Poetry

Periodic Love

Flying, unimpressed by gravity, she soars
O’er the expanse of my heart and soul,
Dropping flower seeds as she passes:
A fleeting garden of beauty.

In Their Eyes

To learn about someone take a look in their eyes
For people hold their stories in a nook in their eyes.

No matter what their body says as they try to lie,
You can read the truth like a book in their eyes.

The soul flows through a window
Like a shimmering brook in their eyes.

I try in vain to cover the Lane in the mirror,
Unable to know what form I took in their eyes.

Constant Anger

Carefully cultivated fields and cities cover the crust
While just below rests a mantle on which cherry-picked
Flaws and fascinations sit, a trophy case of humanity;
Deeper still rots a simmering core of unknown power,
Feared by its owner and untouched by beauty.

Fear of Hope

Cracks in an egg let a baby bird peek through,
Scared and entranced by the waves of light;
Knowledge burns but a gentle flame resists,
Calling: “Come see the beauty.”

Fear of Desire

I crave it ‘till it’s there,
Hate it when I have it,
Push away once I’ve pulled.

Like needing heat to live
But never getting close enough
To touch for fear of burns.

Images playing behind my eyelids:
Soft hands (squeezing my heart until it bursts)
And a gentle smile (tearing my skin off with teeth of daggers)
That promises everything.

Faster

What happens if I work for it
And I sacrifice everything
And I watch my body fall apart
And I tape the pieces back together
And I run out of my prescriptions -
Faster and faster and faster -
And I let free my sanity
And I replace my soul with a clock
And I race against time -
Faster and faster and faster -
And I lose sight of my goal
And I stumble to a stop
And a look around and
Find myself alone with only
A mirror to keep me company?

Daily Courage

Eyes open and wish to close, always
Struggling towards dusk like a light on a hill;
From rise to set, a time of heroics
So far from the beauty of ease.

The Dark Side of Opportunity

My mom tells me, and I know she’s right,
“People would kill to have your choices.”

So many only have one path forward
But I cannot see my future: a gift.

It feels more like a burden most days, though;
Always a choice to make that will change my life.

I should be grateful, my story is a plethora
Of blank pages.

Sometimes I worry that, with all that freedom,
That book will stay as empty as the day it was made.

Shocking Wonder

My limbs are caught by a wave,
Hauling, dragging me to a moment
Of pure appreciation; a daily beauty
Never to go unnoticed again.

Philophobia

Why are some born with a manual to the heart

While I am trapped in a box of fear, can’t run,

Undeserving of the care I receive? Oh, how does one

Distribute love so freely; I don’t know where to start.

I fail each exam on this organ in my chest,

Not yet knowing if I desire to hand it to another;

How do I know your soul, the secrets you smother,

But lose myself with the feelings I’ve suppressed?

Exclusivity is not something I desire,

Communication is not a thing for which I am designed,

I am a mystery to my own mind;

I must learn on my own before we can transpire.

It’s deep inside, this hidden dread

That you’ll flee if you see inside my head.

Mixed

Born with a permanent tan and curls

A mix, blend, fused together

“You got the best of both, girl”

But claim never a tether.

My darkness is vexing to those paler faced 

But never dark enough to pay the price

Of acceptance…her beauty will stay misplaced,

Always a prayer unanswered twice.

No customs passed down from every generation

A family sliced by a societal line

If I follow their traditions, is it appropriation?

No other coffee-shaded hands to hold mine.
Does 50 from each give me connections,

Or 100% of all rejections?

Blossom

A wound and kiss I trust are one and same The difference is a slight line You maim then cry, I say “the fault is mine” Then wrap me in a hug of flame. “Enough” is now simply a losing game And my body, a piece of the puzzle I try, but my vigor is a puddle Oh why, your name is my lone claim to fame. Life’s a garden, mine is a lone flower Cut it, and I am left with a graveyard Where lost (and thieved) wishes and dreams lay tarred A momentous plummet down from power. Perhaps a field of buds is better then Just one, uncanny, near-perfect blossom.