Today I am many people
Today I am many people and many people are me Today I die and today I am reborn Time is the illusion And Now is all that exists I wake up breathing into many bodies Crying, smiling, mourning all simultaneously I am the beggar whose stomach aches I am the woman covered in jewels I am the child in an 18th century home I am an angel guiding departed souls The little girl’s skin is brown like...
I heard rumor I died today
I heard rumor I died today A friend phoned me after seeing Breaking News I wondered if she was thankful I was well Or if she thought she was talking to a ghost The news reports repeated my name and age Footage of coroners and sirens surrounding my body And my family calling everyone but me I roamed the streets knowing I fully existed Laughing all while the city clamored about my supposed death...
Darkness becomes the daylight hours
Darkness becomes the daylight hours I never thought it synonymous with dawn or noon There is no place to find my tears when my inner earth is composed of drylands Angel wings run from me as I chase them Or maybe they elude me I am trapped in the complexity of my own prison Worn from carrying a burden that feels like turmoil & bereavement within a rock weighing upon my chest My soul used to...
Words are the least reliable form of communication. I’m scared that when I’m in love, the poetry just won’t do. I’m afraid “I love you” has become so commonplace that I’ll just never say it. And nothing I ever do will accurately communicate the ocean of rapturous and beautiful love that dances in my soul for her.
I trace your body with the brushes of my fingers painting from the palette of colors I hold in my soul I’ll create a masterpiece upon a masterpiece Then I’ll place you in the tub and bathe you We’ll watch the colors flow down the drain so you can see as I do that nothing you put over your body will ever out shine what is naturally yours
Islands over, I feel the vast distance between us the palm trees are bittersweet symbols The way we used to lie under them kissing as we hid from the sun Thinking of those memories is such an arduous dealing And yet I keep them with me like dead flowers in a container of water Such a withered beauty Only the thorns remain Sometimes I allow their blades to pierce my fingers and then I wash away the...
These tender hours are by far the most precious
These tender hours are by far the most precious. I have turned the stone over, never finding my secrets. Never finding my identity. I stood over the well in anticipation that my reflection would have something to tell me. I rendered nature useless after that. Yet these hours are by far the most precious. Caught in the hours between a second of eternity, I have all the time I need to find my...