A little oasis occupied in a cafe
that approaches capacity.
Three opposite, two adjacent,
a couple at the windows to the right.
Six or seven more around the corner, out of view

Early twenties guy, has a slightly too-small zippered sweater,
with head down and a two-handed hold on his phone
the left relinquishes its grip for a minute to wipe across his face.

Late fifties man in a blue,zipped, baggy, sweat shirt
and early-nineties hair gone grey.
A phone too, but of a more palm-and-fingertip interaction
with pursed lips and an occasional surveying of the room.

A quiet girl at my right leaves and four chatty middle-aged yoga ladies
squeeze onto the table for two.
They obliterate my concentration
and I resort to a cocoon of headphone noise.
Their too-strong perfume forms a veritable blue cloud
and leaks into the taste of my tea.

The bitter heart eats its owner
It's a fearful thing to love what death can touch

Their goodnight kiss felt like two blind animals bumping into each other in the dark
She felt in that moment that she loved him as much as it was possible to love anyone
What she felt was something like hard rain; violence
                                                                ­                      and brightness
                                                                ­                            and beauty
What formed in her mouth were the words,
Which of us is flawed?


He began to feel anger at the peace he found here and the complacency of the blue sky and quiet roads
His fists were in his eye sockets, his head exploding with the ruin of lives
As he set out, he felt a kind of happiness
He fell
            and he fell,
                               and the earth that we call sweet became his executioner


There is a point when the body relinquishes its pain
and waits dumbly
The savage animal eating his heart would someday grow weary
When do you stop being
                                           human?
When the body is so befouled, when you have groveled so deeply, when bitterness eats your
                                   bones?

The birds move from one tree to the next, building nests
This is how we live
The wind erases our footprints as we move
                And then one day, we are no longer alive on Earth,
                         And the footsteps are gone forever
The land is our blood, the clouds our hair

We are doorways, openings into something greater than ourselves,
Something that we don’t understand and will never understand
One cannot know why things happen as they do
We have nothing precious in and of ourselves
We are only precious that we are part of something too big to know
Every person alive thinks they are the center of the universe, that they are everything
When in fact each of us is less than nothing
Liquid, like a river
Season by season
Hope,
           and hope again.

Why do I hate you?
You perplex me so.
Is it all an illusion?
All in my head?

I feel as though the pain inside multiplies by the second, a leech in its parasitic glory siphons my spiritual force.
I feel the darkness overwhelm me, dark clouds approach me from the south; lightning befalls my quintessence and the mayhem is revealed.
You couldn’t even acknowledge me, I feel as though I don’t exist; I slip into another dimension, and I become one with a black hole.
I am an anomaly; consuming negativity is my sole purpose; I am a thoughtless soul who has been sedated by noxious charm.

Hearts await me on the threshold of a heavenly and divine bliss; I supplicate the Transcendental to resurrect an undead heart.
Flame has led to glory; in time it will be revealed, that the Lord shall be my portion and baptismal rivers my shield.
All this horrid bruising; ensconcing within a façade, I await the time when love will greet me with a benevolent smile.
Adorned with a lavish diadem of rubies, diamonds and garnets, she edifies a being with a disheartened soul.

I feel like relinquishing my sacred and precious life, in order to escape to horror of an unreciprocated love.
I’m totally decimated, I don’t know if I can take the pain; I drift into a sea of everlasting sorrow and demise.
Vociferous cries to the heavens,
“Please help me escape dereliction”

I want to get to know you but you just won’t open up,
It pains me to know that your love for me is so close and yet so far.
Maybe I should’ve stayed away from you, maybe then I could’ve evaded the grief.
I’m slowly going insane; my equanimity is waning; shooting stars are falling and the ground beneath me begins to collapse.

I don’t want to do this anymore, you don’t understand what you’ve done, you could’ve had a lover who would cherish you till’ the end.
I’ll lock my soul in a treasure chest, turn my feelings off; I’m tired of being rejected; I can’t escape the pain.
When two ethereal beauties come face to face, there is a magnetic attraction; a gravitational pull.
I’m evolving by the minute, my soul is about to explode; a big bang of epic proportions; an eruption of distress.

Complex equations; possibilities are never-ending, your eyes and surreal eyelashes infatuating my heart.
I ask the deity of the heavens to send an angel from up above, a tenuous and ethereal beauty who relinquishes acceptance for my heart.
Someone who will cherish me and relish in my aromatic embrace; someone who will be entranced by my enamoring and celestial face.
Someone who will want me, for the remainder of precious time, to live with them in passion, rhapsody and connection.

I see the darkness within you; obscuring your delicate and yet barely visible light; I’ll never get to know you; your love is just a lost cause.
-Will’o’-the-wisp-
An ethereal blue flame burns within my heart, my soul is blossoming with fervor and iridescence overtakes my being.
I see that I have no one, I feel so cold and alone; I retreat to my bed being lonely with my muscles aching and sore.

I love myself enough, to know that the chaos shall slip away, love is over the horizon and the lightness shall bring me home.
Where I was meant to be is in the arms of a God unknown; a being with the transcendental power to resurrect a weary heart.
Lie with me upon a levitating bed; we shall arise into a galaxy where our names will be on each other’s lips.
Finality is so redundant; I surrender to the waves of the sea; an ocean teeming with luminous blood is where my boon shall arise.

Sacrifice after sacrifice and bone after bone; I shall bury my cherished dream beneath a sanguine and ruby Red Sea.
Roses and daffodils will blossom in the Fall; just when faith is diminishing my fate shall be revealed; chunks of frigid icebergs cool my red hot skull.
Anger, seething with anger.
I await love in an ambiguous form.

I am a sentinel who is slowly losing strength, how much longer can I bear to stand upon my own two feet?
When will they be there to catch me?
To take my breath away?
To resuscitate a languishing vessel ready to decay?

The Universe is expanding and the moon is on the rise; I shall reach your galactic radio waves when the celestial illuminates the night.
Just when all is lost; you shall kiss me on my lips; a crimson petal shall sit upon my slowly rising chest.
It shall sink beneath my flesh and my skin until it reaches the deep, the depths of my heart so that I shall become inflamed with love.
You shall revive me; your baptismal and cascading embrace; it slowly descends upon me like a waterfall from the sky.

I don’t know what to say, I’m demolished in every single way.
My bones are slowly breaking but my soul is here to stay.
I don’t know how much longer I can bear this but I pray that I can hold on.
Long enough to know that you have been here in my Universe all along.

To my Dream Lover,
To the grief of rejection,
To nothing but pain;
The quintessence of my soul.

-Amen-

By, Iridescently Efflorescent

The poet tries
with her words
to create something new
something hitherto unconsidered,
unthought, unspoken
She rakes the dirt for language
that is inimitable and rare
Fighting her way out of
prosaic platitudes
Searching deliriously for
a sharp-edged jolt of ingenuity
that will
awaken and inflame
In this great pursuit of something
clever
to say,
she overcompensates,
birthing a few stanzas
of exaggerated hogwash that inspires
more dismay than satisfaction
Out the window
her poem goes
A little crumpled ball of melodrama
and stale cliché
Then the poet sits in silence
smoldering with displeasure
wanting nothing more than
to finally write something that
works
It is when, radiant with disappointment,
she relinquishes her fantasy of excellence
that the true
poem begins
With rosy wings and
eyes like screaming bullets
it sails forth to proclaim
to declare
to profess without apology
or contrition
the wildest truths of her
soul
It is out of this realm of
deflation and defeat that
true originality is bred
Just a murmur at first, just a glint,
but listen, listen as
it swells into an exquisite roar
and watch,
watch as it rises from
the decay of the past
to flare
in a new light

you are the cigarette i pull out of the box every other evening
after fourty-six and five thousand strides, three underpasses
and one last pedestrian crossing

as with the cigarette, i look forward to you, look forward to
the high derived from the very presence of you
of your enigmatic entity misting through my lungs like
a sick, heady liaison akin to that of beer and smoke

but as with it which stubs out before the junction of bartley
relinquishes within me a curt perspiration, a heightened vision
you ravel my walk, desiccate my lips, augment a melancholy
that after muddy fields and an overhead bridge
initiates yet another discretion away from blurry headlights

as with the two sticks, tuesday and friday
five~, but only in selected amity
you leave traces of tobacco and filter paper
grinding between my newly dentalised set
as the zephyrs of the monsoon season **** against the spark
the bitter aftertaste of something so wrong, accompanied by
the warmth in cold of something so right

Melodious tides serenade along a foam dipped coast line,
we drift as a single composed symphony,
seduced by a pounding surf, its sensuous rhythm pulsates
flooding our hearts, aching to collide
in the tempo of a lone torrent’s embrace

Scorching August passions seize the moonlit sand,
palm tree shadows dance atop sultry weathered dunes
of lemongrass and saw palmetto,
on saltwater breezes moaning our names, mellifluously
from a distant cantata's horizon

Warm dark *** skin intoxicates, I stagger,
lost in hypnotic topaz eyes, reflective pleadings
of deeper desires sought, fingertips probe sun softened locks,
nightshade tresses, mingling with a rippled surf
as stardust illumines moist swollen lips, parted  

Harmonic waves wash atop entwined silhouettes
nearing a crescendo, a pinnacle of pleasure,
where secrets are revealed in half swallowed sighs  
on this coastal haven when voices sing in
throaty whispers of impassioned ecstasy

Now as heated breaths hover beneath the moon’s glowing stare
we too build and recede, feeding our amorous desires
as the fading night relinquishes its hold and dawn cracks the sky
Our tide becomes one, our union remains unbroken,
our love, eternally bound by the melody of the sea

I have been depressed. I will not say am. This is a six year ongoing illness that is formed itself into a personality trait, and now an uncomfortable, casual day to day topic.
I wish I could take the heaviness out of the words “I want to **** myself.” because they have never felt like a heavy sentence to me. They are words that string themselves through my brain at least twice a day and occasionally can be formulated into joke at my expense.
I tried to **** myself when I was twelve. It was a two week long ordeal. I was a hospital project for a week, an out of home charity case for a week, and after that, it became a running joke.
“Do you still have a few screws loose?”
“Are you still a basket case?”
“How many pills you think you could swallow?”
Over six years, I have become a great actor. I am best at holding my tongue, swallowing my spit when my throat is closing, and pretending like I am breathing steady. I often laugh in the face of my problems and I distance myself from people when I feel rocks sitting on my chest so they don’t smell the rot of a dying conscious. I have never been untruthful either. Just honest in a way that wears a theatrical mask and relinquishes an audience from an awkward state of “wow, I’m really sorry.”
But some nights are the farthest things from jokes.
Some nights are all choking up on words that don’t make any sense and some days are “nobody actually likes you.” Some days are not having enough energy to do laundry or dishes and then  hating yourself because how could you, you’re so lazy. Most nights are complete self hatred and manic heaving into a wet pillow while your brother sleeps quietly in the next room.
The worst thing about depression is that it’s so uncomfortable. It’s become such an awkward conversation to me. It’s like coming out as something that nobody has ever seen before until it’s living in front of you. It taints everything I do with a feeling of disbelonging with the people that love me because I don’t believe that my depressed presence is comfortable enough for others.
But I am trying. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up to a sun that still shines, even if it is covered by clouds and I will still be depressed. I will pick up a book that  I haven’t started, and wait in a sitting room full of other people who are emotionally sick. I will be the same person that I am, and have been. And I will know that right now, I am also trying very hard to become so much more.

It was just fuel added to the fire,
a burning sensation throughout my soul appears.
Once a pure heart of gold,
now slowly turns back to a dark, black heart.
And the mind which believed again,
soon relinquishes back to it's corner.

And on the brink of the breaking point,
you live and learn.
And people come and go,
and someone will come and fix you,
To only leave you more broken than before.
You learn that you can't trust anyone, anymore.

And that's just how society works,
because the cold truth is you can only rely on yourself.
If you give someone the pleasure of being your only
spark of hope, they take it and they crush it,
and leave you with your back against the wall
and bloodshot red eyes,
and tears streaming down your face at three in the morning,
and you're whispering to yourself "why?"

And you start to doubt your worth and purpose all over again,
and soon the walls will feel like they're caving in,
and your lungs will feel like they're closing up,
and your breathe will start to run short,
and the waves will start to collapse over you.
And in the end you have two options, do you sink or swim?

A rusty razor blade
embedded in the gap
between your two front teeth.
The sound of wet suction
when you pull the sticky caramel
apple out of your mouth but
the razor blade remains.
A caramel apple, a malevolent oyster
that relinquishes its
browned and jagged
pearl at the small and tempting price of a bite.

A jump rope lisping
Through loose gravel and rhymes.
Resembling orchestras and rapidly
Scratched-out novels,
Evolution of an indifferent ******.

Delicate lacework stitched
Beneath the youthful
And frail. Disintegrating
Like a bird’s nest, once
Air conditioning expires.

Scampering between markets,
Wavering while waiting
In redundant lines, as you
Carelessly caress outerwear that you
Waited in line for yesterday.

Placing yourself professionally
On seats, beside plainly colored
Briefcases. Quivering arms
Tingle, as the blood
Relinquishes.

Wordless entities fill
Empty rooms, as pressure
Builds from the exterior and in.
Tarnished sneakers sink and slip,
Amidst cunning quicksand.

Mangled and thrashed,
Fabrics that used to be
Accustom to merry-go-rounds, and dry
Eyes. Gently laced hemming,
Lacerated at the seams.

Stroll down whimpering sidewalks
That sting for vibrations, fixed
By a stranger’s oblivious feet.
Jerking outerwear closer
As no emotions pass.

Synthetic joy overcomes
You, when droning
Minds think alike.
Wriggling and skulking
To cease the crunching of time.

Run away to a foreign country, one with plush yellow green pastures. The grasses hiss soothingly as the breeze brushes them down this way and that. My home, a simple one room shelter built atop a broad and wise dark leafed tree who has welcomed me to its strong open arms. The skirt of my plain brown dress tickles the tops of my feet as I step down onto the soft soily earth.

There are no people here but I am not alone. The wind is here to lift the overflow of thoughts from my ever questioning mind and the water is here to soothe me and commiserate like an old companion purified from the complications of humanity. The dirt is my mother and my father, providing for me. Nurtures me with its succulent plants and cups its hands so that I might take a few small fish from them now and then.

A spotted sun perch hangs behind me as I perambulate meditatively. I see a few delicate vibrant blossoms on the side of my arborous home. They chime a brilliant tune that I will later compose onto a clay canvas. The afternoon is spent cleaning the small token and then toasting it over fire. I tend the patches of nearly wild vegetables and fruits. The most desirable ones plucked for my plate.

Guardian stars begin to dot the serenity of a dazzling dusk that demands my awe. I am aware of my tiny existence and its grand insignificance yet at the same moment I feel as though I was specially chosen by the cosmos to witness this perfect event. An intoxicating shiver grips me suddenly as a gust flits up my spine and through the back of my hair. Slowly it falls and the lulling chirps of a million violinists begin to play to one another. An admiring amphibian adrift the pond lilies relinquishes some commending croaks.

As the dark begins to settle in I climb to my aerial cottage to lie down. The rustling of my nest-bed reminds my neighbor owl of the time and she hoots appreciatively before flying off to begin her hunts. The splendid nocturnal symphony soon sends me to my dreams.

From the bottom of my heart i hate thee,
I wish you're dead so in peace may rest we. -
Like a fox perfidious you are,
my hateful sight on your face,will leave a scar.
The perfection of thy duplicity
doth not relinquishes my mind in serenity.
That mockery in voice of thine,
cannot vindicate -not even a ewer of wine.
In my eyes,you wear the gown of blame
and no God will divest from thy face the shame.
It is not placebo,this hate of mine
it will-towards you-forever shine.

I dream of a better time, a woman who not only entices me, but eases my mind. A woman who's long ebony hair flows past her shoulders, who's eyes are as big as her heart. She is the one whom I've set apart.
I dream of a better time where I am her's and she is mine, where she is the one who keeps me sane and relinquishes every ounce of pain.
I dream of a better time where I wait for her in this oh so tedious line, every word that dances from her lips is witnessed in the rhythm of her hips. To the world she may seem as some unfortunate dream that would usually be unseen, but in my hopeful eyes she is the truth beneath this cacophony of lies that we have deemed to be life.
I dream of a better time where she has given even the most foolish of men a deeper mind.

For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is August’s poem. Enjoy!

We are wrapped in the heat of summer.
The sun's rays stab at our exposed backs.

Fall offers temporary relief.
An explosion of color everywhere we look.

Winters here are brutal.
The rain never seems to stop.

Finally, spring brings forth new life.
Something is reborn within me.

Another trip around the sun.
Nothing quiets the soul like the cosmos.
Eternal darkness sure feels small.
Maybe we are alone.

Staring across the passage of time,
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Not even at this moment
Is the pain of alone ours.

Our lives are intertwined.
We are stars filling the void.
Soon, we will realize this truth.
Hopefully, before it is too late.

Our moment is short.
Time never relinquishes its steely grasp.
So love...
Love with all that you have.

Before you know it,
Darkness will consume.
Be assured of your place in history.
Know your legacy.

Let time pass.
Be the best you.
The seasons of your life should reflect that.

~

The Ocean’s Melody


As tides cast their net along a patient coast,
we lie entwined ~ adrift as a single composed symphony
tempo’d by the pounding surf ~ its constant sensuous rhythm
lulling our hearts, aching, to collide
in one beat’s embrace

Love upon a moistened sandy shore
your swollen lips offer a glistening enchantment
with fingertips delicately seeking ~ caressing ~ stroking
feathery lashes grace twin demure windows
of tender need

Velvet waves wash along our bodies ~ gently
merely to touch you ~ hold you ~ kiss you, is my coastal heaven
With arms of cradling strength ~ kindness ~ ecstasy,
my voice becomes a throaty
whisper of passion’d affection

Now as wandering shadows cross beneath the moon’s glowing care
we too build and recede, feeding our amorous desires
as the fading light relinquishes its hold
and dawn cracks the sky ~
our tide becomes one

Our bond remains unbroken ~
tethered to the ocean’s melody

Night Thrill

Opened eyes see unseen things,
different worlds revealed all at once,
can’t you hear them?
Coming to life with ease,
breathing and living just as anything else.

The trees begin their dance,
flailing their arms,
leaves falling to the ground,
patterns making stars, snowflakes, simple beauty.

Walking through the hollowed buildings,
silent and empty in the lull of the night,
only soft cries and yells can be heard
as the beasts run wild.

In an amphitheater, vast and desolate
darkness captures the hardwood floors
and renders all life from the place,
moments from collapsing.

Footsteps across the dusty stage,
squeaks and creaks heard as the curtain rises,
a rusted chair decays on the surface,
the once living prop, struck from its glory.

A strong gust begins swirling,
rushing over the cracked floorboards,
bringing the stage to life
under the feet of a Shakespearian player.

The scene is set and not a moment too late,
a motley audience of demons and ghouls,
witness the defining moment,
a humble servant of the stage
relinquishes mortal form and ascends.

Self destruction imploded,
explosive is the emotion, when corrupt and tainted,
and salvation is stagnant, dismembered and disassembled,
as it resembles a black heart that relinquishes it's broken wings,
and surrenders to complication in frustration...
A device used that's suffice to sacrifice what temptation,
made sacrilegious, a viscous disease plagued by the relic feelings that are negative prognosticators bringing induced nostalgia
that only comforts til the attachments make it arbitrary.
It's a condition that foreshadows eminent manifestations
that makes justification unequivocal, so indestructible is my problematic depression,
my depression that im stressing is what causes my stressing,
only stretching once pressing so im guessing
that self destruction is a blessing as im confessing that my lifes abusive like im a possession
and thats when i question my suicidal state
and why i wait, causing my seld destructive ways to mutates into a plutonium powered, steroid fuelled monster
that contributes to the inadequate feeling projected in my low self-esteem filled consciousness ...
until the residual given the variables is nothing short of pathetic,...
An astronomical spectrum of failure,
tears and insecurities that resonate to perpetuate the amplified undeniable confinement that nihilism builds....
Irreparable, so I reprehend reputation and release stigma,
but alas reach to accept what I cannot change,
changing the things I can and staying perplexed in differentiating.
The only respite I have is the lethargic hope that I will be terminated immediately,
til then redundant is the regretful feeling resulting in me halting
living vicariously through dead individuals visual
but your imagination cant comprehend it,
as it is declared gratuitous with the exemption of acting as a wrecking-ball to shatter my scattered and battered dreams
as demolition makes extinct the instinct to continue my pursuit for happiness that my gps can't seem to locate for a destination point,
so implicated is the uncomplicated conclusion that most concur as apt.
I contemplate collision to refute, but refuge I seek leaves me like the head of a seek, wrapped in a turban of the tangled web of lies I weave in a post freedom epiphany
that dictates to fall in line and pay taxes,
which contradicts freedoms theory and questions it as if to challege a democracy our hypocrisy sold out,
so before I implode as an introvert would,
I say as an extrovert to divert and dodge the bomb
made of self pollution society helped bond to my suicidal notion to instigate what is now destiny,
... Stand back...take cover...TNT + me = my carefully calculated subconscious desire...
Calamity that brings Armageddon ...boom!!!
As I yell goodbye before the dramatic, and traumatic ******...
brains blood and guts erupt, to help conduct
and orchestrate the witnesses who are now throwing up

The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published

the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,

procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.

the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards

cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests

The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me

2018 was an extremely tough year for me. I've been through some unfathomable things in my life, but last year was by far one of the most trying.

I learned that boundaries are important and more people should practice establishing and respecting them.

I learned that ultimatums aren't love. If someone cared for you, they would be understanding in their approach to your existence.

I learned that people are going to do what they want to do regardless and the only thing you can do is be a positive force or influence that stands along side someone else in their trying time.

I learned that it is important to always strive to forgive because it relinquishes another person's control over yourself and your emotions. Forgiveness isn't for the person that hurt you, it's for your own peace of mind.

I learned that it's easier to sleep at night when I did everything I could.

I realized that it's okay to have bad days, it's okay to ask for help, I don't have to be so ******* myself, and I deserve the best because I refuse to settle for less.

These 2 sides feud on the inside.
Neither wrong, yet neither right.
Only different perspectives that collide.

Both logical.
Both in conflict.
There is no compromise,
No middle ground to be found.

Both war at the heart,
Neither yields or relinquishes their part.
They rage on through the night,
Through the day,
Unrelenting in their passion.

Every so often a foothold is lost,
And onward pushes the enemy/heroes...
Retaliation is a certainty,
And so it goes perpetually.
A tug of war wherein there is no real victor.

They tell me to choose,
Yet neither is right to me...
And neither wrong.
They say it is simple,
Yet lack the context and perspective to struggle as I do.

whatever is true comes out in the right light

with each stroke, the hand effortlessly relinquishes its color*

There are some small insects, that graze the land
in search of other kinds of insects,
to hunt,
and ****,
and lay their eggs inside of.

These insects are like myself,
as I hold each life in my own hands,
for the future of my kind.

Some apes cruise the treetops,
to fight their own, and eat them whole,
to howl with their best.

There are those who eat the dead,
swarming in the waters, to consume
what is already gone.

In this world, nothing survives
that does not take, exactly what it can get.

In this world, nothing does not have a purpose,
that does not really live.