i have the terrible gift of foresight
seeing the future before it happens
the ability to bend time
when i look closely in the mirror

you know what they always say
'with great power, comes great responsibility'
but my power is destructive
i have already built ruins
before the foundation is laid

it is a terrible habit
sneaking glances at the ending
i would have gone blind
stopping everything from changing

hindsight offers no comfort
when i already know the end
i've seen it myself
because i played a hand in it

mittened hands wrapped
around hot choc mugs
light-hearted bickering
over the tones and shades
of leaves yet to fall
chilly sun-streaked mornings
of fresh earthy air
and early hibernation nights
of gathered quietude
that indulgent autumn
for which she longed
seemed not to arrive
at least not as expected
set to follow the bright
bustling summer excitement
always written to precede
the forward-looking days
of winter's introspection
ordained as it was
by the dictums of old
those of time and tide
instead her blooming
has been a wearisome
back-and-forth between
the extremes of each
untimely and unexpected
yet unfortunately necessary
before she might witness
those flowers of hers
blossoming under
the warmth and light
of that newly shining Sun

finding our way back again. to what? this is a steep question. I am drawing this map of words, today we should speak of what is, the roots of words, this silence their soil, these words vehicle for the inexpressible.  Gaza strip, day 52, Jordan foreign ministery says Israel is busy with genocide. what else is trully new, for sure not pain, a fundamental law unrecognized by physics. the paradox of time that goes deeper into words when we feel them. the center cannot support itself exposed in cruel eyes. fall and rise of a time we lived in sometime like in a house with no windows. reality is and is not in the same spacetime simply unreachable, untraceable, incomprehensible. someone speaks in a low voice, another speaks more with the eyebrows. the door opens to the dance of life, and who is riding the dance. brave minds and collapsed bodies, I didn't want to be here today, she says. one feels disgusted by the expulsion from eden. I am looking for the secret garden where the mind of the body grows, but I don't know it. I am looking for a theory of absence. this is a story about the impossibility of story.  we have to listen and forget so that life goes on

Time. Death. Faith. Hope.
Sometimes, the things we can't see make the biggest impact on the things we do.

this watch strap
was meant to be
made of genuine leather
the highest quality
chocolate brown with
a steel pin buckle
alligator patterned
finished in matte
though whether cut
from that soft yet durable
popular reptilian hide
as was "guaranteed"
questions will remain
it was not after all
purchased from one
of the authentic
branded sellers
so would appear that
i may have been
caught out by one of those
virally pervasive
regrettably persuasive
and ever-prevailing
peddlers of ****
once again
instead of the promised
"many years of enjoyment"
that were blindly expected
i am left resenting
those moments between
glances at that glassy face
futilely aware of the seconds
minutes and hours
that each split and crack
grows wider and deepens
beyond repair

Sometimes we slip through the cracks
fall down a hole or trip into the looking glass
and never manage to find our way back.

Innocence is betrayed as it is parlayed into
the whole growing up thing that
we don’t want to do.

Playmates fade away as we lose yesterday.
Their faces blur then just disintegrate,
along with the games and stories we made.

Time becomes the anchor that weighs us down
as we struggle and drown in deadlines.
Playful pixies dust fantasies are lost to these
important and emerging responsibilities.

Teddy Bear hugs and fairytale love
become the stuff of forgotten hopes,
and with each romantic advance rejected
the dreamer dejected retreats to
the safety of a stale and scheduled reality.

Till the mirror reflects the inner sadness.
Our shoulders slump, skin sags, and wrinkles,
as our eyes lose that sly Peter Pan twinkle.

-2023

My youth has passed me in a hurry.

It feels like yesterday I was 20 and still living with my best friends hanging pop punk flags on the walls of our first apartment together.

It feels like I was just 21 and my friends surprised me with a party and we drank until we passed out and sang karaoke like never before.

I’m sure I was just 22 or 23 and I was dating someone I hated with a passion while still crying over you.

But wait I know 24 and 25 are around the corner and it’s my first time moving out of my hometown and I want so badly to love you again but I’m ready to find myself first.

Ans 26 and 27 came in a flash- I’m living with my friends again, I’m traveling and I’m moving back home to find a different version of me again.

28 I was starting to be ready to settle down and you weren’t around anymore but I was getting used to that for once. I was living alone again and loving every moment of it. I was hiking every weekend, day drinking and starting my photography business.

And then 29 came and he came into my life without me even knowing and showed me a love I didn’t know I could have. We travelled and loved and dreamed.

And my youth passed me by, 30 and 31 have already gone with a flash. I’m getting a little more scared of the future. I’m seeing the fragile way of  life with my family and my friends.
People get older, loved ones pass on and memories fade softly.

In my 32nd year and I wonder what’s next for my grown up years ?