Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Little Green House

I miss you, and the memories you helped me make
When we constructed our little cardboard house and I painted it half green, just for you

Your horse lived in our backyard, buddied up with the toxic waste donkey
Before it puttered off to the unicorn paddock
We admired other homes, the bakery, the fact that overnight the empty lots turned into
Upbeat homesteads.

I built furniture and you were the postwoman
Delivering important messages from house to house
I sent you love notes, which you redundantly picked up and subsequently delivered to our own little house before opening them
We walked the streets of our perfect city, admiring the view, and then
The sun set that final day and it was dismantled, taken down
And too soon, we became just me.

I still have our house, although I guess I live in it alone now
The empty postbox on the side
Dusty furniture on the deck
And the paint still green like
The weeds that grew in my heart
After you left.

Quicksand (a haiku)

I’m drowning in the

Quicksand that filled my lungs when

You whispered ‘goodbye.’


Daddy, look at me.

I am not your mistake, I am what you mistook
When you forced mommy down to the bed and didn’t even know her name.

Daddy, look at me.
They say, I have your eyes and smile.
Is that why you can’t bear to gaze into my face? Because you’ll see yours?

Daddy, look at me.
I am what you created, in a moment of anger
In a moment of rage and lust
I am from cursing, I am from blood and sweat and piercing cries
I am from you,
Double gift to mommy and me

Daddy, look at me,
Come for me in the night
When the monsters under the bed grasp at my ankles
Come running for me when I cry in fright
When the monsters whisper your name

Daddy, look at me,
I’m here, I’m what you wanted when you were little, like me
Scant five years old and dreaming, dreaming of your own family
Promising baby-dolls you’d never hit them like your daddy did
Naming them after your favourite flowers

Daddy, look at me,
I’ll be your Daisy, I’ll open up my petals and let you in
I’ll let you buzz around me like a honey-drunk bumblebee
If you promise to stop plucking my petals
If you promise to stop trying to rip out my roots because you’re ashamed to be in them
If you promise to stop trying to block out the sun.

Daddy, look at me
Not with fury and breath like whiskey,
With vengeance in your eyes at the child that did nothing, and the mother who said nothing
And the soft blue eyes that were yours looking out at you,
Just begging to be held by you,
Just begging to be loved by you.

Daddy, look at me
I am from, you. Your past gift to the present,
The baby nobody wanted but sacrificed for anyway
I am from blood, sweat and piercing cries,
I am from you, daddy.
Look at me.

Pink Underwear

Tired of walking down the street and
Being stereotyped even when you try your best not to conform, and not even in the hipster way
Where everything but breathing is too mainstream, but more in the way that
No matter how you wear your hair or the colour of your skin or the brand of your clothing
You are what the people say you are until you dare to stand up and say you’re not
And there are few in this day and age so brave.
I haven’t much to say today but, when it comes to mind,
I know for a fact I’m not what I seem
And I doubt you are, or you, or you,

I know that just because someone wears Ed Hardy clothing doesn’t automatically make them a douche,
Just like I know wearing your hair in a ponytail doesn’t automatically make you a pony.

It’s simply a matter of convenience that most of the people that call me a fag, muffdiver or carpetmuncher happen to be wearing Ed Hardy at the time,
Although really, when you’re wearing something more bejeweled than the Queen’s crown, you shouldn’t be calling other people faeries.

Tired of walking everywhere and being called a dyke because
I favour loose clothing and an androgynous look, doesn’t mean I’m gay
I mean, don’t get me wrong, because I am gay,
But I don’t need a horde of Captain Obviouses pointing it out day after day.
I don’t need beer cans thrown at me, I don’t need to be spat on,
I don’t need to have the gay groped out of me
I don’t want to be a man, I don’t wish I had a dick,
I certainly don’t wish I had your dick,
And no, your dick will not change my mind.

My favourite activities are not dirtbiking, fixing cars and stealing your girlfriend and/or wife and/or daughter (though that last one’s happened one or two times)
My life does not revolve around my sexuality. I don’t read every gay book in the library just like I don’t watch the L Word every night.
I don’t call them gay rights, because where I live they’re just called rights
Same with marriage, I don’t have to jump through more than eleven hundred extra hoops to be considered ‘equal.’
I didn’t wake up this morning and have ‘gay breakfast,’ the fact that fruit loops are rainbow and fruity has nothing to do with why I like them
I also don’t hang around the Drive simply because of the vegan fare and lesbians, the latter of the two is simply an added bonus.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, no matter how much you can claim to know about me from one glance, you simply can’t judge me right on how I look
Because, face it, you can’t tell a book by it’s cover

And here’s a little secret, between you and me,
I’m wearing pink underwear.

City lights

As i'm looking out my window, i see these city lights
Twinkling, real pretty like.
This neat-o shimmer like stars on water in the middle of the night
When your laughter and my laughter become one and
Caress the moonlight.
I think about science class
grade ten
Crusty old teacher 'hum-hum'-ing as the disobedient students
Throw spitballs back and forth and carve mementos into desktops
But never Sally the geek because she knows everything and will grow up to be
The next Einstein.
Grade ten science class
Where they taught me that lights don't glitter and stars
Don't shimmer
It's just the pollution in the atmosphere.
And, well, i think the pollution gave me some magic when i was ignorant
And maybe ignorance is ignorance but it's also
Bliss to not have to worry or wonder
If the stars would shimmer without 'global warming'
Or if the city would still flicker and glow outside my window
Or if they would both just be, still, like a rock or
Breath caught in surprise.
Bliss to not have to think about all the little things
Like 'is it safe to climb that tree, or will i get a rash'
Or 'can i go out without shoes, or will i step on glass'
Because life is no adventure without ignorance and injury.
Yeah, maybe i learned things that mattered but
When it gets right down to it, i don't particularly care if the Earth revolves around the Sun
(truth be told, mum always said i acted like it revolved around me)
I don't really care if the Earth is round or flat, so off the edge i might run
If i'm not careful.
All i really care to learn
Are the lines and shadows your body makes
Silhouetted against the night sky and city line
Where heaven meets concrete jungle
Where the pollution of love and life and happiness makes the lights sparkle
And we put ripples in the water
With our laughter.

There is me

There is me.. and you.
Like there was sky before earth but without earth, there is no sky. We are here, and were here before we knew we were us.

We’ve walked the same paths like
Summers are hot and dry
Spring leaves rain to cry

Winters are always winters but slightly different every year
And snowflakes are all snowflakes but always far and never near
Like a snowflake, I melt around you
And as frosted air you put me back together again.

There is distance between what life is and what living is
And honestly what good is life without having lived because
Everybody dies but not everybody lives.
Like a plant without water and the earth without sky and
Heart without beat
This is you, without me.

What you do speaks so loud I cannot hear what you say.
And before you open your mouth again, to tell me where I’m going
And to tell me that you’re leaving to find yourself, I just want to mention
Not all who wander are lost.

I'm Sorry

In my world, insanity is discouraged.

There is currently a bigass line between what’s right and what’s wrong, and ‘sane’ and ‘insane’ are on opposite sides.

On the right-hand side you have things like, religion. Or structured family values, heteronormative society, and women being docile and making sandwiches (generally, being the female in the boy-girl relationship that has been stripped of its cooties).

On the wrong side, is everything else.

And if it’s wrong, it’s my fault. So I’ve assembled a little list of my faults and how sorry I should be of them!

1. There is no controllable reason behind mental illness, it’s just there… But if I have it, it’s my fault. It’s just like cancer or skin colour, it’s a choice. So, I’m sorry for having depression.

2. I’m not particularly religious. I don’t care to know that I’m going to hell for eating pork or going out on Sundays or because I don’t believe in malicious skygods and I do believe in aliens. So, I’m sorry for having a different (but not less valid) opinion.

3. I have bad tan lines. So, I’m sorry for removing my shirt and confusing people who can’t figure out where my bra strap went.

4. I swear. Like, a lot. So, if there are any minors in the room, watch and learn. Now, repeat after me, everybody: ‘fuck, fucking, fucked,’ ‘fuckity fucking fucker.’ So, I guess I’m sorry for that, too.

5. I’m gayer than Richard Simmons, but less in the spandex from head-to-toe kind of way and more in the raging dyke homo lesbian kind of way. So, I’m sorry for corrupting the minds of your young children and making my Barbies fall in love with each other.

6. I take care of society and the people it’s left behind. So I’m sorry for trying to shelter homeless youth, I’m sorry for taking random strangers out for lunch and I’m very, VERY sorry for giving out those free hugs on Granville every week. I just don’t know what came over me.

7. I smile at people. So, I’m sorry for breaking the fourth wall.

8. I give up my seat on the bus/skytrain for those who need it more. This includes the elderly, injured, special needs and children. This does NOT include gangstas who need to put up their feet or take a separate seat for their sagging pants. Being a moron is not a legal disability. So, I’m sorry for being considerate.

9. I don’t take shit from people, so if you walk by me and my friends on the street and call us faggots you bet I’m going to whip around and hurl the nearest conveniently placed beverage at your sorry ass. So, I’m sorry for standing up for myself and others.

Finally, number 10. I apologize when I make mistakes.

You know, I’m actually sorry for a lot, but now that I think about it... I’m not sorry for being insane. I’m sorry that I felt like I had to conform for so long.

Kids, take another lesson. The next time someone tells you you’re not normal, you just tell them,

‘Fuck you, and fuck your normalcies.’

The insane have more fun anyway!

So, I’m not sorry I’m insane. I’m sorry you’re not.

the things I never said.

All the things I never said.
They hung empty in my mind moments after the space between ‘it feels like you don’t love me anymore’ and her crocodile tears.

I never said.
I never said, how she made me feel when she shook me like an angry mother trying to silence her crying child
I never said, yes, you’re hurting me.
I never said no, I don’t think I’m in the mood.
I never said, this is my body and this is my choice.
I never said I didn’t need her.

When a week had passed I found out that, behind my back, she had been relentlessly throwing my name around, telling people I dumped her because she was fat and I found someone skinnier to fuck.

That’s brutal enough as it is. But the lie didn’t hurt as much as the accusation that someone who was struggling to recover from anorexia herself had called someone else fat.

I always said.
I always said yes, you are beautiful
I always said I didn’t care what anyone else said or thought about her, I thought, I KNEW she was fine the way she was
I always said yes, it’s fine, because I wouldn’t deny her the thing that made her feel wanted.
I always said I loved her.

That night I looked into her and realized I no longer felt her pain was the night I knew she was lying just to use me. Maybe she didn’t even realize it herself but something tells me you don’t unconditionally love someone and then slap ‘but I can’t just be your friend’ on it.

Something tells me that when I told her I couldn’t have sex because I was trying to finally get over being molested and she said ‘what about my needs,’ she didn’t think twice about mine.

All the things I never said.

I never said, I don’t need to be black and blue until I realize I don’t love you but
Hey, it sure ended up working out that way.

I tried to keep my cool when you told me I didn’t understand how it felt to lose a loved one to cancer, even though barely two years before I had to bury the best musician i had ever known, and he was fourteen. His body was left so ravaged by it we all hailed him as a hero for not begging to die and still putting his hollow, bony fingers to his guitar strings one last time.

I never said, fuck you.

I said, I’m leaving.

The Path of Least Resistance

With you, i will learn. i will learn that, when your mouth opens,
Only loving words will fall from your lips
your voice over the phone harbours no grating accusations, only
gentle words, kind murmurs.
i will learn that, when you smile,
it will not be followed by a snide remark
Or sarcasm, uncalled for at best or
purposefully, badly aimed at worst.
It will be a smile, only that, with
lips gently curving at the edges and maybe
dazzling snow-white teeth just peeking out.
i will learn that, when you hold out your hand,
it will not be aimed to strike, shake or threaten.
You will be there to pick me up when i have fallen
in stead of leaving me there, in the dust.
i will learn that there is unconditional love,
when one of us says 'i need time' the other holds no fear,
only for the other's wellbeing,
makes no selfish demands to uphold the relationship that falters,
for even marathon runners need breaks every once and a while, you know?
i will learn that we are like electricity,
making each other's skin go goose-bumpy upon the faintest touch
and static flickers of 'I LOVE YOU' burned into our brains
When we smile sheepishly at each other,
our fingers chasing each other around the saltshaker on the table
until one of us is finally caught, and gently cradled.
like electricity, this is love,
unexpected and magical, shocking sometimes, illuminating at others,
forever empowered by lightning storms, water and wind,
and always taking the path of least resistance.


Hands are funny things.

They’re more like an emotion than a body part. Not in the sense that you can say

“Well, I really feel hand today,” or “I’m a bit too hand, maybe later” or “I’m so hand right now I could clench these fingers into a fist and give you a knuckle handwich!”

Hands are like… Leaves, on a tree.

No, no, they’re like rays from the sun

No, wait, they’re like.. They’re like poetry, in motion. They are a language in themselves, an ethnicity we carry unbeknownst to ourselves, a bit of a universal language

Where this (wave) means hi, and this (middle finger) means fuck you and this (thumbs up) means either good job or ‘I’m hitchhiking and can somebody please take me to Alberta.’

Other hand signals aren’t so clear, like the frantic panic-wave (panic wave) that can mean anything from ‘ew, who cut one’ to ‘oh my god, a wasp/bee/conservative!’

And there’s my personal favourite. The hide.

I use it a lot. I used to use it to cover my nose when I laughed, because I had the unfortunate habit of snorting. Then I used it to cover my mouth when I smiled because an obnoxious prat from high school told me I had crooked chipmunk teeth. Now I use it to hide behind when I see you walking up to me, because I know the look on my face says more than I ever will. The look that you can’t control because, when you look at someone and your soul speaks the words ‘oh, there you are,’ you can’t control your face anymore. When your heart beats so hard and fast you know if you didn’t have a ribcage holding it in, it already would have jumped into the other person’s arms.

I cover it when I’m with you and am suddenly taken with the thought of a world without you, because I’ve never thought that about anyone else and felt like I’ve been kicked in the chest.

I cover it when it’s just us, you and I, and I’ve had too much to drink and you’re getting there, too, and if I don’t stuff my hand in my mouth I know I’ll say something foolish. True, but foolish. Those words are one and the same for me, most of the time

Because I know that telling you I miss you might be true but is definitely foolish.

Hands.. are funny things. They’re vessels of feeling, when there is no word to describe your anger or frustration or compassion. They create emotional sounds of silence, from an angry fist shake, to a sad wave, to outstretched arms that say

‘I’m here. Come get me.’

I love you.

I love the way you tend to smile at children as they walk by.

I love the way you hold onto me when we ride the skytrain and there aren’t any seats and you don’t want me to fall for anything but you, not even gravity.
I love the way you chase after leaves and feathers and snowflakes when they fall from the sky, gently putting an end to their downward spiral motion to show me every vein, tassle and pattern.
I love the way you smell like coffee, rain on sidewalks, lightning and thunder, strawberry shampoo, cologne and happiness.
I love the way you joke with me about anything from politics to obscure books to hipsters.
I love the way you make my hair stand on end.
I love the way you smile, it’s like turning on a light in a dark room
like the way the world illuminates when the clouds uncover the moon and stars,
like a thousand little suns hide behind your teeth and explode into the world, all at once,
like a supernova.
I love the way you don’t get angry when I have a bad day,
and the way you take care of me when I’m sick.
I love the way you’ll hold my hand when you know I need it most.
I love the way you feel, when you’re close to me. Warm, like home.
I love your eyes like two little orbs, deeper than their volume with everything in the world.
I love the way you can make daisy chains, climb trees and watch clouds,
just like I love the way you can fix my bike chain, wrestle with me and stand up to the bad guys.
I love the way you’re soft, but also tough.
I love the way you laugh, and the way it makes me laugh, too.
And most of all, I love how I don’t even know you yet.
I don’t know your name, your face, your number.
I don’t know where you are or where you will be or where you have been.
All I know, is I love you.
And I’m here.
Come find me.

There were five (prose starter)

There were five.

The sky was immeasureably dark. Darker than the bitch black of charred concrete and wood, all that remained of what used to be the world. Darker, even, than oil, the black aqueous substance that poured from the Earth where man cut it open. The landscape was desolate and bare. Jagged wrecks of buildings stood crumbling, some still smoldering with the broken windows glowing faintly like the sunrise just beginning to tint the horizon. The screaming had stopped a long time ago; it was many days since the ruin and anyone left trapped underneath the fallen cities had succumbed to the either their injuried or lack of water. A single figure walked down what used to be a central boulevard of the great city, silhouetted by the rising sun. He surveyed the damage around him almost calmly, for he had adjusted to the shock of his new hellish world very quickly. He had to; this kind of disaster left no room for mourning or shock. You either adapted or died. He cupped his hands around his mouth and drew a deep breath.


The shout reverberated off of the empty debris. He wasn’t expecting a reply and thought the sudden movement in the shadow of a fallen building was simply a trick pulled by his dehydrated mind. He squinted.

“Who’s there?” he said loudly, his voice cracking. He was nearly shouted out, his voice raw from twelve days of searching for survivors. He had wandered very far; he wasn’t entirely sure if this was even his original city. Stepping over debris, he made his way to where he saw the movement. He didn’t believe his eyes when he realized it was no mirage or fever dream, but another person looking back out at him from what used to be a fast food drive-through. He barely breathed as the other stepped out of the shadow and into the orange tint of morning sun. It was a girl; dressed in ragged jeans and what looked like a dress shirt, though it was streaked in dirt and blood.

She watches

At the edge of a cliff, she stands. Seabirds crouching below her in the tight-lipped caves,
Caverns that pockmark the hounded rock,
Receeding, pushed back and broken..
Bleeding rust and dew.

Daresay i, 'she looks like a windblown tree, softly
Swaying with the zephyrs on the clifftop, the clifftop barren,
Blank slate except the windblown tree is she.'

She watches, she watches the world fade away,
Abstractly obscured by the mist from breakers clashing,
Vapours chasing through the air, locked
In position as a windblown tree.

Tell again, 'she is no tree, she's a people,
Player in a play, only herself,
Head of the set with her hair all splayed out,
Octagonal sunset marred by blurry starlight.'

She watches, she watches as the seabirds fall,
Flicker through the sunset's beams.
Broken, bleeding rust and dew,
Daunting tasks; she's hesitating.

Heavy-hearted, she sighs, 'Yes, i watch,
Watch and wait for the sun to fall,
Flighty darkness to settle down quickly,
Quietly, so that sooner than later,
Lest time creep up and back me down, I can
Cast myself over this cliff,
Carry past the caverns and coughing birds,
Blanch and bleed on the rocks below while
Waiting waves carry me away.'


There's this girl i know.
She hates herself.

She whispers into my ears how she's ugly,
So imperfect and putrid, and can never love
Or be loved.

She holds back her tears as she shatters another mirror
And cuts herself deeper,
Wishing she had the courage to just end it because, face it,
The world would be better without her.

I'm trying to reach out to her,
Pull her back and around and say 'you're so wrong, so wrong,'
Tell her 'you are beautiful,' and hold her tightly
Never let her go, because i fear if i do i'll lose her.

She shakes me off, shuts her mind off to the
Positives of herself and focuses on negatives.
Others can't find them at all, even with a trained dog,
But she picks them out expertly and whittles away.

'So, so bulbous,' she mutters sickened,
'So weak and flabby, so scarred and blotchy,'
'Wrong,' i try to tell her.
'Strong and fierce, beauty personified.'

She turns around and glares at me, searching me,
Looking into our eyes and touching our lips,
Our face, our bare skin, tracing
Laces of scars and thin bones.

'No,' she murmurs. 'That is you.'
I smash my mirror and the beautiful girl is gone.


Those windchimes, outside my window They've been singing, nonstop.

It's a song i know the melody to but i don't have the words
Only a memory, an echo of what they should have been
Or what they used to be.
I told you, one day, i wouldn't leave
I said i wouldn't leave you
I didn't leave you.
I left... i left someone else; i left them, because i did not make my promise
To a dark-hearted jackass

Metaphors describing others not unlike yourself as bulbous grey savannah animals with great trunks
Screaming with your hands as things flew in fear away from your angry feet.
All, all my fault, all of it
I didn't love, didn't love enough to know, every moment, every feeling and future thought
I am the causer of hurt.

The windchimes are singing more
Told me; 'girl, there's a future beyond this'
And must be, because they chime without wind, in my cold basement room
Dancing with feathery gusts from the past or future, and i know they know.
The zephyrs that whisper between hollow metal tubes are laden light with history
And her story
Which became part of my story.

Summer days... became fall haze.
Became winter daze, clouds falling around my head as snow should have from the sky
(though, it was a warm winter)
And i sat many nights in my room, arms around my pillow, back pressed to three more and pretending it was her heat that warmed me
Not the cold concrete wall.
I cried. Harsh, old, lonely, exasperated, hurt tears. She never saw them, or if she did,
They went mentally unseen, blocked from mind and soul by anger at nothing.
Nothing at all, it was just there. The anger.

The chime still singing, bearing a faint promise like
April showers bring May flowers.
What happens if it doesn't rain in April, do the flowers never bloom?
If the flowers, never blooming, do not open up and expose
Yellow pollen-rich innards bright like little suns,
Does everything connected, six degrees apart, die?
Does everything just stop?

Our showers, they never came,
The sun never became unclouded but the dark, looming mass of sky never lifted from my head all that winter
Dark, thunderous words shook me
Wounded me, sent me retreating or, worse, to her rescue. I had no time to rescue me.
It was on my head if i should fail her.

I did fail her. I failed her by fighting back.
My cloudcover was breaking, and an oppressed sun behind it stood waiting
Angry, flaring.
Solar tapers bristling at the thought of being shut away again
And the chimes, they went mad now as the sun blew a hot wind at the cloudcover and sent it
Scuttling away, like a frightened spider.

The sun, my sun, it burned bitterly, and caught her off guard when the usual placid partner
Became just as hot in her retorts. She didn't know
What to do, and the pattern continued to break
Because in this dance i had entered a new step she had not counted on.
I held the sun in my chest, below my heart
The effervescent warmth billowing my heart like a sail,
Filling as many cracks as it could,
Carrying me up past the remaining clouds that again threatened to block me out.

I evolved, then,
Drew out from beneath my shaking hands and confronted hers
Then, just as suddenly, possibly in the middle of another fruitless defense, i left.
Left behind the needless anger, the clouds
The items fleeing from her angry feet
And walked out, into the daylight,
To stand beneath the windchimes
And sing about the future.

Pretty little blue-eyed girl

There was a time

A while ago
Where all i knew was pain,
But then i met a baby girl
And was never quite the same.
I thought that once upon a time
I'd find no happy end,
But after i had met you, girl,
I'd never be the same again, no,
I'd never be the same again.
Pretty little blue eyed girl, with your hands in finger paint,
pretty little blue eyed girl, with your dress of colours faint,
I see the future in your eyes
And right before the big suprise
You know everything'll be alright, yes,
Everything'll be alright

With your brightly coloured paper you
Draw me a butterfly
With cobwebs made of dewdrops and a
Vibrant magenta sky, o-oh,
Little blue-eyed angel,
Little blue-eyed maid,
You're a virgin to the wo-orld and
There ain't no other way.

Pretty little blue eyed girl, with your pos-ture so sad,
pretty little blue eyed girl, with your tear-stain'd dress of plaid,
I see the future in your eyes
And right before the big suprise
You know everything'll be alright, yes,
Everything'll be alright

In the darklight of your room,
The shadows become monsters
But i'll scare away the gloom
With my torch of magic light,
Pretty little blue eyed girl, why don't you
Draw me a lovely picture,
Heaven beneath the blue moon and
A sun below the water.
Pretty little blue eyed girl, why don't you
Make me a bracelet,
I'll carry it around my wrist and it'll
take you everywhere, oh,
Carry it around my wrist and i will
Take you everywhere.

Pretty little blue eyed girl, with your hair blowin in the wind,
pretty little blue eyed girl, with your face taken by a grin,
I see the future in your eyes
And right before the big suprise
You know everything'll be alright, yes,
Everything'll be alright
You know everything'll be alright, yes,
Everything'll be alright.

The Meaning of Life

I've discovered the meaning of life.

It's the air between raindrops,
The little bubbles in frozen water,
The echoes of silent shadows.
It's the scent of new roses,
Old moss and creeping ivy.
It's the colour of the sky when you can't tell if it's sunrise
Or sunset.

It's the thrill of the chase
For the one you need.
It's the taste of spring, summer and fall combined,
Dusted with winter.
It's the pitted feeling you get when you
Lose someone.
It's the suprise tear that rolls down your cheek when you promised
You wouldn't cry.

It's the warm embrace of the unexpected sun,
And the cool nuzzle of a soft breeze,
It's in the afterglow of life leaving a body
And the cry of a newborn.

It carries on,
Transcending time, space and nothing
All at once.
Varying in a million different ways, but still the same
Just like people.

I've found the meaning of life;
It has no tricks,
No lies,
No veils of deciet,
It is what it is...
And that's why so many people miss it.


you're lonely, aren't you? So am i.
You haven't anyone to talk to, but so many stories to share.
From the rise and fall of empires
to the soft sounds of breaking hearts.
Some believe you hold too much, and are
polluted by your burdens,
but i wish you were solid.

with your transparent memory,
none can see you; your mind
more vast than any desert and yet
full and expanding with the echoes of life.
Oh, how i wish you would come
out of shadows.
I know you follow me, everywhere. You listen
to the music i play for an empty house,
you hear my panicked thoughts,
you're there, always, listening with your infinite life.

do you love me?
Have you fallen for me yet?
You know the most about me,
how i feel anger for the unstoppable,
How i often wonder, if you opened your coffers,
if the world would be in chaos.
All the secrets given out like
flowers on Valentines.
Lovers in shambles and
Conspiracies confirmed.

Silence, fall in love with me, i implore you,
hold solid with the secrets you grow,
for my final code in confidence
is only yours to know.

Mildly frusterating

Why can't i copy-paste my poetry here..?