flames erupted from my armchair leathers,
And long forgotten, left behind endeavours,
I am now standing near a man-made crevasse.

Feeling fire consuming my internal threshold,
Its painful lair,
Whilst emitting a strange glare,
My legs are shaking, and my hands and feet are bare.
I’ve no more knives and needles left to spare.

My potted roses have now withered,
The moment for I so long have lingered.
Their armaments in time became so dull,
Grinding my eternal thoughts into a lull.
The pain just never stops, I guess.
It doesn’t matter if their thorns sting less and less.

Her tender, warm and flower-scented head–
Oh, how I wish I could have pumped it full of lead.
And what of our dreams of an ascetic rural livelihood?
I reckon that moment you weren’t in the mood.
Us slowly splitting moisty birchwood logs.
Beloved, it seems it’s raining cats and dogs.
But now it’s nevermore;
I feel I’ve changed my history and lore
For this moment and evermore.

Or have I just repressed my need for gore?
A fairy meadow shaken to the core–
Before me the country house, I enter may not dare.
It is now derelict, in disrepair,
Winds sweeping through its crooked wooden stair.
I sense that deep inside she never even cared.

And I am crawling spitting blood and ash.
Fires burned my limbs into a pile of scorched flesh,
Life fleeting from my helpless carcass,
But now I have become Augustus–
Eternal city,
Our Rome I set aflame
With wood you brought, I know it isn’t fair,
Just as my radiant words fell into your ashtray.
I shall not lie,
Countless cats and dogs falling from the sky,
Of our beloved pets, corpses lying here and there.

my grandpa packs the dishwasher
because my nan doesn’t like to.

my brother cuts the chicken
because his wife hates the texture.

and i read my students poems
with the same reverence that my teacher read mine.

and i've noticed this all around,
all of these humans being human.

people picking up  
each others lost and littered items.

offering a listening ear
and a wise word or two.

bringing things to homes
as a gift and a 'thank you' for hosting.

still making tea in unfamiliar kitchens
and putting friends’ children to sleep.

still holding things for each other
when hands are too full.

still doing life together,
like plants that share the same soil

facing each other, like sunflowers,
on days when the world is more shade.

giving flowers and heart shaped petals.
still celebrating, and singing songs.

so despite all of the suffering
scattered and dispersed in the world,

there are alters to love everywhere,
and people are still worshipping.

We often get lost in our bubbles
Caught up in our very own troubles
But it’s equally rotten
For those we’ve forgotten
Remember that everyone struggles

In my darkest hour my thoughts wander, sometimes too far and sometimes just yonder. I find myself in total darkness, without a torch or word of kindness.

Entrapped in space, where sorrow thrives, enduring the pain of a thousand knifes. I feel the tears gather in my eyes, as a hundred questions in my mind arise.

A place beyond, where the forsaken dwell, between the garden of Eden and the gates of hell. Where there is no sound but the sound of silence, or desperate laughter, or cries of violence.

The taste of bitterness ran in my mouth, as my head revolved, from north to south. My heart beat accelerated and exceeded the rate, while on its drums, it violently played.

I hear the queries in the drummers beat, should I advance or should I retreat? My soul is standing on some rocky ridge, do I descend or just cross the bridge?

My thoughts are shattered, for help I call, but my words resonate in a desolate hall. Amidst of worries I seek a light, a sign of hope, or a hand of might.

I have grown weary while strength I assemble, as my feeble hands began to tremble. It could be  light there in the distance, must I bide or seek assistance?

To my Lord I appeal in times of stern, at one’s leisure, good deeds you should earn. My heart is joyful, when dancing to its beat, what tasted bitter, has now turned sweet.

Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited,
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Has willed and meted me the tears I've shed,
I clench my fist and shake it at the sky

And at the vengeful God who hammers me,
Delivering the blows that break my brain;
The God who finds his deepest ecstasy
In violencing my life with blinding pain;

Who laughs and says, "Thou suffering thing, declare
If thou hast understanding: Who hath laid
The measures of the earth's foundations?  Where
O where wast thou, O man, whenas I made
The cloud the garment of the sea?  How dare
Thou, foolish man, thy maker to upbraid?"