I don't care
I never did
I never will

I don't care about the stabs
I don't care about the lies
I don't care about the loss

I never did
I never will

I don't care about you abandoning me in the middle of nowhere or making me doubt every single person I meet or forcing me to look at the mirror and despise the foolishness I had.

I don't care about all the above.

I try to convince myself every night that I don't.
But, I do;
I fully keenly wholesomely do care and my care was my doom.

Living is a cross
That any one of the rock-faces
Comprehends.


We are drawn
To many seas.
We drown wholesomely
In the failures of confrontation.
The rain
Drenching
Our doorsteps
Has nothing to do
With the simplest desires
And lacerations
We bring
To the smallest acts
Of living.


The child
On the broken catwalk
Hearing the sounds of our hunger
Without understanding
Throws echoes back
To the earliest abandonments
Of love.


Minor devastations preceding
Horror
Resonate the ineffable.
The mothers that wake
At the slightest sound
And the fathers that
Smoke all night
And the rest of us who are
Vigilantes from the demons
Of oppressed sleep
Find at dawn the clearest
Images of bewilderment.
Even the best things
Collapse beneath the weight
Of ignorance.


Living is a fire
That any one of the wave-lashes
Comprehends.
___
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml

I promise this shall be the last poem of thee I've written of thee. And thus I have dedicated all the love I have for thee into this; in the hope that my heart has none of it left after writing the poem.

I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood;
Its taint of darkness dripping down like blood-red hearth.
A breeze of morning moves, that we love, has gone;
For a musk of the skies at dusk must have come down.

Come into the garden, my love, and play around with me;
For a bed of love daffodils is on high;
For a set of faint lights is now there to catch;
One breed of lights that we used to play with.
Bring my that green glass of paint, and draw by me,
While I rub thy dark hair on my lap, with my bronze fingertips.

Run around here, Immortal, and give me thy handsome hand;
Thou art the speed and pace I need here to stay;
Ah, I am not detached from t'is world, so long as I have you;
I am charmed, even in the darkest abyss of yon superficiality.
Thou art the fragrance of happiness found in decay;
Strength in the most diminished, and yet distinguished ecstasy;
A fable t'at becometh real in a flight of seconds;
A temptation no maiden heart canst afford to dismiss.
And look at me, now and then and all over again,
I wanteth to look pretty in my ruffle brown skirt,
Just like in my midnight gown on a flowery wedding night,
One t'at we shalt have above the sun, out of everyone else's jealous sight.

Let's dream t'at this delight shall ne'er wear out, and leave to us t'is nuptial potion;
I hath ideas for us and the most sensible of worldly notions;
Naughty as water ripples and the broadening green plantations;
I knoweth now where we canst go and hide our insightful destinations.
Thou wert always running in thy magical shoes,
And t'eir worlds of visions and phantom-like phantasies,
Like woeful but wise extraterritorial dimensions,
A forest of spells and love curses we never knoweth.
But worry not, my dear, for I shall hold thee in both portals,
I'll keep thee safe by my side, I'll keep thee immortal,
So that we are ne'er to be apart, in such a bright love like pearls,
And the petals of roses t'at ne'er swerve again from our fingertips.
We were always inhabited by our little jokes, and moved by an unseen hand at game,
T'at everything was too tranquil even for being a game as itself its nature,
And the whole little wood we were perched on was one world
Of fun shivers, wonders, and plunder and prey,
Oft' at midnight hours we looked at each other so kindly and peacefully,
With eyes mastered by love and tough loveliness,
Thou looked but wholesomely splendid in thy own questioning minds,
And thy brown hair t'at was turned about by solitary winds.
Ah, Immortal! Immortal, Immortal, my visionary love, my darling bird.
And yet, the night knew then, of our tricks and who we were, funny little liars—
Little liars t'at had but a tender love outta' time and space,
And such a gleaming love for one another,
We whispered, and hinted, and chuckled, with an aroma of love about us,
However we'd braved it out, we felt about it glad and not sorry;
We humans of a naughty, devilish, notorious, but sophisticated breed!

Come into the garden, Immortal, for the night bat now hath flown;
The one thou fear, my love, hath left us alone.
And forgive me for my rigid clauses to them;
For I want only to writ' of thee, my darling bud.
The planet of love seem't be on high,
Beginning to pick away its fruitful colours,
And make itself look petrified and stultified,
Like one from abroad, flown in as foreign woodbine spices.
Ah, as though t'is temporal world is not murky enough for us both,
That our translucent breaths are those who survive;
Who remain rustic in this unmerited ordinary world.

Come again, my love, my impeccable darling,
Let's witness what the sonnet's yet to sing;
All we need t' do is pick up a lil' wooden chair;
And breathe the swampy midnight air before we sit.
Here is my poetry, and I'th written it for thee,
Long like the satin seas, and red ribbons made of clouds,
I needst not say it but thou read still, my heart out loud.
Ah, Immortal, the golden gift thrown at one clean snowy night!
And t'ese hidden memories now shine out back again,
For the drifts of the earth we ne'er knoweth, indeed,
And thus who knoweth the ways of the world,
And the surreptitious moves its soil's done,
From morning to night, from one day to another?
Ah, who knoweth 'em all but the Almighty?
Our Almighty, our very Almighty;
t'at breathed into our souls such loving love,
And made for us t'is decent planet, many suns, and one fair earth.
Ah, Immortal, and thou art the son of literature He had to me,
A joy t'at my hands, as He told, outta rejoice,
A glory t'at my faith should find.
Ah, Immortal, thou art sweet, sweet, and too sweet!
Thy sweetness is but an avarice, one bold austerity to me;
Scenic in its grace—a graceful grace t'at is far too restless and undying!
Undying, unweakening, but strengthening, t'at it'll ne'er die!
Ah, for thy sweetness, Immortal, hardly leaveth me a choice;
But to move and fall softly again and again for thee like before,
And thy honey-coloured skin and charms t'at I adore,
Not his, who knows or feels any of me not;
Not him, who is neither courtly not kind;
Not there, who understands not how to write,
to read, nor even to sing.

All night hath the roses heard songs from thy Eolian lute;
And my unveiled violin, piano, and bassoon;
All shrieking and collating in one strange space.
But hear thou, my love, of my shrilling little voice?
An unheard, abashed voice that keeps calling your name;
Your coloured name, that smells like trust
In its euphoric aura and ecstatic plays.
Where art but thou, my Immortal;
That was so close and definitive to my heart.
Where art but our strings, and guitar cords;
That used to rock up our beneficent loveliness?
That kept our hearts in tune, when desperately falling in love,
Ah, I do not want to leave thee still in thy weird dance,
I want to keep thy heart beating with mine and stay in tune;
I want to run with thee into a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the playful lily, 'There is none but one
With whom my curious heart is to be gay.
When will he be free to catch up with me?
I see him day and night and in dreams of my poetry.'
And half to the rising day, low on the sand
And loud on the stone our passion too shall rise;
Keep us cheerful and our heartbeats warm.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those
For one that shall ne'er be thine?
'But mine, but mine,' I swore gaily to the rose,
'For ever and ever, mine. Just mine.'

And the soul of our fragrant rose sings into my blood,
That Immortal and his lover shall ne'er be apart.
He'll wait for her at night, in one bloodless Sofia;
She'll wait for him 'till such stars fall asleep.
He makes her blessed even in her dreams,
That all the red roses and lilies stay awake to watch their joy.

Immortal and Estefannia, the happiest ones along those summer days;
Are a threat to those soul frayed and vitriolic;
Too stellar to them romantic and idyllic;
Proud and sturdy in their ascetic life.
The best of love of the world's missing beat;
Daintier than any of this summer's bitter heat.
How fate tests their love we shall ne'er know,
but their love stretches as distantly as it can.

Ah, Immortal, tells Estefannia I shall make thee flattered
In sleep, in peace, in conscience, and in hate;
I shall make for us joy though our stories may be late.
Thy eyes are brown, my love, one shade the world's never owned
And thus thy love is valid and new in itself, ne'er worn.

And I shall hear when thy lips wan with despair, I'll be there;
I'll stand there with my basket, a gift from one faraway;
But with a love neither placid nor drained;
Villainous as t'is world is, what a broken wordling;
Like a wailing starling, torn in its calls and frothy desires.
T'ere is no more signal for us towards t'is despaired world;
I shall take thee yet, through the curtains of such speculations;
For 'tis only thy pride t'at lives, and not one soul of thine lies;
And should thou remain alive, my love shall ne'er hibernate,
But sit and trust firmly in its wakeful sleep, grasping thee,
Grasping thee, my love, 'till exhaust allows me no more words,
'Till my own poetry disobeys me like a cloud of putrefied shadows,
Ah, but still, remaining a gross soulless apparition I may be,
With no apparatus trembling 'round beside me,
Wouldst I still saunter myself forwards,
And greet thee in t'at peaceful vineyard;
Play to thee a lullaby and witness thy dreams,
Rocking thee softly against thy own stardoms,
'Till rivers are awake again and alert t'eir inane streams.
O Immortal, it is for better and fairness t'at I love thee,
Ah, but which love is sweeter than mine, or stronger than ours?

For I trust t'at my love is hungrier t'an that of her yonder,
Ah, and t'an t'at loyalty and patriarchy of our sullen armies,
More striking than a ****** dame's pictorial tyrannies,
One too sweet-scented for a hidden mercenary,
I have heard, I know not whence, t'at it but happened to thee;
Thou wert away, thou wert not under my umbrella, beneath me!
Where is Immortal now, for I need to save him again;
My husband in nature, my lover and immortal darling and best friend!

For t'is world is but a holocaust for the believing;
T'ere is, within which, not one pyramid of truth,
For 'tis a place of happy misery, and too miserable happiness.
T'ere is no place like our little Sofia, t'at once we dreamed of;
Filled with rainwater by its armed forces of Bul-ga-ri-ya;
I shall wait for thee there, by the triple roundabouts,
I shall wait for thee before I pray, and seek help from Our Lord;
I hath written for Him warm praises and delicate triplets of words.
Immortal the delight of my life, the dignity of my love;
Immortal the ringing joy of my ears, the gallant sight of my eyes;
Immortal my darling, of whom I write and for whom I sing.
Immortal like the leaves of the suburbs, t'at turn red and shyly bloom,
One that smells like mangoes and two pieces of orange blossoms.
Ah, Immortal, with his sweet red-mouth when eating dangled grapes,
Immortal the beloved of my father, the moon-faced, merriest son of all!

Where is he now? My dreams are bad. He may bring me a curse.
No, there is a fatter game on the moors, perhaps I ought to look for 'im t'ere.
The devil, I am afraid, hath stolen him again away,
I hath seen him not for a time as long as this day's.
Immortal, I want thy bountiful smile, and see thee not ill;
Immortal, tell me t'at thou long for and love me still.

Ah, along those happy days, and fabulous morning thrills,
My heart leapt whenever it caught thy voice,
And thy sanguine embrace when such came near;
Days were but too advanced, I know, and men were tied to t'eir own minds;
But thou kept me calm, with such majestic love and lil' poems in thy hands,
For t'is world is yet too adamant in t'eir pursuit,
Yet I needed thee, and thou came along.
Long had I sighed for a calm: God may grant it to me at last!
Ah, Immortal, a naughty lil' breach of t'is world, and its affairs;
A lil' cuddle t'at laughed and darted merrily all through the night.
Would t'ere be sorrow for me, for what I was feeling?
I thought I sensed only love and none like hate,
For it all tasted sweet and fierce like neverending fate,
A fate t'at we both accepted in one force,
A fate too astounding from our courageous Lord.
I thought thou wert mine, and thou shalt always be mine!
And t'is swirling sensation, when I looked at thee,
Full of teary happiness and chaotic delights,
I did want not t' think of its possible ends,
Ah, violent as Shakespeare might've assumed,
But I wanted to relish and bury myself in it
For such memories of thou had desired.
Immortal, Immortal, and now thou art gone;
But when all t'is world does is to go flexibly round,
Where'th thou think our missing beats can be found?

Warm and clear-cut face, why thou came so cruelly meek;
A cute lil' wonder to my sight—and for my lungs
To breathe stupidly for now and again.
Thou, handsome lad, hath broken all slumbers
In which all is but vague and foul and folly,
Pale with the golden beam with one dead eyelash
Knifed by the contours on one's cheeks.
And t'ere is also, about, the remnants of one's blood,
Dried and unmoving in t'eir death, but too lifelike at the same time,
Smelling ***** like the air rifles t'at just brought 'em all to death.
Death, ah, living t'is life without thee is like death;
All is clueless, breathless and sightless,
All is burning me strangely and from within,
Luminous, gemlike, dreamlike, deathlike, half the night long,
Growing and fading and growing and fading like an edgeless song,
But all too disobeys me, and disappears again as morning arrives,
Mocking me again while showing off its cloud wives.
I am trapped again now, in t'is wonderless dream of thee;
Which is more buoyant and febrile, unfortunately, than death itself,
One darker than even a tragic tear of one thousand years;
Like a heartbreaking scream or shipwrecking roar,
I am walking in a wintry stream all by myself,
And where is my Immortal—for he is not by my side,
He doth not witness the emerging of such sunshine—ah! It is t'ere today, quite early,
One t'at sets t'is darkening gloom all away, and thus we are all born free,
Free, virtually, both our hands and slithering eyes,
But still thou art not 'ere with me to witness t'is joy,
Thou who hath gone and withered like a pale blow of smoke.
Ah, Immortal, but may I hold t'ese rainy memories of thee still;
For t'ey all scorn and spurn as though I am ill;
I who loveth thee sincerely 'till the very end of time,
I who loveth thee with all the clear and vague powers
with which my very soul hath been endowed,
I who loveth thee like mad, I who loveth thee purely without hate;
I who virginly loveth thee like I doth my own fascinated fate.

Lay again, my love, on my longing lap,
I'll sing to thee one favourite lullaby,
And a basket of cherries t'at we picked nearby,
We shall enjoy t'is merriment before I let you sleep.
I shall let you sleep on my lap—a pair of skins t'at love you,
Love you as much as my other skin doth,
A heartbeat and pulse t'at breathe together
And want thee t'at madly, now and forever.

I found thee perfectly beautiful, my Immortal;
Sometimes thy eyes were downcast,
Spiritual in some ways,
And 'twas like thou wert thinking, my love;
Thinking of the upsurging stars above—and t'eir ******* secrets, beneath.
Ah, Immortal, even the vilest idleness cannot be against my love for thee;
My sparkling stars, and the affirmation traced along my heart is about thee;
All about thee, until t'ere is but none left of me,
Thou art the juice of my soul—far too ripe for someone else's heart!
And one, thou art more delicate than the crescent moon we hath tonight;
More shimmery than its ***** and rays of twilight,
Ah, Immortal, how the heavens hath descended thee onto me;
Thou, my love, art the last life and love of my thorough entity.

And t'is poetry shall be thy last enchanting lullaby,
I hope thou'lt sing it when midnight's swollen and sore,
Hurting thee to the pipes of thy very core,
But let's forget not t'at we once knitted awesome stories,
A chain of moments t'at lasts forever, ever, and ever again.
Ah, Immortal, we are back in the afternoon now,
We must though 'tis bluntly hard to say goodbye,
Of which hearts are unsure, but yet must lie,
I shall cry out my last beating love for thee,
But thou dwelleth in what I see, and thus ne'er leave me,
Like a fallen star t'at wants to rise but ne'er doth,
Thou art still the leaf my autumn tree hath sought;
And thou art the shine to my balmy rootless night;
Thou art the apparition t'at appeareth and teasest me after nightfall.

I'll wait for thee again in slippery Sofia,
And my love shall re-unite again with its winds;
Its walls, its havens, its barns like a spellbound purgatory;
For if I am bound to thee, in love and hate and rage and agony;
I'll write thee poems 'till even the universe is asleep.
I'll be cold like thy saluted Bul-ga-ri-ya;
I'll hold thee with 'till the last drops of my sanity;
Ah, Immortal, and in yon high-walled garden I still watch thee
pass like an authorial star;
Thou art as graceful as my own kind-hearted light;
For sorrow cannot even seize thee, my leading star!

Say love not when I meet thee again one day;
For t'ere is no more a desire to learn or admire,
I shall carry my knigh

I feel his eyes on me
Whenever I cross the room.
It is mostly when there are others
Present and we must share ourselves,
Expended over people

And places. The spaces
Before we fall into our wine stained
Non-marital bed. The grape blood reminds me
Of my own. On my own, fledgling ******* and acne,
Elaborately false *******

Where I would never have my fill.

A child-man I forgot.
Or remember only as a token,
Cardboard textured orange peel
In a breast pocket never worn. I forget
Most everyone

Now that he is
In my life. He obliterates
All else like light pollution.
Not of fluorescent neon or slogans
But an exploding star

That dims all else
In my peripheries. I am
Diminished also in his love,
Both wholesomely and then in a sense
Where I lose my ‘I’.

It is in his shadow
Where I live. Small comet
Hidden in the black of velvet,
Licked by the spit of his flames
That scald me

And bathe me
In equal measure.

I am more than this
I know. Or guess. His tailor hands
Though, are efficient and caring. They
Do not create me, but he threads himself
Into my sides

And drops a stitch
Only to adulate the rhythm
When he enters me. When he enters me
I become burgeoned and full and blood fills
The rusted roadways

That shine blue
Through my pasty prism.
He finishes. A gloom fills me. Not
A gloom, more of a nothing and he is
An obliterated star once more

And I his aftermath.
He has killed me with a kindness,
A ghost only when witnessed, kissed.
I have long since forgotten whether I have
Been taken prisoner

Or gave myself up.

I was swept away by that first special moment
That first time I gazed into your smiling eyes
Finding myself at that time surely determined
Not to let this special moment in life slip by

I choose never to be without your presence
Or the bliss in my heart you allowed to be
For I found the moment I embraced your smile
The thought of you will again never let me be

My heart and mind now became constant companions
While my thoughts and dreams were tied together too
And they all became so wholesomely blended this day
Seeking To make the reality of your love now come true

Finding my heart deeply touched by your amazing beauty
Also that true enchanting loveliness in your brown eyes
I knew today at this moment of our hearts first meeting
Without you in my life I would never again be satisfied.

Bring me back to the time
Where everything felt fine
Where I felt you were mine
And it was not just you
And it was not just me
But me and you together
Where it was us

Your lips pressed against my cheek
Your voice so gentle as it speaks
Your hand lightly brushed my fingers
Oh your touch will always linger
Why do I crave your touch?
Did not realize how I missed it so much

Why am I so scared,
That I'm always being compared?
I know I can never compete
With all the better girls that you will meet

When will I ever see you again?
Will I ever feel wholesomely happy? Not sure if I can
Why are you so distant?
Wish you were here in just an instant

When I close my eyes, I see only black
Then I picture you and I and I wish you would come back
Sit down, lie down with me
So once again I can feel happy

It saddens me how we are not together
Things right now just are not getting better
I just want to be with you
I feel empty and I don't know what to do

I just hope you miss me as well
You have no idea how hard I fell
Your eyes, your touch, simply everything about you is perfect
And I hope my wait for you would be worth it

At least I get to see you in my dreams
Now reality is better than it seems
But dreams are only in my head
Temporary bliss felt late at night when I'm in bed

When I wake up I again feel dead
For I think about all the feelings left unsaid
Why can I not say how I feel?
Why can I not show you what is real?

hello my ocean, we haven't talked in a while and i am drunk, so please forgive my frankness. i miss you like earth would miss the sun, i miss you like the air, i miss your face and your hair, i miss you. wholesomely and forever. every day we grow millimeters apart. i have come to the supreme realization that from the point when you intentionally separated us, we have become opposing magnets, and our hearts only seem to be able to push away. how i long to grasp you, hold on to your body, until the natural force of our separation rips me apart and spills my blood all over the landscape beneath our heavens above. but you wouldn't want that would you? all you want from me is to go quietly into the dark, so you can bask in your shining independence. so i will go. without fight, without struggle or scene. but know my love is still there, in the dark damp hole you walked away from, starving for the light. hoping the tides change, and you are swayed to seek my being.

goodnight, my love.

Dream?
Rather, I trance
Clairvoyantly and deeply
Surreal depression is all encompassing
Resting wholesomely in pit
Submerged for days

Birthed within for purpose
Almost as if I am entitled to certain knowledge
These trances are not subtle
An omnipresence exists
Shifting my point of view to be perceived as a film
An entirely silent film

Absent are words and sounds
Fully present is divination
Intuition at its vertex
Within streets and eyes
My surroundings and skies
I am given details of the trance I am in/watching
A glance triggers my insides to whisper

*As her eyes screamed fire
Her lips never parted
...
When her eyelashes thanked me
My exhale smiled

May you tell me why it is that a magician pulls a rabbit out of a black top hat?

Why had that become such an amusing tradition?

What was he thinking?

What was his reason for this rabbit?

Is it because it is deemed adorable and thus he believes shall appeal to the crowd?

Or was it the only animal in the shop he could get his hands on at the time?

Maybe it was a borrowed neighbour's pet?

Was this new magician a former vet?

That white rabbit, pink-eyed and cute.. where does he go scampering off to off set?

Is it even really a rabbit or an impossibly tiny man in a hand sewn suit?

These questions are all important.

Why are they important?

Because they distract me from other real questions:

Why is it that us humans haven't recognized wholesomely our true purpose?

We have existed for centuries..
yet no firm, world wide acceptance and truth as to why we are here..

But there ARE news and breakthroughs about new technology, warfare gear, entertainment, pleasure, fashion, luxury and outer space.

We seem to know everything else except about ourselves ..

What is our collective purpose?

What is our individual purpose?

Is there is a purpose?

Of course there is.

Where can I find it?

How may I find it?

Honestly... I'll figure it all out...
and when I do.. I will tell you.

In the mean time...I wonder:

Why it is that a magician pulls a rabbit out of a black top hat?


11:11pm Tuesday 28th July,2015.

Foamy fingers
Credulously claw their way
Up the sand
Under a twinkling canvas.
Each surge of strength is
Met by an almost
Equal decline.
But by the aid of the moon,
The maiden's embrace
Stalks, grain by grain
Over the sand towards
The arms of her lover.
Whispers grow into
Hoarse cries of determination
And the world stops
To watch her
In all of her courage.
She stretches...
Reaches...
With the last ounce
Of her strength,
She lurches forward
To hold the land
In her arms.
Nature freezes in captivation
To behold an instant
Wholesomely vain and beautiful
And temporary
In their union
And an instant later,
Those same foamy fingers
Let slip the land
They fought so hard
To embrace,
Retreating back to their
Domain of chaos
And the cries of the ocean
Fade back to whispers
Before the sun can
Expose the lovers' encounter,
But not before I let
Her lullaby sing me
To peace.

everything does come back to you
it's funny how i once laughed at love songs
how i said it was cheesy and immature
those young fellas who seem to enjoy each others' companion
oh how i despised them when i was young

a philosophy in my mind worked out
that whoever comes will soon go away
even though you think she's your forever friend
or the true love that you've been waiting
they might and would always leave you behind
that is why you gotta train yourself
to be alone
to be independent
to be strong

but, what is this feeling?
it's something that i should ignore
no, wait, now it hurts
this sensation of lonesome
gluttons my very soul

yes, please, i need a friend
someone whom i can love legitimately
and knows how to love me back wholesomely
save me from this unwanted gloom
that kept eating up my pride and my smile

my tears, like the last dewdrop in a drought
fell into my eyes as i write this poem
it is a call for help
a lonely blue whale's last song
do you think someone would hear me out?

Woman I live for thee
You ******* away completely.

Woman I live for thee
You complete me wholesomely.

Woman I live for thee
You complement me perfectly.

Woman I live for thee
You enslave me lovingly.

Woman I live for thee

I live for thee

with you in me.

To be psychotic is to be
Free
To dance in rain and in shine, naked
To sleep wherever the head might rest
To wander, make fun of people
To live indeed.

To be psychotic is to be
Free
To dream of absurdly great things and not care
To own as many imaginary friends as possible;
Cos at least they are real with you
To love wholesomely and to hate, unabashed
To live indeed

To be psychotic is to be
Free
To create a reality and live in it
To think whatever about oneself and not
Care about being judged
To live indeed

To be psychotic is to be
Free
Of clothes, their costs and attachments
Of self-judgements of self appearance
To fight the air or run a personally organized race
To live indeed.

So pray tell,
What is the extent you would go
To live? Indeed.

You’re struck by thoughts that zip like raging electricity
Charged wholesomely by the eye snatching power of curiousity
There’s that hefty knapsack of guilt constricting your back
A tear stained jacket olive green and not so fresh off the rack
Typical attire adorned by an untamed hellcat hellbent on the attack

You’re always eager for flimsy fellows with paper mache names
Too bad they catapult you back into prewritten tales of ill-ridden fame
You seem to entice the astral glare of scorching stars
To unwittingly interrupt Nature’s frolicking soundtrack at all the key bars

You’re Alice’s protégé adeptly meeting learning goals
Far surpassing her mentor at the art of slipping reality and falling down rabbit holes
A spirit shedding her blouse of light and taking a dip in the lake of souls
Writing new mythologies amidst the morbid company of witches and trolls

You’re burned letters and missed calls on the phone
A slowly sinking stone
Filled with grey from every ***** to bone
Wilting words spoken monotone

Another evening where the hatred I feel for myself burns so hot my oesophagus hurts

Where did my mind go, when did I stop listening to my thoughts
I used to be romantic, wholesomely confident in my delicate existence

Now I’m terrified of it
That unless I grip tightly, I’ll evaporate from everyone’s lives whom I love

A bowl of Rice,
Soft, simmered
And milky white.
Evenly shaped,
Each one like the next.

Rice was this abundance of
Easy going grain.
Wholesomely predictable
But comforting all the same.

The Pol Sambol had double his fury
A haphazard mix of harsh spices
Woven into soft textures.
The tangy taste of lime,
With a sweet coconuty crunch.
A burst. A passion.
An unevenness. A pattern.

Palatable extremes
That Rice had grown to love.

Their journey never began,
So there journey will end in never.

Rice was the base.
And Pol Sambol was the taste.
And so they lived forever.


Pol Sambol- A spicy coconut grind based sambol

In this life of ours we will walk many paths.
As we age we will watch the days and years pass us by.  We will create many chapters in the book we will one day call, “The story of my life”.
For some of us, we will have several chapters and books. Others, maybe not so lucky. If lucky is what you want to call it.

Every day is a new opportunity to begin again; to start all over and let yesterdays time turn to dust just as we will someday.

You see, time is a fragile thing. We must hold on to it dearly. For it is like a river and the same flow will never pass twice.
Once it’s gone it’s gone.
With each sun rising we must learn to rise again even if the rays aren’t shining so bright.
We must create our own sunshine.
To be our own friend is a beautiful gift.
For if we cannot love ourself wholesomely and wholeheartedly who will?
It is up to us to create the life we want.
If you don’t like something, change it.
It’s truly as simple as that.
How to change it?
That’s the real question.
Analyzing.
Time.
Desire.
Self-motivation.
Self-care.
Self-love.
­These are all key factors to living a beautiful and happy life.

We mustn't waste time.
You have to ask yourself, “What is it that I want?”
Draw. Paint. Write. Sing. Dance.
Let your soul show you what it is that it truly desires.
Lay that beating beauty on the table
And let it speak.
Let your soul shine into the direction you must be.
Listen to it.
Go to it.
Find it.
Live it and love it.

breathing is a regular body function
still, it seems like it was the hardest thing for me to do my whole life
i always felt like i was being swept up roughly by an ocean wave
i would grapple with the demons that lived in the deepest parts of my mind
just for one, just one breath
it was so difficult to fight all of the time
so hard to convince myself that it would all pay off in the end
that in due time, breathing would become easier

then i met you, and it felt like everything in the world changed
those long nights i spent alone gasping for air hour, after hour ceased to exist
the demons in the deepest part of my brain dissipated
and nothing was difficult
i stopped thinking negatively and i felt that for the first time in a long time,
that i had hope

and instead of staying up, restless at night i would lay my head down peacefully on my pillow
no more harmful thoughts
i didn't feel a pressing weight on my shoulders anymore
and for the first time in my life, my lungs weren't burning in their longing for air
air was filling them graciously and wholesomely
and thus i began to fall in love with you

we became inseparable
and the whole world seemed to know it
because we were in love, and everyone wished they had what we did
right?

in time we would realize that we weren't in love
not even close
you stopped caring and so did I
and just as quickly as we fell in love
we fell out of it
and as quickly as you seemed to heal my lungs
you damaged them again

now i try to breathe and it doesn't seem to work
my lungs are burning, desperate for air
but thats ok, because they say time heals all
and maybe instead of someone else healing me
i just need time
and i can heal myself
and breathing wont be so difficult
and the demons will permanently disappear
for now, ill just learn to forget you

Always too soft
Crying alone till the dawn
Loved without regret without hate
You ain't that strong at all
To take responsibilities all by yourself

It's easy to fall in love
It's difficult to communicate
If it's not yours,
Don't force it

Why can;t you fall asleep ?
Are you still missing her ?
Aren't you tired of loving ?
Even tho you know she ain't coming?

Trying to love someone bravely,
To treat her wholesomely
Too bad she ain't taking it
She won't even flinch
At the sacrifices you made

You can't be thinking
To always be the good one

So let it go
Just let it go
Forget it like she says so

It ain't worth waiting
If she ain't coming
You should be thinking
About how you doing !

Her skin is impenetrable, the voice of an angel when she speaks with love and appreciation, but a righteous devil when pulled too hard at the strings of her golden heart

A laugh so infectious that spreads generously around a room, too small to contain her every move, but ever so contagious everybody near her gets a taste of the truth

Her powers are ancient, with a single touch she can see right through the very core of you and when she loves, she does it wholesomely, there is never no in between

When anger ignites her soul, she will take back every last bit of light, turn what’s been given in a endless blackhole she gladly pushes you in to, without blinking an eye

But wrath is not her glory, her power lies in her undeniable strength to overcome anything that has been done to her and at her expense without ever losing Gods grace

To roam the planet as a faceless Goddess,
where demons have been let loose for thousands of years, is not for the faint hearted or relatable for the sheep minded folk

They will sure as Heaven remember her name again, as she will remind them of her reign, take the pain of the Earth, shed it in rain as she puts an end to this drought

It will be the first step in starting a war of water to **** those that thought that Mother Nature’s love could be bought with money, they will drown as she puts on her crown

When the West has been left, her footsteps walk across the dessert of Middle Earths crest, she blesses those who forever had faith, those who recognized her buried face

At last she will sit on her throne and rule once more across all nations until this world ends, making sure history won’t repeat another day as today on planet Earth again

Busily being done,
done with drama less of charm.
Done with the hustle, past the fail of the sun.
Busily working, out chasing relaxing soothing fun.
As I come, to the rescue
I wanna sooth whats been hunting.
and causing a loss of won.
Are you busily being done.
Done with the things, with the things
that keep you from having fun.
I come to do my best to..
help you enjoy the days.
as you busily be free.
busily flow with laughter and glee.
delivered and wholesomely set free.

I am an empty street
With one flickering light
Quiet, still and uncertain
Black, paved, cracked and dusty.

Not even the moon dares to be seen
Hiding within the ceiling of the world with clouds as it’s curtains

I am an empty street
With one flickering light
All the insects,
Pests of the night.

Swarm
They swarm toward my almost off’d light
Covering me
Smothering all my might
Now, I am an avid reader in the dark
I crave dust, cracks and broken side walks

The day will break away the pests of the night
I will find a tomorrow
With a sunrise so bright

It was never the dark that mortified me.
It was All the light.
And all is what we should be wholesomely frightened of but bravely walking toward

I am an empty street
With a bright road ahead
Stunned with light, promising and enduring
Bright, paved, cracked and dusty

//Now you see. All with light.//

It's not odd for me to stand in front of the mirror at 3:00 in the morning.
Trying times--
Early dawns has found me here every dying night,
Almost.
And the thick air has become so familiar that it just stays still,
Watching me struggle to heave one breath after another while staring intently at the mirror;
That wholesomely shiny mirror.
But somehow, all that I manage to see is a broken face of a broken girl with so much broken memories.
She makes my eyes sore.

Now if you do find my early morning activity strange,
Here's a fact:
I am waiting for the devil.
I am waiting for his horn, his giant fork, his evil tail that all screams blood--
I am waiting for hell.
I have long been praying to have a conversation with Satan.

I want to present myself as a humble sacrifice.
Partly to die,
But not just that.

I'm kind of hoping that if he does take me,
I'd ask him to dwindle my mom's troubled soul a  bit.
To make her mind much less anxious--
Enough for her to sleep soundly at night;
I'd ask him to give my dad an unbothered ego,
I'd want him to think more about himself;
I'd ask him to have my eldest sister come home again,
And to heal my other sister's wrists,
I'd ask him to teach my brother how to fall in love--
I'd gladly be on my knees, begging,
For him to make them forget how cruel the world is.

I promise to burn worse than hell to give these people a bearable lifetime.
And I know I'm not worth much,
But desperation feeds evil--
Mine would make the fiery pit combust with the worst kind of swirl.

Perhaps, this is the devil's one-way ticket to salvation.

So if you do see him,
Tell Satan that I'll always be waiting.
In front of the mirror.
Before dawn.