Forests of Time await in the vastness of our hearts
and the simplicity of
our inner gems, they sing to us
paint themselves an accolade,
sing to themselves
a daring hum
of life present, serene
in the very same hearts

out here

are heartbreaks and suicides,
here, in these moments our tyranny is our blessing.

If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend.

Here down to our toes,
we are death, life, assimilated and working.

We are paradox's conclusions
we are demons denying themselves patience, do you hear me?

This could be our last sentence, our last repeat of the cyclic crimes splattered across screens and into our minds, honed deep into DNA and memories passed down to us,
do you think that karma doesn’t die….

Forget with me, for a moment what may tie to you to this or that, what may make you some way or another and remember,
the possibility of your existence and it's slimness and it's fervor

such beauty I could sing.

Come home.
Come home.
Come home to the wonder of yourself.

7 billion+ people and you are lovable, by some one, somewhere, right now, know this, and no I’m not talking ****** partners, although they may fall into the mix,
I’m talking family and friends,
I’m talking the trees who shake and shimmy and bend,
I’m saying the sky loves you, the rivers love you,
the dreams love you, you are a shimmering essence of pollution
turned sparkling star dust when you live like you are worthy, live like you know what you are, ( nothing short of a miracle)
live knowing the magic and beauty that flows through you,

yes, you who knows what death tastes like…and still smiles at the majesty of it all.

If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend.

We all have it on our very lips, we all have the ashes of those long dead in our lungs
we burn that to make our cars run.

We think we’re alone out here in the universe
we never even left home
Or explored the forests waiting in the vastness of our hearts.

Come home.
Come home.
Come home.

Glare at the blank page,
Splatter it with black
the oil that oozes up
from deep inside me.

Shape it to a likeness
Give it a collar, a chain
But I prefer not to name it.

I'm good at keeping the door cracked.
I keep the key around my neck,
In case I need to shut them in,

Or shut myself in?

I'm not sure which side of the door
is the inside.
They bang on rough wood.
Scrape with sharp nails.
I haven't named them.
If only they didn't know mine.

He was a boy, she was a girl,
Do you see where this is going?

Sometimes she was a girl and sometimes he was sweet,
and sometimes they would smile at each other,
and sometimes one would smile and the other would miss it,
and sometimes neither smiled at all.

Sometimes there were others and sometimes there were not
and sometimes the others got too close,
and sometimes she got rather internally possessive,
and sometimes he raised an eyebrow questioningly but got no answer

Sometimes there was music and sometimes there was dancing,
and sometimes they danced and sometimes they didn't,
and sometimes he watched her and sometimes she giggled,
and sometimes she watched him and had to look away

Sometimes she thought in terms of forever,
and sometimes she thought in terms of 'never',
and sometimes she thought in terms of 'maybe',
and sometimes she thought in terms of 'enough',

(because sometimes she didn't feel good enough)
(and sometimes she worried about not being loved enough)
(and sometimes she stressed about not being pretty enough)
(and most times she didn't feel like she was enough)

But sometimes that didn't matter,
because sometimes he smiled and talked enough
and sometimes his stories were funny enough
and sometimes he showed her he cared enough

And sometime she'll realize enough is enough
and that being attractive isn't always a measure of scruff
and that when you love someone you've gotta say that stuff
because leaving is easy when you don't know enough

The moon is content
to believe without
understanding why
she was placed where she
flies, orbiting space
and looking at time.

But the earth wants to know.

It wants to accuse
whoever carved out
its calderas,
and at every aphelion
the moon finds it harder
to move, like she can’t drag
herself back through the blues
of skies one more time.
The tether that holds
them together tears
her apart.

The moon doesn’t get
dizzy, but earth thinks
it’s spinning too fast,
sketches up the sky,
an engineered map of whys,
of stars connected
by thin pencil lines,
she thinks in miracles while it
thinks in margins of error,
equations, exponents.

On nights when she glows
green, the moon envies those pairs
who favor the power of two

because she squints and sees
the blueshift in earth’s eyes
as it crashes closer,
time spills out behind her,
space suffocates
between them, closer,
perihelion come,
and she blinks and sees
earth’s caldera eyes
raised to nothing.

If you ask me
"How are you?"
You'll get one of two answers

Either,
"I'm fine",
Or "Same as always"

Well "always" *****
And I'm not fine

So don't bother asking me
"How are you?

Because 'always' is not okay
And I'm not fine

That's it
It's done
It's over
I've buried my memories of you

I've forgotten the way you smile
I failed to recall how you laugh
I ceased to remember how you walk
I omitted the sound of your voice
How you say my name
Your scent whenever I wear your hoodies
How you play with my hand and with my hair
How you greet me good morning at 6:45am
Even though your aren't a morning person
How you never fail to say goodnight
How you tell your stories
How you like your coffee
How you hate to lose but let me win
How the windows of your soul focus on me

Who am I deceiving
I can't forget you
I don't want to but I need to
I haven't forgotten anything but I'm trying

How about you?
Have you forgotten us?
                                             *Or how I said goodbye?