I searched for you in the alley of conversations.
In the backyard of a smile.
Between the walls of simplicity.

I searched for you in the corners of affection.
In the garden of butterflies.
In the unsafety of my dreams.

I searched for supernatural, divine encounters.
For beating hearts and shaky voices
For mindblowing realities.
I searched for God in a man.

Instead I found sincerity
I found differences
I found fear and jealousy
I found mistakes
I found acceptance

I found human.

The realisation that this violent red came up in me, that it had put itself out there, against my peaceful blue

hidden underneath my skin I thought, but once this/the disconnection came up, this unsafety, the red escaped 

and in an instant, alien became less distant, fluid in my daily countenance. How I've always assumed you

were the rock and I the water, how it turned out to be still and all. Me fully capable of standing my stones 

in the fluidity of waves, in this life of ebbs & flows. And even while I peak over the cliff edge, with the wind 

in my face, drawn into depth & distance - I know the cracks of then and the hills of now will become a passage,

a progress through the fragments I breathe, for the joy I feel. You went along to trust my inner world, while

you wouldn't anyway. So I decided to wend my place that provides me to dream up and survive nonetheless. 

Once your heart has jumped out of your body, the rivers & tides will smooth over. Structured daydreaming will bring

out the bright, fresh morning I need to scare off the ghosts of my lost night, a subverted realism to coast through a

clear consciousness over some guilt and uneasy vulnerableness. What's done, is done. True. Imagine that.

Outcomes used to rule,
inconvenience smiled,
they reconciled in the unsafety
of a pool, used me as a tool.

Eager, desperate for compatible
masses, as time passes
in this changing state.

Games, denied of their existence,
yet with undoubtable resistance
against persistence took away
the passion solely based in joy.

Shards of glitter flick against dark windows,
Lit to sparkle from city lights
A hypnotic pattern of movement,
In hands
Fidgeting,
Fluffy toys, keys
The soothing soft voice,
Impossibly gentle
Peeling away at softened shells;
No, I won't answer that question,
Not because of defences
Or pride,
But simply because I do not have the words
To explain exactly why I am at peace,
In a calm moment
From pre-occupied turmoil.

Yellow lattice fences and dimly lit
   train tracks
Are whisking me away to
Some place of unsafety,
And I only want to thank you
For this respite,
Sweet little shard
Of glitter

I heard of a girl.
Her pen was her sword,
Crusading the world.
She bled from her wounds
Echoing somewhere,
Crying from afar,
Not knowing why.

She wrote to gain silence
Somewhere in the city.
Somewhere in a city,
Her mind wrestled more loudly
Than the force of anger.
A butterfly prevented from soaring?

It was something she couldn't name.
It bound her wrists.
She could never breathe there.
She could never breathe.

So she rose from her seat and tried to leave,
But the floor beneath her started to fall,
And her heart was pounding, then the air was gone,
And there is no one else there but the pen  
so she bleeds.
She bleeds onto the pages,
And through her finger tips,
And lets the words cover her
like a blanket of unsafety.

Would she ever have the heart to escape?

—————

Earth paused to hear her voice.
It all stopped moving, and
The girl kissed the end.
It kissed her back as her sword fell to silence.
It was soft and easy.
But it was also final, and
She was not ready.
It hurt, coming so close.
She's still hurting.
But she's still there.
She continues to crusade
The pages, and the world.

cry ,one of the two birds that delivers his pleasure,
impossibly, here for sure,nothing is less than nothing,
surmounted, surrounded, captured and grounded,
predated by a whole lot of somethings,
something always there to remind me,
something always there to catch with unsafety net,
something old,
something new,
something borrowed,
something blue.