It’s been a week since the creatures left my mind still,
the voices have been silent despite the moons call.
I am learning to be whole without them;
no longer are they mine to hold,
no longer am I there’s to own.
From An Old Journal
I don’t believe in love,
the four letters stay still in my mind,
no dancing.
no singing.
no grand staircase leading to a dream.
Love is a cold wind on your back
as the fire burns your eyes,
Love is a tear swallowed by the ocean.
love is the silence after a yell,
the gap between stars and death,
the same phenomenon disguised by poetry.
Love is walking alone with the moon,
wondering if the car behind you
will be the last thing you see.
Love is an impossible idea,
but the most important one.
For a Time
We have journeyed through forests and cities,
oceans and puddles,
music and silence.
Coming up for air,
Everytime we have been drowned.
Carrying nations in our wombs,
Birthing leaders,
burying children.
We have stood up
when they said we could only lay.
Holdings hands,
mow we march,
for a time when our daughters
won’t have to.
An Artist Abandoned
I know,
nobody hears,
nobody reads,
nobody cares,
but
I was only the part creator of this.
Now I am alone in this.
The echo left behind
from the footsteps walking away
of a collaboration turned solo,
a duo turned lonely,
an artist abandoned.
Between Two
I am torn between two continents,
two cultures,
two upbringings,
two histories,
two currencies,
two ways to make a sandwich,
yet in my division,
I also stand
apart from both.
Neither is home,
neither is a stranger,
neither give me confidence
in who I am.
Is there a third,
I am yet to find,
or will I always be
hovering between worlds,
a ghost of identity.
Second Choice
There is no cut
like that of
a love lost to
someone new.
New Themes
To breathe a journey
of lost dreams,
realizing things
weren’t as they seem,
ignoring the cliche
of epiphanies
and embracing
the stay
of new themes.
Not Believing
I am ashamed
of the war within,
confusing souls with places
and places with feelings.
Love is not believing in love,
it’s remaining above
despite the storm.
Empty Below
To gather all the broken,
cutting fingers on pieces of dropped hope
with lovers turned strangers
over words no one spoke;
The silent catalyst
to a catacomb below
where the empty reasons
remain full.
Time
I do not remember
the days before.
The minutes, the hours,
grow longer and longer
until the strike
of pain begins,
and then those seconds
feel smaller and smaller
then they have ever been.