change is a process.

the limbs of my
character self
are shaking
just about dying
to drop
their socially acceptable moulds
litter the ground
with old habits
and in their places
grow
luscious healthy new sprigs
of enlightened perspective
a resurgence of ideas
death of the old
and outdated roles
a chance for
revitalised spirit selves
to dance upon the graves
of the old norms gone sour
now is the season
she screams
step up mulch away the debris
of your momentous miscalculation
of power
reclaim the roots
that the greedy shifting world
seeks to devour

**** the part of you that you dislike,
and save the rest.

...has to be more to oneself.

more layers
more colours

more lines felt
than are sometimes blithely expressed,
perceived by ourselves

more to you,
uncovered in darkness

more to me
in this humble lightness

some truth to the lies...
  some clearings
amidst
smouldering fires.

more.

my heart in your hand had become ensnared
victimised by this trojan's land
masses evolving
my reality dissolving
as I try to make sense of the unfolding
droplets of memories abound in soft forms
sweet as a fresh nectar fruit torn
from high reaching limbs
the attainment of your salvation ever the more rewarding
when climbing atop assumptions and wading through the swamps of doubt and forewarning
the earth quakes and shakes
rattles it's inhibitions from deep within
spews forth a gully of raging inner turmoil
I surrender to thee
my sacrifice born to an innocent plea
as i fall into myself once more
your fingers have encased me in your possession
a cage of dainty jagged bones
closing around this ever pulsating rhythmic vessel
I am entombed
entwined
enveloped
fusing myself to the insides of rusted debris
the tides can try to wipe everything away that is me
but still I cling
to the harmony of elements
the cage of possibilities and bones
I cling to this doom forsaken land
I now call
home.

to be...
something
an ache felt so deeply in my soul
I feel tethered to the yearning and desperation
a toxic dependence on the weight of the idea
that we must strive to be someone
with a career or vocation that implies the very essence of our character
that sums up our individual meaning
and is enough to simply state
who we are
what we do
all in one being
when really
in the end
you look at graves
and see words like
loving friend
dear sister
beloved daughter
and almost think that that is enough
in the end
to simply be a someone to someone special
and not what the world finds acceptable to label you as
who you are
what must you amount to
what you decide to be

in the end
being a someone
sounds more complex
than simply being
someone
to someone.

there is this stench hanging over me
I can't ignore the smell for much longer
it looks like a shifting dark vibration
ever moving, quaking, reverberating
a collection of excitable flies gathering together to feast
on the entrails of my mind's failed operations
the buzzing gets louder still
almost unbearable to withstand now
it's starting to shoot through my conscience
I can feel the little insects conspiring and mutating as one
a battle lies ahead, waiting to unravel
dormant in the swaying green that surrounds
like a sweet illusion of peace
ready to strike and pounce upon the unassuming pockets
of hope and tranquillity which rest in nearby lagoons
the battle is soon to be underway
I can feel it
lurking on the fringes of my morale
as it begins to intoxicate me
the sour starchiness of tainted dreams
dissolved within ashen clouds
I think
as I allow myself to be consumed
I think
I am beginning to get drunk
on my own complicity.