May I carry your bag?
I have been watching
It strain your shoulder
All that makeup and necessities
And the old receipts
Are weighing you down
Please, may I carry your bag?

May I carry your shoes?
I know you chose them
But your feet have been hurting
And you need your hands free
I never knew what to do
With mine anyway.
Please, may I carry your shoes?

May I carry your coat?
You thought it would rain
Down on you again
But it hasn't rained since I found you
And it  is squeezing too tight
Around your waist
Please, may I carry your coat?

May I carry your scar?
The one on your face
I know it is part of you
But you never liked the way
It made you look
I never looked like much anyway
May I carry your scar?

Then you may carry me.
With all your burdens lifted
Close the distance between us
Take me upon your shoulder
And you will tell me that
To you I feel weightless
Please, carry me.

Darling, let me tell you
That those dreams you had were nothing,
And when you thought that you were nothing
you were seen.

My love, now listen closely:
All the noise your mind is making
Is just noise it is not speaking
For the world.

Remember when last summer
Your far away friend told you
That they had not been smiling
Since that day,

But seeing you had healed them;
And the way your arms had felt then
Had been all that they had needed
To be again.

You are still stuck in that winter
When you thought that you could wither
On the spot and you did not
Want to be found.

Yet to me and many others -
To your cousins, friends, and lovers -
You alone are in possession
of that brush that paints the earth.

Every year we fool ourselves through sayings such as
“We can't leave the house for the weather”
and
“The sun will rejuvenate us”.

When seasons transform it turns into
“We can't leave the house for the demons in our front garden”
and
“It burns, it burns, please make it stop burning”

The girl looked through the magnifying glass
at her own hand.

That,
she thought,
will be my hand when I grow up.

She was right, you know.
Only failed to consider
the scars she would
accumulate.

What an addiction to life one must have
To endure
This endless Now
And demand more
-
Raise a voice even
And shout for one more hit
to the teeth
to the groin
to the senses and then

to crawl on even brighter
with a smile illuminating
the abyss

It flows through the veins of the forgotten.
It lives, yet has not taken air in years.
It is ashen of colour,
Hard-hearted of thought,
It lies dormant until it doesn't.
It feels lonely.
You mean it makes them feel lonely?
No. It makes them feel loved,
For feelings are love,
Even the ashen ones.

It flows through the veins of the forgotten
Where the sun will never reach it
But every now and then
A wind breaks through
And brings autumn leaves
Or spring blossoms
Violet snow
And for a day it exists in colours
And on the quiet days
It recalls

Seamstress of my fate, behold:
This side of my is crass and cold,
Is not unsuited for a war.
Oh, seamstress of my fate, therefore,

Could you conceive a way or two,
Concealing things that I could do,
Veiling vile things that I could say.
Oh, seamstress of my fate, I pray!

For when you sow this future now,
I would not want this side to show,
Would want a dress of flowers dried,
Where not one stubby blade could hide.