In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart

a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
                         breathlessly released
                              unrestrained,..

         ­                          evident
                    as the pressed and dried flowers
          cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
                         bookmarks of the heart

                         traces of the wild bouquets
                         that often soothingly caress’d
                         the energizing tingles  
                         inflaming a tantalizing touch

                         the yearning  empty voids
                         feverishly undressed,
                         traced in the hidden sands
                         of unexplored oceans..
                        
                         though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
  
                         as gentle feather’d touch
                         the evanescent sunset afterglow
                         where the earth and sky align
                         the dimming of the day

         loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―

                         the perennial dawning of an
                         unpromised new day
                         will someday come again

        bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
              flourishing in the meadow of my heart


                 *Someone you used to know

how easily, naturally
as kids we spilled our
hearts out to each other

i was with you then
in my closet, to get
away from our parents.
flashlight in front, hearts
in our hands.

i told you everything,
before forming the
questions i had for you.
i gave you everything,
hoping it wasn’t too much.

we spent nights situated
on top of those words,
wondering how it impacted.
how each other felt after.

as an adult, i feel
overwhelmed, out of
reach. childlike wonders
cease me as my vices
replace me.

where’s my childlike
wonder? buried in my
hands, where i crushed
my heart? or in my chest
where you placed yours?

so i searched. and as
naturally, easily as i
remembered, i spilt my
heart out on pen, and slid
it to you with a heart
embroidered on the side.

hoping it wasn’t too much.

I always find myself looking back at my life and being thankful that I'm not sixteen anymore.
I think about all of the drugs I was high on.
I think about all of the men that I let touch my body because I was so desperate to be loved.
I think about how mean and angry I was.
I was so desperate to fit society's idea of perfect.
There was no one on this earth that hated me more than myself.

I always find myself looking back on my life and wishing I was 16 again.
I think about all of the adventures I went on.
I think about all of the people that I let touch my heart because I was so desperate to love.
I was so happy and carefree.
I didn't care that I wasn't society's idea of perfect.
No one loved me more than I loved myself.

I think about all of the thing I would change if I was sixteen again.
I think about all of the things I wouldn't change if I was sixteen again.

I think about all of the things I know now,
And I wonder why I'm still struggling to change myself.

The smell of terpentine permeates my favourite blouse
The glow of candle light flickers in my windows
The absent minded stains of ink splattered through out my house
The cool, soft clay feels like silk between my fingers
There is a chisel hanging from a nail in my wall
There is blueprint spread out on a table in  front of me
My eyes are canvassing everything, anything, all
There is a colour and flavour in everything I see
There is a word tattooed on my forehead, innovator
I can't help but find a way to reinvent the old and invent the new
What more beautiful a worship to offer the creator
Than to create with the gifts he has given you

from my car in motion i saw
some shivering silhouette
with a soft glow like
the last drop of sunlight
breaking on the horizon
or a black cloud with a silver lining
head in hands, weeping into their palms
on the opposite end of a short tunnel
for a fraction of a second
and i was green with envy
over all of their emotion.
sick to my stomach of the apathetic
reluctancy to feel anything worthy of tears
if i could throw it all up,
and let it cover my skin
like a sick filled spit fountain
or acid rain
then at least i’d feel disgusted.

the brisk north winds have me
standing on a bench in the bus shelter
with my hands held up to the space heater
hot air rises and i imagine
all the angels in heaven burning
and their ashes are white like snow
i imagine i’m ankle deep in angel dust
and my cold urticaria doesn’t hurt
and i imagine an endless slumber
induced by the cries of the dying cherubim
and my last breath is a discernible
cry for help