lights flash / bodies bend / like the minds behind the bathroom stalls / polished tile instead of varnished gym floor / soles (souls) unfit for dancing attempt to replicate that short they stumbled upon last night / dial of pressure cranked to red / while she focused on the back of his head / meanwhile: feeble silver light reached a pale hand / through shuttered windows / I lay there in bed / without worries of a text I didn’t send

love, you say, 

is as tenderly golden as 

buttercups in may, 

as apollo's flaxen hair. 

and you wish for a lover.

fated together

as achilles was with

his patroclus,

and psyche was with

her eros.

you are certain,

their lips will

taste of stars and light

and everything beautiful.

you are certain,

one day, 

when your eyes meet theirs,

everything

will be

right.

The weeping willow shimmers, the water droplets gleaming in her sunlit hair.

A dryad floats above her, in the air.

They unify, becoming one.

In Summer, the Willow cries with joy, enjoying the sun.

The dryad smiles, whispering to no one.

In Autumn, the Willow changes, becoming like fire.
The dryad too, both much admired.

In Winter, the dryad dreams, sorrowful and cold.

The tree itself is sobbing as it grows old.

Come spring, they are alight with flowers,

Like brides before wedding showers.

And when the willow dies,

The dryad keens,

For none was as cherished

As the dear willow queen.

I reside in a foreign land, 
An unfamiliar place 
Where I left all familiarity behind. 

I keep running, 
But my past moves faster 
Than I ever could. 

No matter how far I go, 
Across every sea, 
Through every nation, 
It follows. 

Faithful and unforgiving, 
Like a shadow 
Even on its brightest day. 

Dear Anthony Bourdain 

somewhere between the time you died and the time you lived 

i found a part of myself in the words you spoke 

this morning as i walked ever so slowly 

i caught myself thinking about you 

how you would describe the current state of the world. 

turned into some analogy from long ago that only 

i would know or so it somehow feels. 

since you’ve been gone i’ve managed to find the 

spectacular in the mundane life i live, 

and deep down i truly think that would’ve made you proud. 

i grew up in the city you once loved so dearly, 

i’ve walked the same streets as you 

and i’ve marveled at the ever clear blue sky–

sometimes at night when i walk the streets of our city 

i wonder if you’ve become part of the stars in the night sky 

watching over the world you once cherished and held close. 

throughout the years we as a society tend to forget those who have left, 

i hope somehow we will never forget you–

and the life you led, and the people you’ve inspired and changed–

for all that is to come– i hope we remember you for a long long time. 

He can see kids glowing in the kitchen, 
Hands sticky with sweet gossip, 

Bright, beautiful little selves smudged by the window that he, 
A cracked old statue has broken his hands and fingers by banging on, 

Screaming for them to let him in, 
Let him sit with them one more time, 

Let him hear one more secret. 
And he cries: 

He cries all over his salty, bitter skin,
Because tears are the only things left

That taste like sugar.

From the moment you are born you enter into a world outside of all that is safe and cozy. Thrust upon lands. Joining a world of thought known only when you are at peace with your being. You cry loud enough that the world hears and is touched knowing that another heartbeat has joined an unbreakable bond. Delicate strings tied together. Some are new and clean while some are old and frail. But they hold on even as they fall. Only when you see beyond yourself and beyond your small corner of the world can you see those strings. Those strings are wet from tears, the pain hits them like a wave of fire, burnt. Strings that are thicker and stronger from the rest are holding the falling and fading. When we all find peace and let go of our egos and hatred we can all become one rope. 

“Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw / With ravine, shriek’d against / his creed—” - Lord Alfred Tennyson

Yes, you are a Man!

You, sir, are no beast, so

Beat your chest, glistening with medals of valor

Sharpen your stick to fend back savagery

Laud your crumbling society, the zenith of life

Battle your pitiful contest, display your glory

Prove your honor in violence and war

Conquer the world, 

Yes!

Be the Man!