Maybe it’s everything I couldn’t be.

Maybe it’s you, still living in me.

Don't you worry for me.
I'm alive.

Words pour out of me
like the rivers of thrill
that gushed from deep within me
and rushed away in silent screaming,
in-between the glorious thighs
you missed out on.

Maybe I was only ever there
to prepare you for her.

Maybe I hung by a thread
so you don't hang your head.

Don't you feel sorry for me.
I survived.

With my heart in my hands
at the gates of a shrine
I swore to never forget how your face lit
when you said that I was
your favourite hypocrite.

Yes I got all your texts.
And I’m guarded, expecting your next.
Yes I’m fine!
But how would you know?
Frozen in time,
don’t know how to respond.
Okay fine -
You got me, just like you always do.
I’m losing my mind,
I guess I’m not fine at all.

It doesn’t matter
how much weight you carry.
It’s about how you distribute.
Pain diffusion
is like sunlight through leaves;
it takes courage
to let brightness pierce through
and kiss you.
So stay with me,
right here,
by your tree roots,
where cyclamen grow.
Hold my hand
like you always knew me.
Forgive my shyness
as I fidget
with toe rings of clover -
I promise;
  I’m less and less scared -
I still love your wildness.
I feel you,
all over.
Eyes,
of Pure Water.
My lack of sharpness
is yearning to soften your edges.
I’m floating above your garden,
weightless.
The ripeness of fruit
that your highest tree bares,
smells like a rose
you delivered.
If we really are here
to mirror,
all I want to do for you
is shimmer.

Sunrise coffee in reticence;
Wonder what has caused the rift?
I’ve danced with every elephant
in every single room;
Wonder why I always shape-shift?

Distance never made my heart grow fonder
I crave to be far more removed.
I search for other types of anguish;
Do stars gleam brighter
when you stand on the moon?

So many paths I could have taken,
but I chose to carve mine
blind through the mist;
On the brink of dusk
when wild violets are shrinking
Grief is simply love adrift.

Musings
shapeshift
into intricate words
with a mind of their own
that fall into place
and make beautiful songs
which travel along
Continents
Consciousness
Vibrations and Waves
free as the birds
once alight,
resonate
with bodies and souls. 
Trusting the journey
is a curious adventure,
not a God complex,
a Writer is
but a facilitator,
allowing our innermost
turn into artwork,
delicate necklace
that hangs ‘round the throat.

Hey
It’s been years.
Time
moves real slow around here now.
Recurring dreams
shine UV beams
on my streams of waking consciousness.
My innermost fears
all out in the open.
What to do?
How do I haunt them?
At least
the way that you danced for me
never got old.
I’ve got no other truths left.
It’s mile after mile
from now on.