Burning from behind the walls of an Antarctic glacier,

Stranded, yelling for the aid of a distant, passing sailor.

Underwater cyclones circling ‘round & ‘round, 

Ears filled with strange noises like a heartbeat from an ultrasound.

Woeful waters of the inner-directed,

Inspiring the self-reflective.

An illusory ruminant,

Living off of sentiment,

But lately more saturnine than starry-eyed. 

Lost, without a compass, as impulsive as the tide. 

Misplaced sanguine,

Tuning out, when I should be tuning in.

It all blends together in contradiction,

Is this experience a recollection, an observation, or a premonition? 

Weighing the scales of what aspects of my mind are credible,

Because apparently being pragmatical is acceptable,

And you must put on the strait jacket of being completely objective,

In lieu of slipping into something a little more subjective.

The rest of the world screams to push down thoughts of pure emotion,

As I cry & hide my heart’s love potions, quietly holding onto devotion.

But every night I dream of the sunrise, 

The incandescent passion within that still underlies,

And the sleepy euphoria of being moonstruck in the astral A.M..

Then, I finally remember what it’s like to be me again.

I’m learning the value in being raw & forthwith,

Because life on earth is futile, so we might as well make a moment of it.


Beauty Of Honesty

I slept with woolen socks on my feet,

And a morning dove came to visit my dreams.

Feeling the hummings of the most peaceful of frequencies within me glow,

Like a shaft of sunlight coming through a window,

Illuminating a lace curtain hem like a blushing bride’s veil,

Melting heart- as soft & sensitive as the skin underneath my fingernail,

Drawn like a moth to a flame,

Hoping someone feels the same.

Happiness is the crutch we all lean on,

It brings comfort, like chamomile flowers bring the calm.

So when felicity comes in a sudden rush,

Cheeks tenderly flush.

Vision gets pixelated,

When gazes become fixated.

Eyes grow as big as the harvest moon. 

Souls matching each other’s tunes.

Humans need connection,

Like a bird needs direction.

Not used to the concept of sharing what’s on my mind,

Never thought speaking could be effortless & unconfined.

But now, I don’t think I’ll ever run out of words,

Even though they may be candid & absurd.

All these poems woven like spiderweb strands,

The meticulous works of my hands,

Like the lyrics of my favorite songs, they reveal pieces of me,

The ups & downs that few get to see.

And unlike the changing leaves of fall,

Despite the cold days, the love in my heart won’t change at all.

Simple Wish

Will you meet me in the morning light, 

Under the old climbing tree?

Will you run with me in the golden hour,

Through the quiet flowing field?

Will you sit with me when the moon lights up the sky,

On the creaky front porch swing?

Will you watch the sun set with me,

In the soft green grass?

Will you laugh with me when we see our breath,

In the bitter winter air?

Will you stargaze with me, while music plays,

All through the introspective night?

Will you drive with me, with windows down,

Past the roadside wildflowers?

Will you talk with me, while we ponder life,

Perched atop the old wood fence?

Will you sway with me, when the breeze blows,

Up high on these windy hills?

Will you dance with me, in the falling rain,

While thunder rolls in the distance?

Will you cloud watch with me, from the rooftop,

While the sky is crisp & blue?

Will you walk barefoot with me, along the creek bed,

After a picnic on the bank?

Will you follow me down unknown paths,

Onwards to a new adventure? 

Will you love me, in these simple ways,

While we live in the moment every day?

It’s Okay To Be Gentle

I outreach my palm and grasp for a feeling of warmth,

But wrapped around my shaking hand is nothing but cold, stale air.

Fingers tracing the lines of veins, 

Like feet walking along driftwood.

But I stain my fingertips with dried blood.

And cover the pads of my feet in splinters.

Everything leaves its mark.

Living like canvases,

While life splatters it’s shades of light & dark on our skin.

Caught between a harsh stone grey & cloud white.

My life sketched in charcoal, 

Things like my depression, progression, & expression all written in ink. 

Like I said, everything leaves its mark.

So many moments folding gracefully like an origami crane, 

Beautiful for a second,

Then unfolding back to the dull form of a two-dimensional plane.

I’ve been blessed & cursed with an artist’s mind,

I can only see things differently.

All lines are blurry, all perceptions are abstract & easily skewed.

Everything leaves me feeling.

Feeling too much, too deep.

I experience life too vividly.

I had a dream that someone told me that I loved too much- that I shouldn’t feel things in explosions.

They said I was naive & gullible,

And these words cut so deeply,

Knowing that it is partly true from their outward perspective.

Knowing that’s the impression my gentle spirit tends to give. 

But I’m tired of being played for a fool,

In turn making me play myself for a fool.

If they only knew what goes on in my head,

If they only knew the depths of my oceans.

They only see the surface,

But I see the whole world at the bottom of my coffee cup.

They live their lives, numbly.

But sometimes I feel the sunset so deeply,

I want to kiss the sky.

I hold a universe inside that they’ll never get the chance to know,

For they only see scattered lines on a page & not the picture the lines make up,

They don’t see the story behind it all.

Just because I don’t say much,

Doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.

Just because I’m quiet,

Doesn’t mean my mind is quiet too.

I am like a paper airplane,

And their judgements are like paper weights,

At times they bring me down,

They try to convince me I was never meant to fly,

Because I am not sturdy & strong,

But I will show them that I can still soar with gentle grace.

I don’t need fury & force to navigate these stormy skies.

I turn to the whistling wind & a sky full of charted stars,

To help guide me through the turbulent currents.

As I fly far above the loveless world,

Covered in the traces that life left behind.

Even though I tread on in softness,

I am not naive & gullible.

I don’t love too much.

And my feelings, though different, are just as valid as your’s.

So give me the respect & compassion that I deserve,

Because, after all, I’m a human too.


One year older, today.

An existence no longer spent counting the months until happier days,

More like counting the months since happier days.

Life full of labels–

Time being one of the many.

An infinite, constant element,

Confined by the restraints we, mere humans, put on it.

No wonder mankind can’t grasp the concept of unlimited,

No wonder we don’t understand forever,

No wonder we fear the unexpected,

When we go around trying to control things as vast & boundless as time & space.

Pigment Of My Imagination 

Sleepy breath getting softer,

Warm thoughts disperse like watercolor paint on damp paper.

Tones & hues move with ease on the blank page,

Like how honey soaked sentiments flow naturally from crooked smiles.

Lovely memories replay in ultraviolet hyperdrive.

Everything gets a little bit brighter,

Until it all shines like marquee lights & shooting stars.

Looking gently through the blushing blue,

Squinting tired eyes, trying to make out the dancing shapes behind the sunset tinted haze of the morning–

Like watching a shadow puppet show through indigo dyed sheets,

Watching for the shadows of feet under the door–

Listening for a velveteen step down the hallway.

The buttery bliss of detaching, catching you off guard,

Like catching the faint fragrance of lilac blossoms in the springtime breeze.

Graced & comforted by the serenity of effervescent feelings for a fading moment.

Yet, it’s all a means to an end,

Until the dawn kidnaps you from that dreamy landscape,

Waking you from the lush gardens of your mind,

Pulling you back into the simplicity of the ordinary.