Breath is a catapult
for love

You will break
the glassy heart I keep
you in

You give too much
for people who are vessels for death

Become a breathing boat
between an ocean of unbreathing
bodies

Broken at the smallest
touch

I am not a phrase
Some are
not me

Some things need bigger vessels
dreams
they are not death


 

The picture frame of her life
is a hut of wooden structure.
Fragile in its ways of humble.
Abstract light washes her face in mo(u)rning.
Hoping like all others to cleanse it of her past.,
so filth might not encounter
her in this next journey.

Miracles do not fall down from the sky,
except for rain and maybe dead birds.
Grass does not grow for nothing,
trees do not bend at will to tell you that you might perhaps steal
pair of shoes for the ones your feet adorn now are of earth's surface.

Homes are not built with impatience.
Only hope and something ten times
stronger which name eludes me.
Still, sun glow races rain clouds across
the new morning bird screams and dew dainties.
Home is something you find pieces of everywhere
and fit together like puzzle cuts.

Homes take time.
They take time you need
and waste it on getting to know your deep sorrows and hurts.

Briefly, before you close your eyes,
take a moment from the moment box of forgotten items.
listen to your moment, adopt it.
moments need home, we all need homes.
moments breathe inhales and swallow exhales.
sometimes you will forget moments...
try not to, try to embellish moments, make them a hand to hold.
encircle them in your forgiveness.
all can be hurt, but not all can be put back together.
sometimes things will break so badly they can never be found again.
instead, we replace them ignoring the black hole where they used to be.
it's OK to feel ashamed, this is a shameful thing...
moments can hurt you, and you can hurt them. moments are also painful,
sometimes they will spill their misery onto your back,
forcing you to carry a burden you might not wish to uplift...
it is OK not to take this cargo of hurt. your moments can learn to carry their strength.

Heartbeats echo loss like a marching bands drum,
bum bump bum bump.
Something other then breath tells me to breathe.
I wonder what this would sound like if I didn't say wonder.
would I might not think of wonder?
No, that's not true, I would.
Why should I bring life to someone who renounces it?
Stop thinking like that, I know I would anyway.
Something does not need wonder...
NoNoNo, you. are. a. terrible. liar.
We all need wonder, otherwise this world would not exist.



 

I need clean water. I need fresh air.
I need green forests. I need the animals,
bounding across this thought and into the next.
We are losing it all. every breeze of purity,
every branch of peace, every deep ocean of truth.
You may not hear their voices now,
but once they are gone... they will haunt you...
ghosts of the past could be ghosts of the present.
I need a home. I need to live my life as all people should,
just how they want. Don't click the cancel button on my future.
I deserve (just like everyone else on this planet) a fair chance at life.
Be wary of this hot, hot fever, it will infect.
 

Word play,
old records spun to dissolving.
Creatures shooting up
from the soil of my mouth.
Trying to pry their way out until
I let free the dam and it floods the page.
Becoming more ink then reason.
You see, you don't choose the words,
the words choose you.

 

I can imagine your heartbeat growing faster,
I can imagine your body pulling toward mine.
We are magnets shifting closer.
I can imagine warm hands crawling over my own,
I can imagine barely breathing as arms entangle.
stop, you do not have to imagine, this is the realty tugging
at your shirt, wanting you closer, lips breathing into lips.
Whispers are tossed at our heat, I stomp them out.
like little annoying ants swarming around our feet.
We are so tight, no regrets could wiggle between us.
Magnets belong together...



 

Do not wake the dragon, she roars with a fiery passion
thy cannot defeat with a simple sword and shield.
She burns hotter then the sun,
lights the darkness clawing at your door.
The dragon is angry, the fire and flame her home.
Thy flood of careless apologies cannot put her out.
You cannot slay this dragon for to hell thy will rest.
Best not wake the dragon but best be on thy way.

 

Bubbles through water
splashing up against the sides of the tub
soap frames the inside
of the slippery walls
sloshing kaslooping rushing
back and forth foaming toward freedom
body nestled in nicks and crannies of water
scorching scalding scolding
hot water breathing up against my blotchy legs
lava pain washes over attention
like the water to the sides of the bathtub
my feet scream hurried between
the pain of cold and hot
leave the volcano
I pop the bubbles cling to my rashy arms and thighs
blop blip blop they fall back into air

I started writing two years ago, and it happened completely by coincidence. I began my writing career just days after an emergency surgery, the fragile thought that if I didn't have surgery, none of this would've existed. Everything I've wrote gone. a speck of dust easily blown away. a few days after I had returned home I began my classes and homeschooling activities again. One of them was a writing group, the only thing we did that day was write one single poem and workshop it. That was the first poem I ever wrote. I named it "Watching Time" and ever since that day I've wrote. I'd estimate I written over a thousand poems and I'm still writing. I don't think I'll ever stop because writing is the only thing keeping me sane in the world of injustice and war, the feeling that by doing so I'm doing something right. That for every poem I compose I'm giving a hungry child a meal or helping a family find shelter when bombs fall down instead of rain.