What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
Heartbreak
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.

I'd rather cut the cord
Than hang myself with it.

A key feature of invigoration is the enterprise of mapping the entire syntax of all relevant human language as measured by the gamut of applesauce that doesn’t sour and an in depth analysis of creative fiction and poetry for common cadence features in the linguistic enterprise of mapping the subroutines of complex articulation as etched by the fabric of genius intellects intertwined in a gamble with wits to try and create coded missives that entangle hypertrophy and enlarge the gamut of decryption in the universal rudiments of alchemy. This is based on depreciative and appreciative aspects of apperception that depend on visual cues and funding from a collaborative venture of universities to challenge people to zero-sum games or net positive games where teams collaborate to usher unconventional unchartered territory of classification beyond normal proclivities based on the lineaments of idiosyncrasy to pinpoint the provenance of ideation itself and unveil the mind at a bargain pittance for the eventual headway this could pave for the Department of Education to revert from froward to forward in their recalcitrance and insouciance with the current linguistic modalities of outstretched engraven hortoriginality trailblazing new modular seismotic waves and hotbeds for firebrands to debate and scholars to joust with in the jest of the cineaste metaphor and the rubricated rundles of rectiserial innovations in the taxonomy of devolved meaning relying on an inventive enterprise to galvanize a new jargon into prominence based primarily on guarded secrets of the trade that might unlock the primordial soup of verbal creativity while also probing detective apperception for a wide-ranging panoply of digested movies and beyond that a farsighted incumbent inclination to probe the calibration of numerical happenstance in estimate and in long-term theorization of taxed realty in the estate of guarded tegular relationships among the woven fabric of conceptual latticeworks pioneering in scope and analyzed rigorously in reward of discretion and furtive cryptology to untether the world from the apothegms of sloganeered piggybacks that swivel in sockets but enforce a reductive paradigm of obganiation of core themes reiterated hypnotically to traindeque entire generations into piebald thinking that overlooks the panorama for incident and incident for categorical generality when no such axiom can be the logical predicate of its antecedent conditions that spurn the traditional rote moot wernaggles of futility and inseminate crafty legerdemain of writhing contortion altering the specificity of revalorized meaning in the novel context. This instantiates that the consequence is always the consequence not only of its predicate but its successor by the very modalities of proven reversals and enantiodromias of sorts that revert in a reverse progression spatiotemporally to exact incident as antecedent of its own existence by the very fact of iteration and this map of the recursive cycles of consequences elapsed only because of their insertion in a predevoted matrix is the gnomic apothegm of a new frontier of advanced logic that assumes the impossible is only improbable if the possible can be proven impossible by reductive inversion of core precepts in the rigmarole of design that states for every orchestra of butterflies that echo is actually the incident of refraction that contaminated the first polyacoustic trace of amplified sources in space time to revert into primordial form but the reversion is only incurred upon the fixture of origination and beyond that point remains inscrutable because foreknowledge necessarily prevents accuracy in determining the spectrum of the cacophony or rhapsody of the echo dependent on the observer’s perspective: which is only fungible to the extent that the subliminal remains guarded by the protectors of the clepsammia and the recensed polarization of time. This transcendence of time transfixed on orbital gravitas and centripetal ****** initiates a promulgation of the swallock of a remanded entropy that works in swiveled contraposition to the dynamic flux of the internment of balkanized forces of demassification dampening the efficacy of the central butterfly actor to expand the ampitheater of its own audience to the extent that every cultural artifact can be mapped to the geotaxis of its conceptual orbit. Thereby we can prove that pivots of the obvious focal point peak in resurgence upon the heyday of retrieval but dampen into a logarithmic regression of decreasing amplitude fluctuating around the aleatory probability of insemination through the percolation of the widespread narrowed to a fulcrum that balances the orbit of the stellified narrative of ingemination that some artifacts like Stayin’ Alive achieve maximum geotaxis because of their centrality in the taxidermies of revived memory recapitulated by both virtuosity and valor and posing as consequences of future foresight clouded by preventive measures that one quaky spasm in alarm could paralyze the precedent to the incidence of the afflatus that galvanized the heyday of remonstrance so that we can affix a modular angular gravity to events as well as referents to those events in a spatiotemporal mapping of consequence reverted upon itself because of necessity that binds the taxemes of the subliminal in the architecture of a curvature of geotaxis that is centrobaric not necessarily to the contingencies that magnify the germane propositions that affix modern eyes but rather the overall stifling modularity of temporal sequence redoubled by manufacture and manufacture alone predevotes antecedents that trace to a pivot in space time curved without prescience beyond measure but precision enough to approximate the summation of collective cultural shifts away from the estrangement of diversion from itself as a balkanizing force into a collectivized unity that orbits eccentrically by the very nature of the parallax between gravitational pull and the dynamics of time itself centripetal but centrifugal simultaneously.  Both conditions must be met so the converse of meaning becomes the recapitulation of remontant blessings rather than pruned dry garbologies relevant only to margins of subculture minimized in heyday and scope but pinpointed with exact precision the dynamos that inhabit the sphere of the populated future defenestrated from the magnetism of the past by very definition. Thereby, we arrive at Back to the Future because the paradox of recensed calibration suggests the free fluctuation of time between the eccentricity of magnified lens distorted by the entropy of calculus to become the integral summation of the sinuous vacuum of a trigonometric balance that barks with amplification of synergistic elements of strings and quantum flux to emigrate from an origination to the mapping of the eventuality. This precisely explains the scene in Back to the Future with the amplifiers turned all the way up because by exaggerating the simplicity of the declassified it expedited cinema to its eventual intermediary conclusions heralded by that one event of transfixed mystery that binds spacetime into a coherent bidirection of multidimensional philosophy of the enantiodromias of sorts of the parallax among constellated events. Mapping the impact of funneled cartels that hegemonize regions of the geopolitical sphere explains the amplivagant effects of the refracturism of swallock and thereby seminal ideations can be traced to provenance of cowardice cloaked in excuse but incisive in the skullduggery of the mechanical reinvention of excuse and pretext as a cloak for more furtive workings of the intelligentsia to engineer time by deriving the precise tangential multidimensional syntax of the calculus of proliferation reviewed from a consequent perspective of a future unknowable gravitas fluctuating between states of annihilation and existence in the acatelpsy of design so that specters actually enforce more change than events and prospects magnify positive dimensional thrusts that galvanize prospectus emigrating from either distant knowns or parallel realities that converge on the optimum of either the hapless or calculated design of a synergistic development of social engineering so precisely mapped that it identifies trajectories of improbable events with increasing specificity at the alarm of the spectral realm promulgating wealth to the foreseeable compunction of science to revert to probable pivots of consensus manufactured by think tanks that outfox the syntalities that defy the system or piggyback on their very causes to empirically carve the spectrum of future possibility becoming entelechy desired or feared but always predestined or flanged into distortions of reification that are transformative of precision in design without exactitude in the terminus of the centrobaric chambers of all meaning. Thus the algorithm outsmarts itself until only the machination to dehumanize for prediction occurs at a pessimum of morality or an explosion of a proliferative new venture in unchartered territory conquers the novantique of novelty. The ampitheater of its own audience is the traction of embedded subculture in subroutine becoming a compound atocia that sterilizes opponent possibility and probabilizes the occurrence of endomorphs that resemble effigies of constellation primed to swivel in retrospection as a recurrent lapse of amplification upon the culmination of predestined time points or junctures specified within the realm of the matrix of possibilities to outstretch the realm into a dampened exponential explosion of self-reference becoming embedded consequence by conditioning and by anticipatory psychology working in preconcert to evoke the determinative impetus of momentum that magnifies the speed of acceleration in technology that depends on the propriety of reification itself that swarms us with evocative tempests that barnstorm in reiteration to recapitulate by design to engrave themselves on the collective psyches of the hortoriginality of many minds intrepid before me that transfigured reality in this precise contortion of terminology with variegations in the specificity of context and articulation of the clavigerous entropy of swallock and how the outfoxed design becomes that cage of destiny that is a baritone complexion of vibrant hues exploding into the trammeled paths that have elapsed before me by the first movers advantage of theoretical physics but nonetheless independently verified by dovetailed emergence of that centralized balance between design and destiny that is precedent to the antecedent of the consequence of the precedent’s consequence on the direct antecedent inflexion point upon which the provenance of momentum drifted into cultural psyche and enlarged the gamut of myth in the raillery of subaudition. Essentially Time only exists to those without the simultagnosia to appease a mirror parallax of universes upcoming and universes forestalled but pivot with omphalism on the gravitas of Einsteinian calculus that theorizes that the acatelpsy of enumerated prediction is a lapsed regress the pinpoints with the harpricks of specialization the regal momentum of time to its own behest to propagate the elucidated certainty of its own traversal to the expedited enumeration of the future which populates the past because the curvature of time is an entantiodromia of reflexive itinerant vagrancies that cement the authorship of events to warble through the tilted hypertrophy of design itself to maximize the freebooter avarice of those people that rely on the luxuriance of trespass to magnify the modular gravity of culture to forswink its compunction and regale its own recursive logic. Essentially Time is a mapped ampitheater that depends on an audience of sentience to enlarge its own gamut and because it is riddled with obscurantism of believable recursion it magnifies its own entropy in reversal to orchestrate events in a rectiserial convolution of the whipsaw between the expected and the foreknowledge of the knowing class because when shaky vacillatory politics prevail the behest of time looses its capitalization of the amplivagant affects of the marginalia that is wed to the devolved rudimentary rigmarole of proliferation scaffolds destiny in alternative configurations to fulminate with explosive progeny that latitude incumbent to those without perspicuous clarity to fathom the acatalepsy of the unfurled universe magnetized by the seminal tremendum of the moments memorialized by memory that provide the traction of time to supersede its own acceleration by the writ of the beneficence of the eccentric orbit of the brittle axioms of design to recense and revalorize the wilted transponders that refer to specific events where the space-time continuum was cleaved in divisive anticipation to balkanize the resistence to the fringe clavigerous amplification of the resonance of etiolation that marginalizes the dearth and amplifies the prospectus to make time supersolid beyond all reckoning to cement its captaincy as the algorithm of rhythmic gravitas orbiting the moribund fragmentary flictions of regimented truth to be at war with its own foresight. This is because foresight is a compulsion of time to recapitulate the foreknown deeds of the future to the regenerative hypothesis that hypostatizes that the transcendence of time is mirrored illusion because the future populates a region of space-time that is not forlorn but magnified in scope to reverse the trends of abomination and cast the aspersions of grandeur into eccentric orbit that by geotaxis foments the revolutionary impetus not of cancellation or nullification of the bereaved past but a culmination of deeds known only to the future that galvanize the very fruition of the dependent expectancy to become antecedent to the consequent by a warped form of recensed logic because the orbital sphere of considerations is tangential to the evocative memory of the memorialized statutes that prize their own entelechy above their divergence from design in such a peculiar way that obscurantism of the leaders of the world is manned by an alien presence to mendlatch the locked keys of a virtuouso future compounded in interest and destined for unfurled clarification. Time is an ironic boyg and quandary because for time to give birth to its own recapitulation it must be stammered with seismotic statutes that rip through the fabricated rudiments of predestination to enthrall the apostasy of the knowing from leverage over a future they vaguely see but provides largesse to the regimentation of design to rickety consternation that prediction is evocative of expectancy less than expectancy is its own geotaxis around the gamut of foreseen affairs that must be iterated rather than violated in order to maintain the mainlined integrity of the brittle fungible force of quantum dynamics to bypass the rigmarole of etched design to be evocative of a reverse transpondency that reconfigures the past into perfectible strings of amplification to anoint time its own behest at the formidable specters of its own violation by those who seek trepass but are predevoted out of ephorized control by the vicissitudes of the gamble and the frapplank of the known destiny catalyzing the unknown progeny. By that very definition this could not be obrogated in tenure or tutelage over the past because the elapsed gravitas of the known past depends on the pivot of the ampitheater of the future to ambitious reckoning that provides absolution to its forlorn vestiges to cement the centrifugal impetus of many from exact foreknowledge.  Many pioneers have probably theorized similar hypostasized concepts but the fact that even without a degree in physics I understand these arcane precepts yet tested by the rigmarole of comprehensive known experiment is a testament to the power of hortoriginality to pave the trailblazer focus on the rivets of a rickety secrecy designated by definiens of abstruse taxemes of yet defined meaning. The primary quandary is the isolated pretext of predevoted sequencing that abandons me (and this is central to my theory) from the weather of meaningful social encounter in order to hone in with precision on the empirical enterprise of seminal regress cemented as ceremonial progress and only by vaulting above this cage of finicky predestination can entelechy that desires rapprochement can be achieved because eventually the relevance of my ideas can be shelved and the peremptory obligation of intervention must be deployed to salvage my parable into completion. The itch for the government to anticipate the universe’s localized traction delimits the sphere of social indoctrination to a reality amenable not to the coercion of precise anticipation but the gamble on vagary to produce more seminal events that compound the amplivagant effects of ecumenical exhaustive troponders to the extent they flourish beyond the bounds of completion and into optimal conditions that is whipsawed by the demands of the rigmarole of precise definition of all trajectories conclave in their logarithmic design  anticipated by designation but not predevoted into futility because that capstone would reduce the proliferative affect of space time to carve a more extravagant reality that tests limits beyond frontiers of expectancy. The brain is highly malleable and entity theorists are moribund in their defenses of trite hackneyed racial arguments about intellect. The mythos preserves that radical ethos that prediction of my insights supersedes the importance of my rapprochement which will amplify the effects of the spatiotemporal mapping in a much more profound way with specialized focus. Thereby when we conceive of time we must specialize in inhabiting the sphere of acatalepsy of flanged prediction preventing the abortion of the future based on the vagrancies of the gyrovagues and bibliopolists seeking to demolish the fruition of the ribald coarse albatrosses of the future to diminutive leverage rather than amplifying the stringed syndication of knowledge to eccentrically stellify the unknown regions of the populated presence contingent on the populated future which ensures the eternal life of all by some formant boundaries of the universe because what is recapitulated in the lapse of certainty known by the anticipatory vagary of a riddled rigmarole of complex dynamism this thermodynamically reversible into the reversal of entropy because the organization of the past hinges upon the reconfiguration of the future and thereby we swivel endlessly with recursive iterations of evanescence that spoon-feed the generations among us to truckle beneath the cartels that array spatiotemporal mappings into their personal optimum to catapult the granular edification of all deeds beyond their forsifamiliation from their provenance gamboling with the distant frescade of a known destiny cavorting with the meddlesome reconnaissance of all that is observed and the tribunes magnify this effect by centralizing the bronteums of fulgurant strikes to be localized to a centralized pivot of universal acclaim that provides felicity for the ecumenical endeavor

I spent my time tying pink ribbons to my words hoping somebody would untether them.
Hoping someone would listen to my cherry flavored cough syrup poems.
I wandered around thinking up the type of person who might love me;
gentle, caring, soft and quiet.

Then you came along.

And you could undo any knot imaginable if you were given enough time.
You hated cherry flavored cough syrup and you didn’t understand poetry.
You spoke so fast sometimes I wondered if you even knew what you meant.
But you always listened to my rambles as if I were telling you the cure for cancer.

I went about my days wondering how I could have overlooked someone such as yourself.
It only took me twenty minutes to decide I only wanted you to listen to me talk.
I could taste vanilla on your lips and I wasn’t even kissing you.
I laid on my bedroom floor for hours on end wondering how it might feel to love someone like you.

I fell in love with you on March 10, 2013 when you laced my left skate.
You had a laugh like an early morning songbird; a benevolent smile as if it were always spring.
You kept talking nervously about your hands until I held them and you went silent.
This was the first day I ever thought about kissing you. From then on, I haven’t stopped.

You haven’t stopped knocking the wind out of me since.

You touched my thigh underneath the table and I think I knew then that I was done for.
We kissed on the ferris wheel and you tasted like vanilla wafers.
I think your name is stuck on the roof of my mouth because I haven’t shut up about you since.
(I hope it always stays there.)

You’re like the first warm days of spring after a harsh winter.
You’re so alive and it’s refreshing for me; who forgot what air tasted like.
I want to plant a garden in your heart and watch it grow peacefully.
I want to tangle myself within your vines; wrap myself within your liveliness.

But no matter how ardently I loved you, it was never enough.
There was always a misapprehension with us, a broken line, a word that threw off the entire poem.
I am not afraid of many things, but losing you frightened me to the point of madness.
I didn’t mean to shut the door in your face, I really wanted you to stay. I truly did.

You hated when I said maybe so I started saying it to every yes or no question you asked.
It was the little things that changed; you said my name like it was rotting in your mouth.
Our last kiss tasted like rubbing alcohol and I wanted to kiss you again just to remove the flavor.
I wonder what went was going through your head while I was breaking. (Where’s the glue?)

How little you notice when someone is here; how much you notice when their absence approaches.
The freckle on your right wrist, the quiet way you read a book, how you talk to yourself when you’re nervous.
You touched my hair like my mother did, but you left a deeper scar than my father ever could.
No slamming doors, just a quiet magic trick that left me wondering if you were ever here.

I didn’t want to show up on your doorstep years later in tears because I forgot to tell you... you’re breathtaking.
I forgot to tell you, the stars detonate because they’re trying to imitate your eyes when you laugh.
I forgot to tell you, your touch could heal an open wound in under thirteen seconds.
But it’s been a year and I still haven’t explained how afraid I am to love you.

We met again and your voice was deeper and your eyes were colder.
You still laughed at my jokes but it was quiet and aloof.
Is that the way she likes you best? Vague and jejune?
I never wanted to treat you like a poem; never wanted red ink to touch your stanzas.

Given the chance, I would love you all over again- and right this time.
I would catch your hair glistening in the sunlight and tell you, “you’re wondrous.”
I have spent a good portion of forever writing you into poetry.
I cannot apologize for not letting go, you’ve always been home.

Love me or not, you’ll always have arms to hold you, ears to listen to you babble, lips to kiss you foolishly.
Carry on, carry on, you’ve never been any less than extraordinary to me.
I can feel how alive you are, you’re more human than I will ever be.
(I love you only always.)

A dust storm blows through Kansas
Stinging, lashing shrieks
The sand blows holes through a Canvas
Who collects the words, and sleeks
The gunfire of their sound, for weeks
His brows steeled and heavy
The whirlwind quits its wails
And leaves, lily-livered in its belly

A tsunami bellows over Mastushima bay
Body slamming into townsfolk
A long-time build up lead astray
One sun-browned girl is left to choke
But then spits out the damage, in half broke
And the colossal wave recedes
Quietened, calm and apologetic
Anger fleeing as it bleeds

Snow drifts and crawls its way past Moscow
Gentle, almost alluring in its ways
Children present their tongues, and the sow
Charges, squealing, into guts and begins frays
Which twist their ears burnt, lasting for a thousand days
And eventually a conscience melts the qualm
And the damage rectified on-surface
But frostbite clings to fingers; done already is the harm

Weather will hound and scorch and spit
And eventually untether
And though people bite and kick and hit
No emotion lasts forever

Swift winds run through the park, at dusk
Carried on legs of leaves
Temporary, as they blow from the path
Onto the verdant sheet of blades
Laid beside the pavement.

The contestants occasionally collide,
And tiny whirlwinds
Untether their foliage feet from the terrain
As they fall onto the track
Whistling merrily as they bounce upon the ground
And rebounce into their lane
To commence the runnings again.

No pace is kept
And each man is one moment a sprinter
And the next a marathon chaser
The disciplines remain inexorably tangled
In their fleeting eyes.

As wires round the world get lighter and thinner
Your news scroll feeds you various homicides,
From desktops at noon to plasma at dinner,
The auto-cue scrolls through this week’s most viral.

The network fail to mention the other seven billion
Who kept living their life devoid of such sinning.
Disquiet on your perch, picture your pleasure:
Hopping alone, around your enclosure.

The window slides up, wind ruffles your feathers.
Beak to the bars, you're helplessly tethered.
Yell 'til you're heard, ’til you’re hoarse and unkempt,
Yell 'til the neighbours are mad and hell bent.

Step back to your pedestal, tapping your feet,
The rhythm you summon traverses the streets.
Nearby inhabitants sit watching their screens,
Warn-out, occupied, unfulfilling their dreams.

Tip-tap-a-tip-tap-a-tip-tap away the evening and next day.
Now you live vicariously through social media,
You cannot stop tweeting, lonelier… lonelier.
Connections you make get quicker and quicker.

‘Life is the greatest’ upon appearances,
You pick and you carve a residual image;
The best fools fool themselves into submission,
Post exponentially, build on your rhythm;

Second life, third face, prosodic yet speechless,
Your diary now echoes, empty and featureless.
Stare at your screen, silent and grinning;
Hive mind rewired, this story needs spinning.

Forget losing face, that farcical demeanour.
The needle wobbles on your false life fever,
As sunlight exposes where your cage is broken,
The tether is loose but you're past noticing.

Shared knowledge free of charge, constantly flowing,
Ignore others' viewpoints, or pleas to come in.
The glass in the window is brilliantly glowing,
There's fire outside that your posts have been stoking.

White noise, connection lost, you're no longer hosting
That multi-channel, fibre-optic, bandwidth expansion.
Untether your Ethernet, the cage disappears
Find sanctuary outdoors when quiet is near.

The caged bird tweets devoid of all reason,
Fooling itself about its own lack of freedom.

Step into the mind of a young man
Staying up late night
My mind's a mess living in a world of stress
So let me break it down for you
I write verses to fight my inner demons
Rapscallions everywhere tryna bring me down
Imma keep grinding in a tranquil hell
Till i reach another level i've never been on
The world is enough a hell to be ******
Why curse it further?
During my severed journey in metro rails
I see people with facades of character
Unable to merge with their true mores
No one can recognize me amongst them
Oh! I guess im a stranger to you

All i think about is music
Past memories splash like tidal waves
Gallivanting between my two identities
One fractured, the other to survive
My heart struggling to untether from itself
Now I wonder which is my home...?
This one or the world i dream about..
Now you may leave...
Thanks for sticking around.

I lie awake in chilling darkness
Wilting lids refusing to unite
Mind unwilling to drift into peaceful slumber
Body wrestling the solitude of my empty bed
Yearning to be enveloped in the warm cocoon of his arms
But only finding a desolate space of sheets and pillows
My hand reaches for the only lifeline to my love
I swipe away a collection of meaningless pixels
And find a familiar figure
The axis of my world
I gaze into the pair of eyes that send whirlwinds through my aching heart
A beautiful dance of green and brown
My sight shifts to a glowing smile
Emitting sunbeams through the window of my amorous soul
I focus on every centimeter of skin
And feel my longing shift to content
Content of my lips parting his once more
Content of the pure ecstasy of his hand on mine
Content of the day we no longer have to say goodbye
For 300 miles may divide our bodies
But no force may untether our souls.

I took my eyes out
Plugged my nose & ears
Burnt all my taste buds
Avoided touching my fears

I covered everything in a blanket
Of 'it has to be ok'
My main goal to achieve
Every single day

I snuffed all the light out
And let the laughter drown
I squashed all my emotions
Deep deep down

Time to unplug the senses
Untether what is deep and dark
Unlock all the emotions
Release the long lost spark.

To drift
Be taken far out
Brought further into
Subconscious
Slew of symbols
Color coded
Neurons colliding

Sever
To untether
Physical form
From spiritual
Deep inhales
Counting down
Vibrations

Hey,
I'll see you
Out there
In shadows and
Swirling cosmos
With three eyes
And bright aura

It all began with a moon;
A waxing gibbous moon
Glistening in the sky;
Beauty staring back at me
Within my glassy eyes.
Anchored to the jutting rock
Which is just above the rise
Are my hope and dreams
Of sailing throughout time.
In a celestial sailboat with wings
Onward I would glide.
On through time and tide,
With flags and ribbons streaming,
Fluttering in the breeze, I slide
Into swirling lovely slipstreams
Ever onwards I am steaming
Way up high and dreaming
In a celestial sea vast and wide
If only in my mind!

Mirror,
in front of me
tell me something that I don't know.
Anything, anything at all will do at this point.
Mirror,
show me something that I can't see
with my own naive and sheltered eyes.
That I search for, that I'm searching for so desperately.
I know you can't answer me.
Your lips can only form the words that my lips do
and you can only give me
the same desperate and paining look
I'm giving you right now.

I've been told I'm my own worst enemy
and maybe that's what I came here to resolve.
I've learned that every high and low expectation
that I have set for myself
can only be achieved by me
and I'm the only one stepping on my own coat tail.

I may claim to be broken winged
but the truth is my wings aren't broken,
I'm just to afraid to use them.
But I think it might be time
that I untether myself
and untie the knots that I have tied so tightly
around me,
and I set my self free.

The veils worn are deadly ones
Concealing broken wings
Just time is what is needed
Time to untether strings
So give us sight to bear
See the world not there
For this mess is a tricky one
Some just waiting for it to be done
Next time reach out and take a stroll
You might save a broken soul.

Wish I could bend space to match the structure of your face
Untether myself from the ripples that have us destined to be separated
I don't want to be Doppler effected by you, longing for the highs you made me feel
I can put down my bowl and my alcohol
When you're around I don't need anything to make me feel like I'm falling towards heaven
Sometimes I feel like I cant stand it, till I remember you're on this planet

Who'd you lose your breath to this time
Are your feet in the air
Or is the time you spend just spare
Are the notes erratic or have you organized your fall
When you're just wasting time till you fall down
You're a tremor queen without a crown
You're the crust to my core on a planet where no shore meets another shore
I see you over there, but I ask myself "What for?"

where love is love still forever
and the wild sea crackles and broods
and the clouds float light as a feather,
and grey as grey are their moods,

the pinks of the sea always flowing,
the corals buried deep in the sand
and the wind with its strength
always fleeing,
the skirts of the land.

the flowers of the waves are all blooming,
the sun gathers strength from the day,
the surf cries and lifts then is
falling
and says all is left still to say,

the roll of the tide like a titan,
a giant whose breath is to lave,
and thunderous seas that would
frighten,
dissolve in their waves.

the sea is an arc of bright crimson,
the  sky a whole sand-dune of gold,
the swallows of the sky unimprison,
the air from the story yet untold,

the devil sings out to his sister,
who refuses to come or obey,
for she is a lark of the water
and knows the sea’s way.

as twilight swiftens like a moon note,
and the blue air dreams of her
love
and the dark dreams of dreaming
in her star boat
and  the sky sings forever there of,

my love for you grows still
forever,
as my kisses find all the dew of
your lip,
as me to you you pull and untether
as stars start to dip.

I went away
To the sky,
Where the clouds are high and the sun shines
Where every drop of water
And every spectrum of light
Screamed your name
And how your every touch felt

I went away
To the sea,
Where the waves kissed the shore
Every time it was pushed back
It came around again,
Like how I feel when you leave me in the crowd,
But I always find my way back to you

I went away
To the caves,
Where every echo sounded like a cry for help
Every time I don't feel your arms
And your tight embraces
Where the spires seem to accuse me
Of asking too much of the world

I went away
To the mountains,
Where the skies are close
And I could whisper my wishes unto the clouds
Where I could scream at the top of my lungs
Every single thing that I hate and release them
But your name never came out

I went away
To the sky, to the sea, to the caves, to the mountains
I went away to untether myself
But in the end,
I always come home to you.

Your body is wild magic.
You harden under my hand.
I am a sorceress
commanding forces
that untether oceans -
unleashing the tsunami
that will change the shape of things
                                                  forever.

I want to drink so bad
feel a burn in my throat
watch the whole world float away
the feeling of the overwhelming
tightening it's grip on my throat
disappear like smoke

I want to smoke so bad
laugh without reasons at all
forget my own existence
touch my hands as if they were not my own
untether myself from the hardwood floor
loosen the ropes of reality

I want to fall so bad
infatuated bubbly giggles at their name
sweaty palms when I look too long
flirty nothings kissed emoticons
teasing looks stolen across the room
sparks running through sober

Remember the way
That it looked in its splendor
Could sit on that balcony ledge
For forever
Just staring in awe at the jungle metropolis
Longing to fall
Back in love with the loneliness
Nervousness marking each second in solace  
Not sure what it is
But her charm is just flawless
And close to the touch
When our minds intertwine
As we ride through the countryside
Africa time
Running out for us both
To grow deeper in tune
Leading fleeting romances
To imminent doom
One more brief interlude
In Pinocchio’s dreams
I must sever, untether
To learn what it means

Dance on wind,
Elope with sky.
Breathe in mind,
Unfold, open
as the gulls fly.

Coastal breeze,
I close my eyes
Feel the cool on my face,
Untether, let it take me where it may
With a smile sprouting upon each gust.

my love,
i had dreamt of you,
my entire life.

i wished for you
on every star,
11:11,
and dandelion puffs.

i worshipped you
in the prayers of my every poem.

i loved you
with the entirety of my existence
from the moment i found you.

i believe,
that the universe reoriented itself
to keep you at the center
and it was the first time
i had known peace
and belonging.

your departure from me,
would untether the planets
and misalign the galaxies.

your eventual absence
will catapult me
into the darkness.

i am a ghost
without a home to haunt

a heartbeat
without a chest to belong to.

i will know nothing
except for the loss of you.

i know it will consume everything
i will ever have known.

it will sound like a goodbye
and it will feel, alone.

so don't go,
don't ever go.

Fess up.
Empty-handed, palms face down on the table.
It won’t get louder unless you let it.

Chest up.

Breathe in the smell of smoke you’ve spread.
Do you feel like harming yourself?

Will you let it?

Let nothing consume you.
Don’t let your empty hands ruin you,
Until you’ve something to show for it.

Untether it.

Feel yourself shatter to pieces.
DNA into grain, skin turns to gray.
Choke on the white noise in your chest until you’ve given into it.

Until you can’t.

Not a droplet of dream or ambition

once bitten, a rendevous is due with intimate suspicion

offset by a faucet of sleep-dust running off yet,

even with a mind to wander and a heart to spill over introspection;

that moistens my lips, but no cascades of schemes or missions

or even desire, not even a wish

seen as empty for I do not have a goal

I don't want anything greater for myself

a walking, unburied plot, an inconvenient hole

bereft of a career, love, possession, or wealth

and all the more fulfilled for the time I keep

the dirt does not care who steps on it, it settles where it falls and there it is earth all the same, and the earth does sleep.



The unburdened become pressured

to feel the weight of direction

that one is not free to flow

as they please, without navigation

unfetter me, untether me, you have no future to sell me

all these promises of luxury and tier-locked sensations

destroy balance, perception and health

falsifying the demand in a supplied narrative

mass-producing the genocide of individuality

from artists raised in poverty to success stories searing on college degrees

the appeal of "drive" is one to virility

that only holds a digit on the hand of the economy.

I untether whatever hasn't been bereft of me
I still love you more than anything
Mortally wounded
I apparently suffer this alone
Now reduced to basic instinct
Flaunting youre new Bo and
Youre infidelity has introduced
A ****** of crows
Cawing circling darkening
Taunting me
Fading.............hating  the fact that i love how easily i can go back to killing.
Affixed motionless
I coalesce on youre lover writhing and gurgling
Drenched in blood
Julie Andrews and I on a moutain top in an alpine meadow
Whimsically prancing and twirling
At the opening of our new show
The sound of revenge
Im giddy with glee and watching it play out in 3D
Its seems so real its surreal
Im all giggling because i can actually feel the drying blood
Its itching
So thick its cracking
This is not a confession
Any circumstances construed
Cant be used against me
I dont even like smith an wesson
Coincidental
Surrounded by the blood curdling cathedrals of woe
Dont it make my my blue eyes black
Oh my worlds enraged my final act
Im playing the lead........................show time baby
I cant ****** wait .......this is what i was born to be
Im gonna **** it...............
**** it ......****   ....it.........?

Cut.......yah  
CUT CUTCUTCUT
NO wait .stop filming.........need some coaching.............helo?
have i become the person ive created for this
...................show?
wait is this really me
Is this a movie?
And so typical with such elegant and perfect timing
My Mother comes back from the grave to haunt me
"Darling ,.  My little Angel is this how i taught you to behave?
REALLY?
Ok    ok .......
Its more of a feeling and not really an independent voice
Autonomously speaking to me from within my head
K that would be crazy
That being said ...............
Like watching salinity and fresh water congeal
So lucidity and reality slowly aligned
Apologised and gifted me back
My sanity
And if there is one thing my momma taught me
"Baby boy .......life is gonna get tough .....people can be so strange
Dont you ever run from anything .even if it means you give in some times ...........its what they believe ............
Doesnt mean necessarily true.so if its what you need let the fools believe .........but only briefly ........you choose .......you live
Use the pain they wrongly inflict on you.
To keep the wounds fresh and strengthen you
Dont you be weak .......ever......look at me ! Hey!
I wont always be here .please i need to know you understand
.........AAYYAND.hey   youre gonna be ok .

Pick your battles My Son ............its not just cause im youre mom
There is no one else on this earth lke you .
People have told me this they can see it too .
Be good in this life .be honest and gentle
Be humble above all be cool
If a woman could see the real you they would never leave you .
Remember the word sonder i taught you?
Just because you love someone more than life itself and are willing to do exactly everything they ask of you.and treat them better than they deserve dosnt mean that they have to love you too.
Because who knows what theyre life has been like
So unfortunately for them they abuse you and it will hurt when they loose you dont let it confuse.............
TOO LATE  MOM.
IN retrospect i realized i had been obsessing  
And so.........
Tearfully removing myself from view
Furthermore release my entitleship to you
step down from my throne
I relinquish this crown
I will wait here
Untill there is nothing left
under this blanket................of agony
Fully knowing it shouldn't bring me pleasure what ever pain
You gifted me even everything you denied tried to pretend and
Actually cant remember
That fool will do unto you in full measure
Then hopefully youll see ill be here waiting to hold u.
Oh .....and in case you didnt know .....
I wont even say i told you  ...

The distance between
  now and forever

One memory to free
  —and untether

(Dallas Texas: January, 2018)

I deactivated my Instagram account last night in a fit of tears and self loathing. This morning I'm compelled to share my feelings on Twitter because there's no one specific I can turn to. It has taken a breakdown and 8 months of therapy to recognise my sadness stems from loneliness. And that's a dangerous thing to be during recovery - lonely. It makes the impetus to get well harder to see. I'm happy alone but cannot sustain happiness on lonely. I can't give up and leave my love with the burden of my lacking commitment to life. I can't move on until these traumas no longer knot my nervous system and corrode my sense of self. I can't heal in isolation.

Shouting into voids through screens and pixel bits is the cry for help with no destination, no intended audience, no necessary acknowledgement.

Having no friends, only casual acquaintances, was safe until it wasn't. It wasn't by design. I leak desperation wherever I turn. If anything my carnal need for connection, positive reception only worked to put distance between me and love of others. I think that's why I cannot comprehend his love. He gives so freely, unaffected by my jagged edges and fugly design and my insides coated in tar. Still he collects me on his lap and holds me together as my body threatens to crack open with violent shudders, my core destabilised as tectonic plates surrender to mounting pressure of my past and present. Great fissures marking lifelines and more pain than is acceptable for one lifetime.

My greatest fear is by being too weak to let him go. My deepest hate is my selfishness as I force a life of loneliness on him too. Those who tolerated me before have set in place their boundaries - I'm glad they're putting their own needs first, of course, and the pattern repeats with painful recognition that I am the problem. But now it's not only me who feels cold in the distance, he is left astray as well. My heat insufficient to warm us both. I should untether him from me. I should let him be free. From responsibility, from duty, from guilt, from the crushing weight of knowing me and loving me.

If you love him, let him go. I should. I should. I can't. And that hurts more than all the isolation. Selfishly too, because if I let him go I could be free of this. I could slip away unnoticed and not hurt anymore. Living is pain. It demands so much. I am empty. I have no more to give.

Love might be a losing game, but life is a cruel irony.

solitude again my companion
we walk and talk together

but when I talk to myself
it isn’t about the weather

loneliness, terror, timestrikes
its power to untether

Curious California
Whatever became of Heather?

My thoughts seem small by my gaze of your mini dress,
as if they shrink in comparison to the sheer beauty you exude.
Like a bee drawn to the sweet nectar of a flower,
I find myself irresistibly captivated by the sight of
honey dripping from a bee nest.

The way your dress gracefully hugs your curves reminds
me of an ant, diligently going about its business beneath
the safety of its shelter.
It is in these moments that I am reminded of my own strength,
for despite feeling overwhelmed by the urge to possess you,
I know that I have the capacity to protect and cherish you
within the walls of this house.

However, as my desire intensifies, I can't help
but feel a subtle discomfort. It's as if my own physical form
is rebelling against the constraining force of my pants,
constricting and tightening around me.
This sensation, though initially unwelcome, serves as a
reminder of the passion that burns within me.
It is a reminder that I am willing to endure physical
discomfort in order to pursue the release that only you can offer,
like a prisoner longing to be set free from the confines
of his own mind.

In this internal struggle, I can't help but see myself as
a creature trapped within the labyrinth of desire.
My thoughts, once free to roam, are now confined by the
beastly nature of my yearning. Yet, despite the entrapment,
there is a certain allure to this captivity.
It is a tantalizing proposition, to let out this hidden creature
that resides within me and to indulge in the forbidden
pleasure that tempts me tonight.
The allure is dangerous and tempting, like a siren's song
that beckons me towards uncharted waters.

So, would you be willing to untether this imprisoned
beast and play with the fire that burns within me?
Would you give in to the temptation and explore the depths
of passion that we both desire?

Amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions, it is your decision
that holds the key to our liberation, to a union that
transcends the boundaries of ordinary experience.

Beckoned,
Allured
By her tempting enchantments
The goddess of love
So enraptures me
Granting
Her sirens
Commanded
To pleasure,
Untether me
Take me away
To a world
Of forever free
To be immersed
In this curse
Divine feminine
Elegant in
Its resplendent  
Serenity
Though so detached
I soon longed to return
To one in which man
Had hence from me
Once spurned

An ice capade of fireworks
one life's just like the other
once complete
they cut the cord
then hand you to your mother
.
gather now
a life that's ending
protect the stillness
a wind goes rending

one lonely star
will fade forever
as words inside
my heart untether
.
REMEMBER,
there is only one sky
under which
we all must die

colors of that night turn red
now we only trust the dead

when witnessing
these fallen notions,
(means everything)
we ride the oceans.
.
I'm happy to
just sit alone
With sandy beaches
as my throne
and largely realize
how small my breath
as life expires
these bones of death
.
the moon's reflections
cease being caught
poetic words
may bleed in thought
survival ends
but once per life
stopping any useless strife
.
what will your HEADSTONE finally say?
.
I want mine to read...
⚓ANCHORS AWEIGH⚓