Unlimited essence of floatation
The slow turn of rotation
Flying across the vast stitched multiverse
Extreme wave of beauty, but with a curse
So large, infinite if you will
Though, at float I am, still
Moving towards a planet
Gazing deep within it, I can tell it is stranded
The low gravity warped around my astral shell
Not enough to send me to a dwell
Paralyzed as its beauty is spectacular
The dark, purple atmosphere moves upon deeper into my soul
Absorbing and soaking its cosmic realm, my eyes center towards a trickle of light
A shine calling upon my invite
Invitation towards the 3rd Heaven
Still trapped within the box
The 2nd Heaven
Leaning closer, my aura and the planet's begin to lock
An increase of gravity as it embedded
Embedded a mere astral body on towards a new oasis
The closer I began, I noticed how my eye was so basic
Or was it
Creating barriers, I mustn't
Now upon the barren, desert soil
The dim black and purple formed as crystals
A plant sprouting, as the roots coil
Gazing upon the birth of one's self, a force trickles
Awaken from the deep slumber of meditation
A possibility of an infinite number of myself brings an essence of incredible invasion
Or perhaps, I'm moving forward within my soul
Moving closer towards a reality-based goal
I've down played my ego changing everyday
Not listening to any other voices but my own.
Not into the drama or rigged games
I spent my time away instead of wasting away
I give it to god he will provide no need to hide stay true
Others can be cruel even if they don't know you
I let the bad fade away start to make my own way
I've learned to love it's hard to trust
I forgive but it's hard to forget hate being stuck living with regret
One more time on my own this time I survive and grow.
over a hot bowl of soup,
my mindful mentor
the pleasure of oyster
to mix in with
the pain of chilies
stirred together by
chopsticks held in my hands.
There he taught me
the lesson of humanity
and the person's potential,
pointing at me
and then back at the bean sprout,
fiddling it in his chopsticks
as if he were God,
mentioning to me
"This sprout and you have plenty alike..."
"What do you mean?
How am I like a vegetable?"
He smiled and nodded to disagree,
"Life is not always physical.
Think for a second,
open your fragile closed mind.
Imagine this soup not just a bowl
but instead a cauldron,
the mixing of different elements,
sensations seared by heat
to create the luxuries we call
the world where you
are a mere bean sprout."
Looking at the small, colorless
tasteless, inferior plant,
I wondered, confused and asked:
"Am I so inferior in this world
that I cannot compare
to the rich flavor of beef,
to the nurturing noodles,
to the accenting spices,
but instead am no more
than a flavorless root?"
Yet my mentor laughed,
and patiently passed:
"You worry too much young one,
too much on yourself you blame.
Instead, take upon consideration
that the bean sprout is small,
fragile, tasteless like water;
there is nothing you can change
other than size and color,
but lower it into the soup
and patiently stir,
allow it to soak up the world
and obtain its potential."
I repeated his actions,
placed myself in the world,
sat patient and absorbed its essence,
and then removed it,
placed it to my lips.
Surprised that what I later discovered
was not a bland taste of disappointment arose
but instead what lingered to the tongue
was the sweet taste of near perfection.
Sand sprouts leaving traces of sea knots
Naked lovers ripening with each embrace
Tripping through landmines of uncertain love
Crevices of truth finger traced as if a masterpiece
Gardening fingers pruning and uprooting
Wires of shadows touching the shore
As the dust of flowers caresses the sky
Translucent kisses and enthralling truths
Chasing the song of the sun
Said, I can show you around the blackberry bush –
I planted it last summer, you know, that June you coasted
to university and stopped having crushes on cousins.
Said, you grew your hair long.
I toss it out the window many mornings:
dewdrops as a conditioner and tease strollers with
a crease by my armpit you like(d), my flab on the side –
I impress others now, men cling to the bottom of my skirt
and suckle on the hem to make each thread fray.
Said, but your knees feel dusty up against mine.
There is no big wide world, no plum summit skies below
the cuff of another person’s dress shirt –
just a watch. Remind me how much time I have left
until extinction, no hand held or hug goodbye:
this is a kingdom where nothing can die
and when it does, seeds are sown in the pelt of your heart.
Said, no, I bred this world for the fireflies.
Said, there are berry-droppings on your chin.
You look as if you’ve eaten licorice or caught lung cancer;
I wish you had, I wish I had never called you sugar.
I don't know what to do with my life right now
I am an abstract thought fleeting from my mind
And every aspect of me is running away faster and faster each minute
Each second each hour each goddamn day
I can feel myself slipping away
When you're a kid
You don't think about this type of shit
You just live
Life is life
C'est la vie
The French have a word for every goddamn feeling
I swear it
If only I could speak French maybe
it'd make writing poetry a bit easier
But it will never get easier
Because poetry is life
And with each word you extend yourself
You extend the years to come with this poem
A single poem
A single stansa
And within that word a thought can sprout
But with water and time that thought can become work
And with work and effort you give birth
To a beatiful goddamn poem
Filled to the brim with emotion
every sin in the damn book
written onto a blank white page
You dissected yourself before a crowd
And you open and pull your guts out to only have them shoved back in
because thoughts are the flesh of your brain
and the words are the substance
the minerals of this poem
And they may taste bitter and they may come out hard
but when they sit in the stomach of your reader
and crumble and decay
and die again
you become the eternal worm
you become the everlasting fruit
you become the demon that your parents and your pastors
and your lovers and your friends and your family
and your pets and your dreams and your goddamn thoughts warned you about
because knowledge is power
and power corrupts
and thinking is evil
so be a villain in the most beautiful sense of the phrase
and live and please
longer than this poem ever will
Sitting in the darkest corners of my thoughts,
I've never felt such clarity.
As if the nothingness made me feel more
Than what life could ever provide me.
Its void reminds me of my own
Reality trickles down my spine like cold embers.
I try to ignore the whispers of my mind
As they speak to me of a time I've long forgot
And the cold fire it made me feel
A cold fire that made me sick
The cold fire that made me be.
Like tiny cabbages, they look
a green and leafy fare
and with butter, cooked
steamed with utter care
Ware not the subtle flavor
or pungency of scent
but you must be prepared
as gaseous, their intent
Roughage but a name
for things passing through
to the bowels, it's all the same
just vegetarian-al glue
Spare your loved ones the attack
retire to the loo
after all my friends
there's nothing else to doo