Everything begins with I,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
These two words go together, my
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
They make me say or not be able to,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
They usually come in a pair, the two,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
I know that they will go away,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.
But some days they just flood my brain,
Impulsivity and Indecisiveness.

I cried my eyes out today.
I drowned in despair.
And I floated in air.
Two eyes shed a different tear.
One, warm and forever - remembering the childhood friend.
The other, craved a forgotten person.
One reminds the other  of how happy she should be!
The other, weeps in silence as it endures memory de-fi-cit.
Falling simultaneously towards the ground.  
Quiet and unnoticed/ drenching and drowning.
Why is it that I go back to such horrible thoughts?
I live in them with a colourless splash.
I am happy, I believe. I was happier, I recall.

Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

Im trying to breathe in -  to breath out.
Underwater.
- dark and serene,
so quiet and untouched.

And so on,
comes a moment- in which the human mind seems to hush

and all that is left.. is your blinking heart and the sun rays resting
on-top of the crystalline water.

All your troubles sink away while you test your lungs strength fighting for your worth.

Your purpose- in this never-ending ocean- is a- beating heart in an unnatural state.

A state in which you --> human,  acknowledge (pause) how lovely it is to sink. To just be present in the drowning sound.

It is when our mind is deeply quiet that we realize how beautiful life is. It is when the outside world seems to hush that we realize the loudness of our living.

skirt
lord knows she´s been places
each shy smile, a metaphor
pair of doe eyes
breaking through the centerfold
she´s the sweetest, pure confection
of your fantasies

skirt
rid yourself of ***** purities
enticing tragedy
wood on furnace

skirt
lovely dove
of tender bareness
she's alive but made up
beauty breathless

s kirt.

That summer the wind blew my soul. It blew me to the minds of the good. It blew me to the arms of comfort . I let go of the string that connected me to the floor and asked the wind to guide me towards the door. I no longer listened to the voices that would make my head spin. I forgot what day or month it was... I was simply living, but in the way us humans are not programmed to live, not a typical work day, but a typical carefree day. I just simply forgot time.