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I collect little pieces of wonder and turn them into words. Somenings, my heart feels like early spring. Everything inside me reaches toward light before I'm even fully awake. Other days, it is overcast in ways no weather report could predict. I smile, make tea, do my things,
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Perhaps i do not want healing Perhaps i only want a single place that asks nothing of me - not even an explanation for why i am so tired. Everyone speaks of finding peace, as if it were misplaced somewhere. I only wanted a corner of the world where my
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Everyone wants to do different things to my pain - Label it, Intellectualize it, Erase it, Turn into power, Everyone wants to do different things to my pain, Nobody wants to feel it. Not even for a second, And probably that's why the pain persists.
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So many hands, But not a pair that can hold my grief for even a minute. So many hands, But not a pair that has touched my soul, in this lifetime. So many hands, But not a pair that can place understanding into my palms. . So many hands, But my
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And above all I am trying to be as kind as the universe, who gives me another chance everyday. So when the 18 year old biker makes a sharp turn, I don't curse him out - he is just gotten the vehicle, maybe he did not mean to
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Knowing I once liked being held in the warmth of a soul, they stitched me a raincoat, bright with impossible colors, so I may always be found, though I could have hidden beneath the bashful downpour of their own dry emotions. They come to me, sit beside me, crack open
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Closing my eyes, my memory reaches back. Lush green surrounds envelope my senses. Open fields caress the escarpment. Below, horses graze in giving paddocks. Everything smells like cut grass, the freshness of Spring. Protective trees sway as Jacaranda purple pulses in a light breeze. I remember picking citrus fruits on
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Cherished in tastebuds Everything from the mart shelves I bought happy sugar candies impromptu Too much salt seasoned the words Still the hunger for filling the pages Stringing those chords Though the air feels adventurous, crisp I am in need for the softness on lips And the assuring weight of
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If you are free later, maybe we can sit on the carpet Humming to each other the silent prayers We would listen to the silent voices and wishes of each other We would see each other as the eyes of one soul If I am free later, maybe I will
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A melancholic tribute to yester-self, A bygone tale of bejeweled grace, A trail of neural stretch marks left by the evolving thoughts, lingering echoes in corridors of what was once known as home, Soft imprints of hard earned labour of choices, Sting along the path of righteousness. A surreal path
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I keep falling and falling To depths unknown. The ground didn’t come, And I didn’t care either. I was just so overjoyed With the feeling of weightlessness. Nothing at all mattered, Nothing at all. I dropped onto the ocean. I felt I was still falling Until the ocean
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That has no where to go? How do I describe an aching that is part of my soul? I’m aching and I don’t know why The things that I‘ve forgotten, somehow stay I forget.. and still my heart will remember as long as it beats My soul