The sunshine melts in from the dark.
The summer sunflowers start their  morning yellow glow.
From the dark of nights despair and suffering.
The light of questioning wakes up,
I begin to ask why the pain?

Did I, or do I have the capacity to be optimistic of my will? Over matters of the past?

Shame, denial, self- soothing, trying to escape emotional pain through all varieties of addictive responses to life.

Understanding this new target for my heart, mind, and body gives me optimism of the will while
knowing
there will always be suffering.

I ask myself, what is my capacity? As the light rises in the morning I feel more air to breathe in.
Aware of the air inside of me whether in dark or light, carries some vessel of hope
to help ward off the strength of suffering.

I am not the wave. I am the ocean. The womb. Conceptualize
the possibilities in this morning dry landscape,
before abandonment. Conceptualize having what you need. Ease and compassion enters. Possibilities move through with ease and healing is within reach.

The capacity to heal needs warmth like the morning globe of light.

Tapestry colored,
take the tick out of my heart and let me bleed out.
My eyes are shallow wells for a face that needs help.

                   A body that sees no reason

                                 taken back
                                 tied down
                              tucked under

                   A b-b-b-bomb blasting off

                                   seconds

                    before the big hand could

                  cover her own clocked head.
                                  
Here no mantle is sacred.
ripples in our veil unfolding
each crease, streak and stain seals a moment:
Her love suppressed and Her faded light
the fabric of one life,
the symbol of many,
measured against the steps of
indefinite epitomes.

Setting snow on fire
The suffering, that is desire.
Burning, never needing starter
Only growing larger,
Not even wavered
By the laps of water

I dreamt I still knew myself the moment you turned your face to me

you were about to enter a very personal space: a diary, a dream journal, a shoebox of love letters, a suicide note, the angry ramblings of a madman

Standing on the bridge where we're no longer suffering, the dream exhaled

and joy found eternity running over the closing frame, floating away in every direction where time intervenes

trapped in red – can’t escape this nightmare
not yet dead, but i’m barely aware
echoes burn, of your touch, your embrace
will you mourn as I fade without trace?

To live is to experience tribulation.
How can there be rainbow without rain?
To live is to experience mortal dusts.
How can there be rain without water?
To live is to experience life's rust.
How can there be rust without metal?
To live is to achieve happiness.
How can there be happiness without sad things?

Is it better to be seen?
Or should I hide the parts
Of my mind, the unseemly
Things that eyes don't like, so
I can sell enough bits and
Pieces of my soul to
Pay this month's rent?

Is it better to be heard?
Or should I quiet the
Sounds that my thoughts are making
When feelings start biting
At my rib cage and my heart
Skips across the cold street
To keep the peace?

Is it better to be owned?
Or should I keep trying
To make it work? Just because,
I'm used to suffering
by now, you'd think it wouldn't
hurt so bad while watching
you walk away...

I have a question to ask
If God ever finds time
I've been wondering why for
Quite a while despite
My parents trying their best
Telling me I'd get it
but, Eventually
hasn't come yet.

a feeling of numbness

suffering from a disease

too invisible for the eyes to see

a parasitic disease

in which its host

is unable to escape

the confines of this mind

no matter how hard they try

a precious body with a functioning heart and brain

but unable to use them to your gain

a body that never experiences happiness

an abnormal brain given by a God

who apparently conducts experiments on his children

a lingering heaviness in my mind

impossible to be removed

urges that I don't want

every day, hour, minute, second

always in a battle with your own mind

nobody there for you to confide

in


for i just want to be normal.

your fingers caress me
hot iron dragging
along the landscape
of my rashes
lookin for a weeping sore
prodding for satisfaction
my skin blistering
like raspberries in summer heat