The kitchen witch concentrates
as she lights her candle with a matchstick
in a bowl sits lavender, sage, myrrh
she sprinkles her work table with a handful of turmeric
as she closes her eyes, amethyst close to her heart
she mutters her prayers
and sends her wishes

The kitchen witch whips up dishes with gusto;
of roast and rosemary, thyme, apple rinds, honeyed blessings, deep sea salt
a spell for safety, protection, and love;
her children’s pockets are stuffed
with thick bundles of dried carnations and palo santo
tied tightly together
in a neat little bow

stars are a rare sight
in this part of my hometown
when we see them
we gasp and point to the sky
“look, there are stars!”

there lies me,
in a flower tomb
a heart full of naked dandelions

how can i ever
save you from a raging fire

and as i watch you smile
i can feel your heart straining
to keep itself together

and i want to reach in
and make everything better

but all is in vain
i have no power

all i have
is another messy heart
to tell you
we are the same

the same, which i hate
the same same, in which we
never liked to see in each other

so i watch you walk past me,
and you do, likewise
and i ignore you with a burning passion

later thinking, aren’t we the same?

life is
not fair
and when you try so hard
and fall so low
you chant every loser’s mantra:
not fair!

i’ve been told by countless individuals
that they’ve had bouts of
uncontrollable bad feelings

compounded through
chemicals, pills, and a lust for
greener pastures

i’ve been told by countless people
that they feel like the world
is wrangling them by the throat,
straining the tendons in their hearts

antidepressants are good solutions
talking to someone is ideal
going out in the sun is beautiful

i loudly balk,
condescendingly
and flirt with it when alone

Warmth is

the coziness of a fluffy sweater
a thick duvet over - the smell of linen basked in the sun
a sweet, light, warm musk - the scent of clean skin

it is the spicy sweetness of a cup of hot chai milk tea
of cinnamon, cardamon and clover,
strongly brewed in a ceramic ***
over steaming milk,
poured into a copper mug

it is to be surrounded by the love and concern
of familiarity, and of a gentle kindness

it is the soft chatter into the night
of friends during a cozy sleepover
contemplating the unknown future.