My projects like most writers' are deeply personal, they are imperfect; in all different stages of evolution, constantly changing and made to be challenged as I am. There may be pieces that address confronting issues, imagery and/or situations that can be troubling for some readers. I've always said "No mud. No Lotus", without adversity we'd have little inspiration for beautiful meaningful and impactful art in which ever form it comes in. They mirror many realities and even fantasies, so please enjoy respectively.
CHASING THE SUN
Chasing the sun feels never ending.
On a continuous loop as it rises and sets on your future.
One day closer to an end.
An odyssey that all heroes hope they will conquer
because this is the ultimate goal for our journeys.
A dream that seems impossible to some
and to them a battle they’ll always lose.
A test we all want to pass,
with no expectations but to get as close to it as possible without getting burned.
This is for all the dreamers who rise in the morning and shoot for the unreachable stars but first have to chase after their sun.
For those who continue towards an endless sky with all of its limits on their backs but still go on.
This is for all the visionaries that get lost on their journeys when the moon rises and your only guides are the stars that illuminate those dark nights.
For those who’ve stumbled.
Those who have fallen.
And for those who still rise more determined and optimistic than all the times before.
This is for me.
And for you.
Because we alike have wandered aimlessly and often madly on similar paths towards a brighter more illuminated future.
A future better for those ahead of you and a fantasy for those before.
Please continue to chase your sun.
And learn to embrace the moon, the stars and dark nights in the same manner,
with no expectations but to get as close as possible without getting burned.
ALIVE IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
Incessant crickets chirp conjuring hushed souls of the night to life;
the humming hymn of cicadas fill the cool air,
a great horned owl hoots every so often to let her know she’s not alone in the dead of night,
and in that cabin beneath the stars her heart can finally beat
to the sound of wolves crying in the distance.
She hopes maybe they hear her cries too.
Manipulations of the heart and the mind.
Molestations of the body and the soul.
There was something about the man in the moon that was much different to her
than the others.
“I’m haunted by the ghosts of the men who have tried to kill me.”
Late night conversations with the man in the moon,
he tells her about the sun and she tells him about you.
They talk of the things she should’ve said but couldn’t.
Of the lessons she wished she’d known before,
and all those she still has to learn.
She told him of the cruel world that lived beyond the forest line.
Confiding in one another their deep secrets and desires,
now gone in the wind that rustles through the leaves of trees.
Her once silenced words and thoughts could now stand on their own. And in this moment she was
f r e e
The day begins to break, the man in the moon now gone away
soothed by the sweet lullabies of songbirds.
Nightingales and Northern Mockingbirds begin their dawn chorus,
mimicking the critters of the night who now slumber till the moon ascends again.
And if you listen closely you can hear her freedom cries,
speaking her truth to rising sun.
She lost herself in the dark night of the dense woods to find her voice in that cabin
and those hushed souls of the night are the only witnesses
of the woman that entered and
the one who came out.
NOT YOUR AVERAGE ALICE
A big part of Alice enjoyed getting into a little trouble.
Pushing the boundaries they put up specifically for little girls like us.
She spoke when not spoken too, raising hell for the rest of them
and sat with her feet firm on the ground, her head not stuck in the clouds
but held high with an unshakable prominence.
They left something out when they told Alice’s story.
In fact, they chose to omit it for the sake of another little girl getting the same ideas.
They enjoyed telling her who she was and this way
she knew not, what she could be.
You’ve never heard the truth.
How when her world was a mess, she lost herself in that wonderland of madness.
By accident. With purpose.
She didn’t fall, but jumped down that rabbit hole.
She went not knowing what would be at its’ end
but knew it was better than staying the chains that confined her.
You must be mad they tell her... because we’re all mad down here.
To enter Wonderland you have to be insane.
To live life as the “Mad Hatter” and not care what they say.
To day dream the impossible,
To question what is right…
for them.
To eat and
grow
To drink then
shrink.
To rid them of the those conditioned traits and comforts around them.
Because the Alice that “fell” down that rabbit hole
was easier to fathom
to handle, muzzle and tame
than the Alice that went to Wonderland willingly.
AS YOU WISH
I’ve tried to not give into these things called “wishes” that never seem to come true.
Because when we are young we’re encouraged to make wishes,
like before you blow out the candles on your birthday cake.
And once the song ends and smoke clears,
we realize from the year before there’s no such thing
as a wish come true.
A bright red ladybug lands on our palm.
We barely admire the beauty of this moment and instead
whisper a hushed hope to their ear,
almost confident they’ll take flight
and make it happen for us.
We make wishes on A Midsummer’s Eve because they’re more likely to come true.
We dream of Promised Lands and impossible dreams, and wake to the reality of it all.
Waste our last breaths on the white floaties from a dandelion
longing for them to take to the air and travel far distances
away from all the gloom of yesterdays.
We put our all into these superficial ways of getting shit done.
Assuming these old wives tales will be a remedy to the afflictions that ail us.
“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight…”
Always looking up to the starry night sky, assuming what you saw was a shooting star;
with a half assed faith that Gods are looking down and listening to our prayers... this time.
And for once, instead of the stars
I look up to me and say,
“stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be.”
RIDING OUT THE STORM
You come out of me like uncontrollable laughter,
the kind that makes your head spin until you can snap out of it.
I try to block you out.
Keep you bottled up deep inside for both of our safety.
And I’ve had to learn to coddle you tenderly to keep you there.
Always making sure you’re closer to me than I am to myself,
because that's the only way I know how to trust you.
I lather you in lavender essential oils and breathe in deep so you know
I’m still here.
I hope this can calm your storm of violent outbursts
and those dangerous waves of urges we get from time to time.
All this in attempt to treat you well
with hopes you’ll do the same for me.
You can lift me up sometimes,
giving me the illusion that I’ve been set free.
Only then I can feel like me again.
The music feels good,
a lot better than it had before.
I smile at you because here we are infinite.
You try to show me love as best you know how,
but you stay trippin’,
the highest kind of high till it's time to come down from cloud nine.
Only then do you show me how much I really mean to you.
Your true colors are dark, heavy, dense,
impenetrable by any light till you get your fix.
I have no choice
but to ride your white capped waves though yet another sea storm;
the kind that violently thrashes me against jagged-edged rocks.
Makes me feel like I’m being swallowed into a whirlpool
of desolation, despair and desperation.
Drowning in a sea of people and no can save me,
till the monsoon passes over and the white clouds roll in.
I pray the sun will return again to lay soft kisses upon my skin
and let me know that
everything will be okay.
THE HIGH ROAD
In my free time
I sink ships
I can move vast mountains
and crush great pyramids,
That are much stronger than you’ll ever be.
The risk I took with you was calculated
but man,
was I bad at math.
I never knew
the damage
one person could cause.
You came into my life
with a crash.
What you’d call a fender-bender,
was a collision.
We took a detour from our destination.
Dark expressways, back roads
and dirt paths.
A bad trip,
I no longer want experience.
You’re suffocating.
Inside of your passengers’ seat,
I could no longer breathe
or roam free
from your unbreakable chains.
A slave to your every wish and command.
You drove till the tank was way past E.
Pulling me down, low like you.
I had forgotten
how to stand strong on my own.
To stand tall without
a “puppet master” controlling my strings.
But didn’t you know
In my free time
I sink ships?
I can still move vast mountains
and crush great pyramids.
I’m much stronger than you’ll ever be.
FINAL DESTINATION
“I took the one less travelled by,”
-Robert Frost
Final Destination
Looking forward at the road ahead I
reflect back on the ones I’ve took.
Back to the beginning of this long journey where the
waters smoother to navigate, mountains easier to climb, as long as I took one
step at a time. It has become less about where the journey ends, less
about how I travel or even where I come from,
but all about how the time goes by.
I’ve had to coach myself
that no matter what I do,
I can always go forward, stumble and backtrack.
I can even lose sight of my direction
but I must never look back.
Sometimes it’s the journey that teaches you
a lot about the final destination.
A SINNERS' PRAYER
I Pray You
continue to ease my mind,
lustfully whispering your luscious sweet nothings into my ear.
Fill my head with beautiful nightmares and salacious dreams
shattered
glass
empty
promises
of things I know not true.
Take all my loves my love, take them all.
Linger and long for what I have; avarice for all I cannot give.
I’m famished.
Overindulge yourself till you’re satisfied
with the cravings you constantly give into.
Don’t save any of your daily bread for me, I have no use for it any more
even if I wanted to it can no longer soothe my appetite.
I Pray You.
Let me go peacefully into this night
without your call for a quick fix to cure your withdrawals.
My love, a drug you abused beyond hopes for rehabilitation.
I Pray You
take pity on me, let me lie my head down and dream nightmares of something worthwhile.
SIRENS' SONG
I urge you, stay in the shallows;
keep your toes in the wet sands that lightly kiss the seashore.
Only then can I guarantee your safety.
But if you insist…come wade in.
Let’s be clear.
Only waist-deep.
I’m from a realm you can’t enter.
Talking to you from somewhere too far away, and let’s be honest
you only like listening to the sound of your own voice anyway.
I’m from depths you can’t fathom;
a world you’ll never see and cannot feel
with your privilege and ignorance.
You can childishly splash around in my waters all you like,
but I must warn you stay far from the deep
where the sunlight does not reach.
It can get pretty dark
down in the abyss.
That’s why sirens like me are here.
Don’t submerge yourself in these profound waters.
I warned you swim at your own risk.
A FOOLS GAME
There’s a reason
I
never told you much
about the story of the Queen who
fell in love with the fool.
How she’d fallen down
from her beautiful high white horse
that she once rode above all
the pain he’d bring to her.
I never told you
how she was left kneeling
at his feet, looking up to him
with a beggars’ eyes
searching for the last piece of dignity
she’d left in his hands.
That along with all the things she’d lost to him:
Her innocence. Purity.Time.
And most importantly,herself.
I never told you that she
still
waits for the day he won’t cheat,
when he’ll turn over his cards to her,
or she’ll finally catch his bluff.
Because even the queen knew,
this was a fool’s game she was playing.
I didn’t tell you
how she’d compromised everything,
even herself.
How she’d lost direction,
respect and most importantly
her throne.
I didn’t tell you because
even I thought a queen
couldn’t fall victim to a fool.
But that doesn’t apply
when she is blinded by
love.
But there’s a reason
I never told you much
about the story of the Queen who
fell in love with the Fool.
The truth is
that I am the queen
and that fool is
you.
A LOVE FOR POISON
I never realized that
poison only tastes like poison
after you’ve swallowed it.
The sweet tinge that first
touches your lips
becomes nothing;
a rancid tang
on the tongue.
Left with no sweet taste.
Behind, just bare bitter-
tracks I now know not to follow.
Poison rids you of all sight.
The ability to see clear,
on straight path and
steer clear of the danger
that’s right in your face.
A fascinating facade
truly disguised it’s destruction;
till the deed is done.
Where beautiful lavish
red rose buds grew;
now, a jumble of junk
remnant in their place.
Where warm light had existed,
the murky shadows shine.
Casting their dark gloom on
what was bright and luminescent.
That which you love,
killed off all you loved.
Captured things you once coveted.
And consumed what you craved.
Now, you too
are deprived of all
that once revived you.
I never knew the pain
my poison caused.
I couldn’t see clear.
You, so far from my sight.
I now know the look,
smell, sound, touch and taste
of poison.
ENVY
Envy sleeps underneath her skin,
disguised in caked makeup
and clothes that she quite never fit.
Making trouble wherever she goes.
“Just breathe”
as she looks into the mirror,
she can’t recognize her own reflection.
If she can’t fit in the clothes, she’ll fit in.
Deep cuts always bleed, like black bruises and
broken bones always hurt.
And still,
they are so miniscule in comparison to
the hemorrhage that rushes inside of her.
She is not alone in this dark desolate place.
But rather blends in
a room of emptiness inhabited
by all types of bodies.
They’re filled with self projecting projectors.
“Me”, “You” ,“No we”.
Judge me, judge you, judge her, judge ourselves.
We feed this darkness
because even the brightest of lights can be dimmed.
Some may flicker, dull and others die out.
Some dwindle, holding on to the small dose
of hope that still glows and lives deep down within them.
We must do better.