Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
I'll stow you away in my secret hiding place deep in my mind and never take you out until I know it's safe.
You are my little marionette, your strings taught and wary from overuse.
The wood you are made from chipped and abused.

Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
You are afraid of the monsters outside, creeping, but I will protect you.
I am brave.
I will defend you from the evil that surrounds everyone and everything and I will keep you safe.
Your little marionette arms hanging by your sides, already prepared for the heartbreak of rejection.

Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
You'll never be able to run away because I control your strings.
The strings you could never use to walk on your own.
The strings, only I know how to employ. My fingers toiling with the knots. You are bruised.

Don't worry, I'll keep you right here in my little box for safekeeping.
I swear I will never stray.
This promise will be engrained on my mind, sewn on my heart and tattooed on my fingertips.
You are mine and I will never let you go. Never.
You are mine and I will never let you go. Never.

a wacko version of hamlet

the patient came up to us raving
GOODNIGHT, GOODNIGHT
a naked swollen giant
his basketball *****, his endless belly
every system failing
we prepared to put him out
so we could stick a tube down his throat
plug him on a ventilator
and insert lines for safekeeping
GOODNIGHT, I LOVE YOU
he tried to lean off the bed
take it easy man, i said, restraining him
SUSAN  
who’s susan? asked the nurse
GOODNIGHT, GOODNIGHT, GOODNIGHT
good night, sweet prince, i said as we gave him the drugs
GOODNIGHT, I LOVE YOU, GOODNIGHT
we intubated him and took him down to the OR
where he passed twenty minutes later

Dear Lord:

I am confused.

My life is Damocles,
My name is unimportant,
My sword's thread stretched
thinner than thin,
barely a 10 word poem
slender wide.

This body's homeland,
this deluded tired,
where my physic resides,
is indeed nominated accurately:

Sequestered.

Yet I am not alone,
though cut off in ways,
few can comprehend.

Sequestered.

Indeed,
secluded,
withdrawn but not by choice,
the loveliness of life
escapes and
eluded and yet,
I still believe...

a disciplined disciple,
my faith constant,
in this,
your awful trials and failed tests,
to me, success eludes,
and life deludes.

Yet,
tested beyond exhaustion,
you let me sojourn for a few brief, precious,
every-days in a multi-windowed world
where the entry fee is simply
the freedom of words
undenied,
but well defined,
in perfect clarity.

Rest and restlessness no longer debate.

Rest,
defeated has departed for more hospitable climes.

Weariness,
has won,
I rail not, swearing faith,
debate not your choices for us,
long ago,
surrendered that incomprehensible struggle.

Here I am
uncomplaining,
unfeignedly,
still here,
worn but standing in
your verbal grace.

One comfort
left
and it helps me
right
what's
wrecked
and for that,
I bear the knowledge and the burden of what ails all humans,
and what can bring them comfort unceasing..

Gifts so small  
that that some
single lettered,
make up a whole

here is me,

I

bowed, boxed, bowled over
and still bowing,
on so many days
in so many ways,
and in those the few hours
when the mind refuses
the opportunity to sleep,
hope tries to keep itself seeded

for here is  found,

Lord,

where sonnets bloom,
where one can draw welled fresh water comfort
from the words of poetry
with which you surround us,
letting me be reborn in hope ever so small,
daily, like you

The misbalance of life,
where the justice scales
seem weighted all wrong,
for in the glory of human word
is a world real and imaginary,
this poetry, this art,
so weighty this god gift to humans,
in its beauteous weightlessness,
gives me shelter so brief,
gives me shelter so grand,
that though my greatest burdens accursed,
so much suffering surrounded-sounded,

these shared words
and the ones
you gift me,
makes all these woeful waves
tamed and becalmed,
the scales of tribulation lose

Through these words,
breathe through them,
once again,
rest and strength,
restored and returned
in ever small lettered says
and your incomprehensible
Glory,
in humans,
thus stored for shared safekeeping,
is mine to share and shared.

So many the mysteries,
but this above all I cannot comprehend,
how can so many not see,
how so many abuse
so carelessly,
that greatest gift
after life itself,
the restorative words
so plentiful,
you have planted
within the earth of our
human existence.

You speak to my soul and make my eyes smile
warm as sunny days, enchanting as moonbeams
your thoughtful words permeate my very being
I carry your friendship as a precious locket
always available to hold dear and admire
safekeeping next to my heartbeat's ardor
scripted designedly in golden stanzas
pendant's everlasting imprinted verse*

For my sweet friend, you know who you are. xo

Ralph Lauren - Losing My Elastic

Dear Ralph,

A few years ago,
The alone years,
When street strangers I would street stop,
Hoping that ecstasy miracles you-know-what,
I walked endlessly, shopped but never bought,
Selling but never sold,

Standing in line at DD,
Wanting that person in front of me to order
Coffee and a heart, with extra me.

Found myself at 59th and Lex,
Famous department store basement,
Found a room where clothes where kissed away
Prices cheap, styles atrocious,
But I felt home there, understood the milieu.

There is where
You and I met, polo played.

Found a pair of shorts you must have lost,
Cause your name was on them in four places.

Really ugly, army green,
Consigned to be buried,
Or bundled off to Africa.

Assured you didn't want them back,
For five bucks me and you left together
From Emporium Bloomingdales.

We have been together for six years,
Give or take, plenty of giving, some taking,
Sleeping together, you shared some good
Poetry writing and love making.

Ralph! This soft shroud you made, I love it so,
Tumbleweed, tumble dried,
Is now losing its elasticity,
The Band**^^ has recorded its last song.

Taken my beloved to every surgeon,
Doctor, Master Tailor, Plastic Elastic
Specialist on Savile Row and Jermyn Street,
Park Avenue, been up and down,
All say that there is nothing to be done,
Grief counseling maybe,
Causing soon I am going to losing you,
Dead by loss of elasticity.

But here I lie, here I weep,
Thinking of the good years.
Stricken, this will likely be,
The last poem I write inside you,
Our last clinging, cooperative embrace.

Yes, Y'all, I found that special stranger eventually,
On line, not in line,
She liked my profile^ and took me home
For safekeeping.

She don't know about us,
But when she suggests its time for us to
Separate, cause every minute I gotta pull
You back up again and again,
I turn away lest she misunderstand the tears.

Ralph, you let me down,
Why can't you have designed my
Sleeping companion to last as long as
Forever, like in all the love songs?

My darling, soon you will disappear,
To I don't know where,
I'll come home, and tight silences will tell me everything
I don't want to know.

Safe journey my boon, my joy,
Until we meet, cross existences once more,
Gives me comfort some,
Knowing that on journey long to parts unknown,
This token, this little writ will be accompanying you!

Ralph - is there nothing to do?

Silence.

Lest you think this is utter nonsense,
Look closer at your screen, try harder, try again,
Don't you see that single tear in the
Lower corner of my life.

When my body loses its elastic,
Who will,
Will you,
Write me a poem to clutch?
In my casket, scatter the ashes, of my
Loving poetry, I want my life fantastic poetic
Memories next to me, even as we both become dust...


3:47AM
July 2nd, 2013

Oh dear calming waves that brush upon the shore,
And blooming flowers and overcampusing trees a'more,
And the pleasant smells of freedom and liberty,
And the numerous hearts of my civilians sincerely.
For the most safest of places, shall I call my home,
And deem no infliction upon such values of my own.
Until what horrors have drawn a near,
Until what treacheries are we to share,
For 'tis a place of safekeeping have we deem,
No longer holds its name at all does it seem.
And much like the Titanic of a poem from before,
Have these fated deaths have but fate to blame for.
Oh shall we never recall this city as a tragic place,
Nor recall the Boston Massacre of 1770 with haste.
For no sane of man shall the slaughterings enjoy,
And for no family of one shall the deaths rejoice.
Remembrance of our people and our city's name,
Are we to call another terrorist is to blame?
Are we to call that be but the doing of tragic fate,
Or the will of God and towards our ideals He hate.
Or shall we blame it for the naiveness of us all,
Thinking that terror only upon namely's does it fall,
But for a city shall its peoples stand a'mass strong,
And rise from the ashes of horror and continue living on.
And shall we take the tragic seeds of what was left to sow,
And grow'st the blooming rose from the ashes as a whole.

the bellRINGS
                     tinitubular
sending curlique vibrations
             of sound unseen
but felt at the very  heart
of the core
            and then there isJOY
floating around in moted
                          DEFIANCE
small smidgens fall like        
              MANNA
on the thirsting ground.
   and in this simple action of grasping at  INSPIRATION
we the poets
                    hear
                         the ECHOES  
                of lives unlived
and see the beauty of        
                               DREAMS

yet to be broken
                and in that
                        small moment
we are the KEEPERS of the
                     world  
WITHIN the bells that are
                              RINGING

A hollow vase forged and crafted to function as a keeper
God only knows what was to be placed in the vessel
Made from dust and was molded by love
A perfect container to be filled with knowledge

At first a perfect family was imbued inside the vessel
Followed by lessons only a prodigy could handle
Slowly it was infused by different lessons from diverse people
The vessel was happy it was being filled finally fulfilling its purpose

Up until it was filled with waste and trash
The perfect family was emptied and was replaced by a broken one
Lessons from diverse people was slowly thrown away
The vessel that was once filled happiness was replaced by sadness

Continuously shattered throughout the years
now full of cuts on his wrists and a barely functioning heart
It could only imagine what he had once
a perfect idea of what he could've been if he only was a tad bit stronger

what was once promised to be kept on the top shelf
for safekeeping as he was the most valuable
was now hidden for it had become
a broken and shattered vessel hidden from everyone

It yearns for a purpose everyday, watching other vessels be filled up
with knowledge he dreamed for while he laid there being filled with trauma
the now cuts on the vessel were displayed as it was full of them
the owner could barely keep it intact but the vessel knew otherwise

It was close to breaking it was filled with knowledge and lessons from its past
memories that were supposed to be happy were replaced by haunting experiences
It could barely hang on it was filled to the brim by waste but it felt empty
a new line was made on the shattered vessel everyday as if it was a cut to display its pain

being filled was its purpose
but was the haunting memories enough for him
the horrible wisdom it has learn throughout the years
it all built up until he couldn't take it and he shattered

everyone was heartbroken about the vessel
full of what-ifs and promises they made to the vessel
regret filled the cabinet where it was once stored
everyone mourned at the finale but no one helped during the ******

His voice whispered he believed in me
and in that moment
I hid my secrets in his soul

A midnight poet,
she calls herself.
Because the cascading words,
come to her
wrapped up in shiny moonlight,
served on blankets of darkness,
stars dusted lightly on top.
Her inspiration
rides the midnight breeze
swiftly and gently
to her window,
waiting patiently for her
to lift the glass up
and greet them warmly.
So there she sits,
next to the open window
waiting for the perfect moment
to say hello.
To invite her loyal inspiration in
for some midnight tea,
and although she says
she’s not fond of midnight snacks
She pours herself
a steaming mug of metaphors
and serves couplets
with the drink.
After a comfortable chat,
Inspiration takes its leave
out the window
on the breeze in which it came.
And so the girl
is left lonely once more,
but not truly alone.
She has her words,
her rhymes,
her metaphors,
and her couplets
to keep her company
as she forms it all
into beautiful verses
that capture the heart.
As she sits by her window,
the midnight poet
notices how soft the sky looks,
dark and freckled with stars.
The sweet sky comforts her
as she mourns her bitter loneliness into verses,
or envelops her in maddening, exciting emptiness
as she writes
or simply sleeps
by her window.
The midnight poet
sighs gently
catching the wily night’s attention
And draws poetry from its
calming,
yet sly,
grin.
The girl catches falling stars
made of verses
from her pretty window seat.
She finds lines tucked behind faraway planets,
makes metaphors from the moonlight,
comfortable in the darkness’s embrace.
The midnight poet
coaxes poetry from the freckled night sky
And tucks it into her pocket
For safekeeping.
To keep
as an ever loyal
companion.
A reminder
of her home.
A poem of the night.

Put a child lock
on the liquor cabinets,
and fasten me
to your kitchen sink.

Watch me drift slowly down the drain.

Watch shattered wine glass
stick between fragments of me
in the garbage disposal blades.

Watch broken sentences
arch over our faulty plumbing lines.

Watch pieces of you stick strictly to silver spoons.

Take the skin of your Cuban
and roll a noose around my neck
to yank the blaze from my throat
into the bile of my slip-ups
that pool on the kitchen floor
from an unattached pipe
that just can’t seem to keep
her pretty little mouth shut.

Penetrate my thoughts from behind
and throw plates at the walls
of my shoulder blades
when you need to hear the question again
because it doesn’t matter what she thinks
if her face is nothing but
a cracked serving platter.

Force your hands
onto the authority of my hipbones.

Pierce your wedding ring
through my belly button for safekeeping.

Decorate my body
with super glue
so your words can stick to me.

Sort me in
with the pots and pans
so your voice
doesn’t have to clang against
my eardrums anymore.

Reorganize me
again and again
until you can’t wash the stain
out of my bottom lip anymore.

Pour me a drink
while I drip Taps into the sink
because when I realize
water isn’t strong enough
to make me forget how blood
runs so much thicker over my skin,
tears begin to slip so easily off my eyelashes.

Let my death
be a pail
brimmed with ex-lovers’
cries for attention.

Let me kick the bucket
this time
when they begin to drown out
the sound of my own.

Let me be a reminder
that not all channels
you lose yourself down
have to be man made.

I swear, goblins must have created you.
Made so pure, honest, stable, delicate.
Like a blanket you can cover what I’m
Ashamed to show, and provide to me an
Inner warmth otherwise unnatural.
You puzzle me yet piece me together.

The hem of your being gently caresses
my skin beneath. I'll be your comforter
and sooth you of all your worries, darling.
Don’t fret, for a new beginning rises.
Secrets whisper to each other, exchanging
in an ear -- a tavern of safekeeping.

Friendly benefits, beneficial friends
I’m glad “we” exists even though you do
remind me of her – wish I could hate her...
She is a mold of who I had become --
Shattered -- but now I can rebuild my world,
like a child playing with his new Legos.

I’d give you the world if I loved you enough.
This is just affection, care-free addiction.
Perhaps in a different place or time.
A bed would be nice, or even a couch,
but for now I’ll make due with this kitchen,
asking to borrow one of your kisses.

Cause love is long , love is strong
Cause love is strong , love is long

Come with me , we'll catch the ship of fools
and fly to the moon .
Give your heart to somebody then fly away
with their love in a special box for safekeeping .
Call it a heart deposit box .
If your heart's box has been broken we'll
change the locks .
Don't get left behind .
We're going moonberry picking  in the
eclipse of dreams past , present , and the
unequivocal future .

Hurry !
Last one there is a pixie from France

i'm holding it all in my hands
like it's something fragile
your words your smiles your open arms your knowing
of me my soft spots bus times eating habits
wrapped as with wool in easy sentences
like next week usual time

i'm holding it all in my hands
along with bags of groceries
of duties plans calendars filled with
names of people wanting things and
giving things that i forgot at home
or i will lose tomorrow

i see an apple fall out of the bag
i'm holding it all in my hands
not enough hands to hold it in a way
that makes it safe from shattering
if i trip on the sidewalk and find myself
with no one there to catch me

i let the apple roll down the street
for someone else to trip on
won't risk dropping the now in my hands
hoping in thanks it might whisper
don't worry honey i'm yours
i'm yours i'm yours to keep

The Gods have forgotten how to die,
in the Serengeti the Lion fills his cup.
Gerrymander those dreams furnished as overkill,
for safekeeping store them in a crucible so that,
Warriors pledge wherewithal returns,
a monstrous bounty to wrench
the loadstone enduring.

over the years,
i've collected images
of various escapades
all thrown away
when they thought
no one was looking.

i've listened to cries
hiding beneath their
ringing laughters
and tucked those tears
away in clear bottles
for safekeeping.

i've helped mend
battered hearts
& fractured souls,
then whispered comforts
about dreams & hopes.


i have done all those and more.


and now,

i want to know
if a song can rise from
the ashes of a broken life.

I am a stranger
To a lover
I cannot encounter
Glamorous is her beauty
She smiles in a special way
Holding back true feelings
Whom I must not tell
Falling so shameless
This woman of mercy
Giving all I have present
For one night with her
Is a chance
Which is mine for safekeeping
I am a stranger
I stand alone
To a love relinquishing my soul

I am clinging tight on this superficial feeling.
I caught a butterfly and I am keeping it for safekeeping.

It doesn't guarantee an eternal life,
of bliss,
of fruitfulness.
It doesn't even guarantee a year of existence.

But it gives me hope,
of joy, to welcome the day,
It gave me a reason for today.

Surveying the large and burdensome
Masonic Holy Bible
Given to you decades ago
As a Brother of the Fraternity,
Left behind upon your death,

Amazed at the excellent condition
Of the text; the presentation
And family record pages blank...

One would think this a token volume
Meant only for in-home display
Until finding, scattered throughout
And clinging near the spine,
Dried and preserved clovers from
Distant summer days.

Four-leaf clovers, a couple hundred or more,
Gathered over the years from fields,
Hillsides numberless, and pressed
Into the arms of kings David and Solomon,
Mingled with Isaiah's prophecies and
Seeded about the Sermon on the Mount -
The great tome laced with leaves
Of discovery, welcome surprise, safekeeping.

Some may believe this a misuse
Of a sacred text, but perhaps
It is a testament to your disposition
That an oversized and weighty Holy Bible
Was made a repository of so many
Little verdant flags of good fortune.


- fr

There's a point when it all becomes okay,
a sense of divine clarity,
when you know for certain that no one wins,
the rules are always bent,
the good ones get away,
and summer is always spent.

There's a sound finer than your favorite music,
a voice begging for your safekeeping,
when you know for certain that at least one person,
for one spell, wants yourself, your health,
the gifts turn old,
beauty levitated by introspective wealth.

There's always a trail, there's always four walls, never an escape,
a broken heart crying for your broken neck,
when compliments wash ashore against a sea of catastrophe,
their hate proves your worth, your weight, your sting,
a perpetual feast of old, distasteful words,
your frightened mouth fired in haste.

1.
I spent most of the day on the train from Boston –
writing poems and thinking
of how to undo the mess. I still haven’t found the answer.
My uncle takes me to the Met for the first time –
so much art and so much time
forever onward. Upstairs
modern art canvases, big plain swatches
of bright color. I want to stare for hours
get lost in blues and greens, but it’s closing time
so we get dinner and go back to the apartment.
Beneath the red light and behind curtains
of the same color, I blow up the air mattress
but I don’t fall asleep for hours.

2.
I’m supposed to make breakfast
but they shut the water off. Left
to my own devices, I go to Union Square
and duck in and out of stores all day,
no one to keep me company. Bitter wind skims
off the pavement. I can’t even open my eyes
long enough to see the faces in the park.
Tuesday, when I came home early after cheap dinner
and felt guilty for not doing more. I tried to get ice cream -
one whole hour just to circle a few streets.
I realized – the only day we’ve gone without speaking
in over a year. It feels so good. Maybe it’s cheating
if you reach out and I just don’t respond. But the wound bleeds
every time I open it, and just once I want to give it time to heal.

3.
The long morning where we talk about silence
from people we used to love. Except it’s not sad –
I couldn’t be happier. You’re not joining the army
and I’m not staying in West Virginia. I make hardboiled eggs
before going to Chelsea. I spend hours alone in a museum
but this time I don’t hear the music. I overhear conversations
and write them down for safekeeping. Better than words
getting lost forever. We get pizza and ice cream
and talk about the past. Dad’s in the hospital – has been for a week,
no one told me. Suddenly the ice cream is sour instead of sweet.
Later I hear his voice and he sounds okay. We make plans for the weekend.
I break the silence after one day. Nothing’s changed – it’s worse now.
Whatever – we don’t have to talk. I get wine drunk in a basement
and laugh because everything is so absurd. We get dumplings
and I ride the wrong subway back, the one that makes too many stops.
I’m still trying to figure out the balance
between avoidance and acceptance. One day
I’ll get there. I feel like I’ve been dipped in boiling water,
skinned and left raw. Tomorrow I’m going home
and there’s not enough time. For what I’m not sure –
ever since I stopped wearing the watch on my wrist
it feels like the world is moving so fast I can’t notice,
an illusion of stillness. I shouldn’t have sent that last text –
I always say too much at the end. Always teaching myself
to trip over my own words.

4.
Mornings have become slow and still here.
I never used to linger like this, but maybe it’s a blessing.
Now I can take things in. Old haunts in a city
where part of me grew up. I make grocery lists
for the people I love. Maybe there’s a better way
to care for someone – but I like narrow aisles
and neon lights and people getting what they want.
If I’m alone I can do anything I want. Walk to Central Park
and sit in the sun. Or look at old books. So much time
looking and not reading – does it matter
if I never see the words inside? I wish I was a ***** fish
living in the gutters. I’d swim and swim until I lost my eyes.
I miss the simple landscapes of being home. But I’ll be back
soon. Trains like bookends. Movement like blinking.
Before I leave my uncle asks what I learned and I say
“that I’m capable.” He doesn’t ask of what –
I don’t have an answer. It’s like I used to say –
roll with the punches, or with the trains,
or just roll home.

Bleeding inside
Like a clock, each tick
A silent sob, converted to noise
Noise that isn’t sound
Isn’t important
All it is
Is relief from the silence.

We want to be loved
We want to be found.
Each of us, alone as we are,
Unique, longing to be the same,
Longing to be together.
We love each other,
Give all we have away
Fall in love with everything
We lay our desperate eyes on --
The hills, the sky, the sea
We forget the spin of the earth
And the scythe of the end
And the burning words has been
For a little while
Consumed in the beauty
Of a soft summer evening
Glowing in the palace of memory,
Locked away for safekeeping.
We are misers of happiness
We bargain for empty joy
All we are, fleeting
Hollow.
Echoing in the winds of time,
Singing and laughing
Silently.

We are unique.
We want to fit in.
To be inside, to be known.
And so we act like we are.
Like everything’s okay.
Like a little girl dresses up like a princess,
Because that’s what she wants to be.
And for a little while, we’re happy.
But then we have to grow up,
Then we have to change, and find
Something different.
But we want something that lasts
Through the years
Through the centuries and eons,
Because our immortal souls
Long for the solid horizon
Of this storm-tossed sea.

What keeps you here?
Why do you keep treading water,
Keep looking around,
Like a ship will come soaring out of the fog
To rescue you?
Do you want to be rescued?
Or is the silence of the summer day
Locked away inside you
Good enough?
Are you good enough?
Is that all you want to be?

I want to be known.
Knowing is not enough anymore
Anyone can know something, can look in.
I want to be inside
Accepted, held
To know what I’ve never known
To walk along a glassy shore
With one who loves me.
To be forgiven, always and completely
Forgiven what I am.

But I don’t know how to say it
It feels heavy and immaterial
Like the silence in between the words
When the words don’t say anything
But suddenly they have meaning.
Between the moments you’re
Totally immersed in the living world
With all those people
Suddenly you stop
Suddenly you’re alive
You breathe
And see
You’re not alone.

Words were left behind
    on top of the soil
    where they buried
    yesterday's bones

2. suddenly, this cold chill
    that has befriended my spine
    is now a sense of comfort
    that I am still alive

3. Grief, it is love, it is every form of love
    From every story I have ever read
    it is hope and despair
    it is the shadow
    of this rain
    that follows me
    home

4. I hope you see
    that this running clock
    moves in circles
    just like we do
                             the beginning of your journey
                             is closer to the end
                             than you could ever imagine

5. If you are looking for me
    I am searching for that old shadow
    we left with the sun for safekeeping
    thinking about burying old love

My heart has never been one piece;

I’ve left bits in places and people

for safekeeping or declaration.

So you didn’t break it.

You never even had the chance. 

But don’t think for once second —

it didn’t hurt when you tore 
a piece too big for yourself 
and left my ****** heart half out my chest

The journey starts in the early morning.
By 7:36am the alarm is blaring and we know it’s time to go.
We grab a backpack and carefully put the neon green keychain in the smallest pocket for safekeeping.

Teeth brushed, shoes on and the batteries are all charged as we double check the wallet and phone before finally shutting the heavy apartment door.

As we make our way down the first flight of stairs we stop to stare out the large window that holds an imposing place of honour from the ceiling all the way to the bottom floor. We see a few water droplets crowd together in a corner as they race down as if to see who can make it to the bottom first. We make a right and down a second flight of stairs we go until we reach the ground floor; there we stop and take a picture before stepping outside.

The morning rush seems to be on hiatus today: a few cars go by but nothing like the heavy traffic you would expect on a mid-July day. Although it’s clear a storm is brewing the air is still warm and with that, welcoming. The trees bow down as we pass, the breeze making them wobble from side to side like the white porcelain rocking horse that once sat gloriously on top of the fire place.

We walk fast, music playing in our headphones. We listen to 3 songs by 3 different artists before making it to the first crossing and as we make our way between the tightly packed buildings we see some workmen talking loudly and drinking the first of what is sure to be many more cups of coffee. If we would be walking side by side our strides would match and our steps would be in unison, as perfectly choreographed as the smiles which lay hidden behind thick layers of  please-not-again and just-another-day-like-yesterday. Ready to be deployed at a moment's notice if we are ever approached.

We smell the rain and the trees, and the rubbery scent of tires rolling on wet asphalt. We did it, we made it with 10 minutes to spare. On the left is the movie theatre - we glance at it and wonder what it will be showing today. We make a mental note to check it out later but soon forget as we become entranced by the beautifully coloured pride chalk art displayed on the ground. It’s so detailed it’s sure to have taken many hours of hard work and caused plenty of sore knees.

We enjoy walking on the topsy turvy road feeling free as our steps gracefully land on each colour of the rainbow. Although no one is around to see it we are smiling. Some might call today cloudy, depressing  and dark.

Not us. We see the beauty hiding timidly between each carefully placed line; skipping merrily from one colour to the next, leaving only watery footprints behind to safe-keep the dear memory of our walking tour adventure.

We raise a finger and point ahead to indicate the way in which we need to go. When we glance over and we see our mirrored gestures a laugh escapes our lips. Our eyes lock and shine bright as they reflect the roads and tall buildings ahead, but most importantly they show the spark of love we keep hidden deep inside our souls like an aura that can only be seen by those with a pure and open heart. We cherish each moment, taking it in as if it would be a precious gift the universe has entrusted us with.

As we step back onto the pavement we are met by an array of smells and sounds: the city has come alive in the golden hour we spent day-dreaming of forbidden escape. Our steps are slower now; it’s our own secret world and we have no desire to rush as we thirstily take in all the astonishing sights; as though we would be witnessing them for the very first time. The gentle sound of our steps meeting each puddle symphonically accompanies the soft chatter of the brave that have ventured out on this stormy day. And when we are no longer shielded by the generously large, sloping roofs the rain drops start falling. Landing silently, they are a cooling, sweet delight on our slightly-too-warm rosy cheeks.

After what feels like an eternity of walking through a man-made paradise we are back in the protective embrace of safety as we re-enter the apartment. Our senses are heightened as the brewing storm lets loose and we watch through the windows as it finally begins its furious rampage through the city, showing little to no mercy to any poor soul left behind.

The once quiet clouds have laid in wait for much too long and are now rebelling - throwing loud, thunderous protests towards all mortals as Mother Earth braces for the impact. But the chaos never comes and the seconds-ago angst filled sky is once again a clear, serene blue ready to withstand many more weeks of pain until it’s time to rage and cry and spill the precious water reserves once more.

At last, a beautiful rainbow graces the sky, manifesting new peace with its familiar colours; a sign that it’s safe for us to venture out again.

I hang my failures
Like ***** sneakers from
An old oak tree
In someone else's yard

I sneak in around two in the morning
Just when the shouting stops
And the man leaves the second story room
With the pink walls

Sometimes when I am sneaking away
I can hear her crying
And I hang another failure on the tree
For safekeeping

they come too easy, they come too cheap,
each sparkle on my city's sidewalks,
each glistening preserved, retrieved,
lifted to my *****, wallet tucked~away,
treasure for safekeeping, slow pleasured contemplation

could not fail to find them,
for all standout in four dimensionality,
some are long, some are deep, some are wide,
yet all possess speaking souls,
to leave unattended, unheard, an act of criminality

years needed for the making,
moments only for the transcribing,
each a black ruby, or a street sand pearl,
none more valuable than another,
each unique, each precious, differently

some escape, shed their earthbound chains,
float atmospherically for keen eyes to grasp,
need a single finger to twirl, instill within,
they come too easy, come too cheap,
yet each poem written, more costly than the next

How have I
Existed in your world
This whole time
And not even know it?
Dopamine fogs my mind
Until all I can see through the haze
Is you.

How have I lived a whole life
Not knowing the face of perfection.
I waste no time—
Every second, minute, memory
Locked away for safekeeping.
Like an addict, my mood swings
Back and forth
Until I forget where I started.

My brain decided it doesn’t need serotonin anymore.
It's much more fun to run wild
Hysterically combing through our last conversation
Because nothing else matters
Than the way you kissed me last.

i. I can no longer tell if your bright eyes are reflecting the sky or just hiding your sadness

ii. the rest of the world still believes you are strong
but I cannot shake the sound of you crying on my voicemail
the night you tore down the last remaining wall between us
and now I know why you prefer to travel the forest by night, running aimlessly to find a place called home
for they cannot hurt you again if they cannot find you

iii. they keep saying that the darkness is your fault
and it breaks my heart to know that you have started to believe them.
look in the mirror, angel
you have only ever been the light in these shadows,
and you wear galaxies as a crown, with comets weaved through your hair like silver braids

iv. there will be evenings when you can't help but howl with the wolves
and send out every arrow you have, hoping they will find the broken dreams you lost so many years ago
but remember, if all that comes back is the echo of your voice and an empty bow,
it just means that you have the universe and a lifetime of days to make new ones

v. I don't know why peter pan tried so hard to catch his shadow
because even the moon hides its own like a well-kept secret
and yours is the heaviest, my dear

vi. but when the yelling never seems to stop and all you can hear is
worthlessuselessworthlessuselessworthlessuseless
when your hands close involuntarily into fists,
and the skin on your wrists start to look too white
when your voice gets stuck in your throat because the anger chokes you
I hope you force yourself to exhale
I hope you continue to hold your breath in freeway tunnels and wish on the first star you see
I hope you still find hope
because you are the one who gave it back to me almost seven years ago

vii. and if nothing else, I want you to know:
I think I've figured out why there is a sun in the middle of your name,
because I can count on one hand the number of happy memories I have tucked away for safekeeping
and in my nineteen and a half years of living,
you have been the star of all of them