Writing

The brush

Covered in the black ink

Swiped at my eyelashes

Made its mark

On my face

At least

That's what it used to do

Now it sits quietly

In its spot

Far away from reach

Your God is not my God.  Stay with me now, I know this makes your hackles rise, your hands raised in the spiteful fear that you could be challenged. The fear of fraud.

They soar the skies, as free can be,

A gentle flap, a wind-carried wing.

Feathers drift through open air,

While oceans shimmer far beneath.

One could only dream to be

So unbound—so endlessly free.

I give up everything for you 

At the drop of a hat

I tear myself apart for your happiness 

Even though you're still sad

I do everything to fix the problem 

While knowing damn well I am the problem.

I gripped his shoulders as the motorbike sputtered to life, coughing smoke into the humid air. He drove along a dirt path, passing flooded paddy fields and slender palm trees.

You're always the victim 

All "poor woh is me"

Until you get caught 

Until you hurt me

What would happen

If the roles were reversed 

If you were stuck chasing