I see my timeline on this site:

2014
From my older brother's diagnosis
to the death of my grandmother

2015
Falling in love with you
My brother disappearing

2017
To the breaking of trust in exchange of fluids
Never receiving what the law calls justice

2018
Realizing you were never my first love
Merely my first attachment

But I never wrote about finding my brother
dead
in the woods near the main road
white bones in a tent
not knowing who it was
only realizing after the police left my mother crying
for him
dying there alone in the woods so close to home

I cry for him
dying there alone.
Hidden by the wilderness
rotting away inside the plastic tarp.

I cried for him
and wrote for you.
This timeline is my reminder
holding my guilty conscience accountable.

I write lines that are sublime
I write lines that aren't mine
words are written on the page
by my hand but not my mind

majestic sounds that fill the ear
luminously engraved as
the bass harmonizes with
melodies in my mind
as the piano croons a humble tune
coating the whispers in my ear
as the drums build up to perfect synchronization
wishing I could hold it so near
the heart of the synths enrapture me
catching me in the web of love
crocheted in a melodic fantasy
I close my eyes
as I enjoy the ride
letting the strings subside
I fantasize in this melodic bliss
who knew heaven could feel like this?
as I walk along the tones of bridges
building up to a world unknown
it is the sweetest thing I’ve ever known
like the tenderness of honeydew
the rhythms of love speak to you
so sweet yet so tempting
the trumpets tower over me
leaving me selfless
giving myself endlessly

is it dangerous to wish
for those goods of which
are not I, are not me,
are not the breath that we breathe
upon the gentlest and free summer morning?
or the gleam of the beaks
perched humbly in the cradle
of the cuckoo's nest still adorning?
before their wings bare vulnerable
to the light of the wind and to
man and to bringing
their unsuspecting redeeming
to the order of clinging to the now;
or the we, or the me, and
the I, and the us, and
the beat
of the heart that keeps borning?

Repurpose your pain
Create a masterpiece
- Art

i wanna write you
as much as you wanna
read me

where does the poet go,
when everything is right?

where does the poet go,
when there are no words left to write?

I face fatigue each time I breathe,
praying on my knees until they bleed,
Facing another stressful day I’ve got to live,
I wish I could leave, if I believe enough in all of
my dreams; I’d close my eyes just to relive, and sigh
heavily for my relief.

Oh grief, is sentiment cement on memory streets;
walking on for long, towards that unfamiliar dawn,
Listening to unfamiliar songs, hoping I never forget
where the heck I came from.

When I get famous, and lost in the crowd’s
empty praises; the quietest moments are so loud.
I hope I make my family proud, and buy my mother
that house, she’d live in happily, even if it was for a couple
hours. Really beats the days I was just borrowing flowers.

Forgetting when Mother’s day actually falls,
let me recheck my calendar to make sure.

From having bosses smile politely at me,
but refer to me by the worst of words.
I’m just nodding my head for an empty pay cheque,
spending it on necessities. But ****, that swiping
hurts!

Waiting for a day to be closing my eyes at every swipe,
no need to add, and calculate the final price,
Without all of the wants, but enough money to afford
all of my needs in life.

Let them remember me by all of these
experiences I enjoy to write.

I truly love to write...