You once told me
that Monday was Thursday,
Tuesday was Friday
and Wednesday...
-well Wednesday was Wednesday
and I believed it to be true

You were the force
that pulled the sun across my sky
and brought rain,
miraculously placing laughter
on my parched lips.
You wrote the maps
and formed minutes into hours
-letters into words
And when you smiled,
I believed it was just for me.

Your wish was my command
and my truth was your word.
I happily danced
when you pulled on my strings.

You vanished in a storm
and the blur of October, November,
February
Here one moment, gone the next
-with no goodbye,
apology or promise-prophecy.

But my world kept flowing
and the sun traced its arc
across my sky without your help.
My chest rose and fell
and Monday was Monday again
-the rain poured of its own accord
and my cracked lips found song.

Perhaps you have returned
from time to time
to your empty temple
-found it void of worship
and the voids filled once more.
Perhaps the legends are true
and you have become
deaf and blind
-unable to find your way back to me.

I should like the rumours
to be true
because my world turns
just fine without you.

Where there is thunder that reigns
down the emptiness of your flesh,
in a war hidden and filled with apathy,
to sink behind darkness , once named shame.

There it is, the torn kingdom,
that you've claimed as your body.
The temple which you've loved,
but never cared for in those aeons of silence.

Where you pretended that doing nothing
would solve everything.

And so you weep, for the unfairness of it all,
as you claw at your already mangled flesh,
and press for the warmth of your heart.
Pretend that the rush of blood is a rolling blanket.

You swallow those shards of glass, and emulate the heavens,
and pretend your body with jagged scars
is the place for honourable heroes; pretend your triumph
in this barren, damp land of storms
is the place where thunder always reigns.

A place for heroes who never won, but died in their place.

I remember my dreams of a holy place,
a library where I ran, just a little boy with other boys,
with a great stained glass window filling up the space
on the pointed ceiling above the sacred text
that left me perplexed
and mouthing a few syllables when I could understand,
and wishing to feel the soft cloth on my head,
over a short haircut that I didn't have.

I can't truly say if it was a dream,
but I remember walking outside into the desert with those little boys, feeling jealous of their kippahs,
and eventually we stopped at what I thought might be like a stream,
but was only a canal in the wasteland.
The tumbleweeds whispered and rattled,
but no snakes slid out of them with a tail that rattled quite the same.

I grew up though, far away now,
with the heavy weight of knowledge on my back
and the feeling of sweat on my brow.
I have heard a lot, and that soundless world where I spent all of my time looking and none of my time listening
is gone. I listen and I look now,
and I tell a girl about my observations
while she marvels and tells me what to do with them,
but there is nothing much to become
when despite my ambition
I hold myself back with the most unholy things.

learn to cradle yourself
in your own arms,

be strong, because
your mother loves you, and your
sisters love you,
                             more than i
can ever say.

and…
your body is not temple, because
you exist to survive.
so cherish yourself, and one day,
someone else will…

and it won’t be painful, the
way that things are painful
now.

so bear your teeth,
                                 but wear a crown,
you shouldn’t
bite yourself just to cry...

In this sacred place
Within me
Are the eyes I never knew
The wiser version of me
The temple of my soul
Watching over me
Painting out my path
Of who I am
Calling out my name
And who am I?
“Warrior”

fierce
Lilly Flower Goddess
wouldn’t budge
standing strong
loving herself
challenged walkthrough
cat eyes blatantly glaring
attentive
situation at hand
handled
like a *******
boss
ruler of her domain
guarded sanctuary
trespassing
not advised
she’s shielded
unconditional love for herself
barrier of sorts
only the reflection
of the same permitted
drop her drawbridge
path leading to the
kingdom of her heart
surrounded by moat flowing
lava glowing and meandering
like a precious river
inextinguishable beauty
guarding grace
her ideas with love
uncompromising thirst
for her body is her temple
One Love