moon song

the moon hangs, kissing the mountain. where does she go when the sun hides her, protects her?
he is the east, she is the west.
he, safe... known tradition and full history pages.
she, wild... unknown, dog-eared pages that sing in the wind.
he, the sun.
she, the moon.
it never pulled at their conscious minds to look behind their souls, to see the opposite member of space tickling their backs while they searched for the beacon of meaning they so longed for.
she found him. she found her sun on one spring night, posing as summer. she looked behind her so forgotten soul. she saw, beyond looking, she saw. him. the sun who rose and fell without her praise, without a second glance from her pained eyes that mimicked the ocean. she, the moon, stared into the sun. his heat and presence commanding her attention so brazenly, so directly, she stood still, hanging in her space while he sang to her. his rays upon rays of light sang to her like pages from her favourite book. her cold, untouched skin warmed and lifted in response to his command. for once she cannot look, she can only see. her sun. her sun once so safe and warm now cooling in the danger of her touch. a forbidden bond welded in the seams of space.
he keeps her safe, she keeps him wild.

funny, isn't it? 
how the manner in which we've been loved becomes an expectation... something we become accustomed to and comfortable with, regardless of its quality.
blind to the tattered doll i had become, still longing for his touch - gentle or not.
i think back to the midnight kisses, the madness of it all.
some nights it's all i can do to cry, wish, and wait.
my mind flickers back and forth to the beginning, or maybe it was the end. 
drowning, screaming, pushing, searching.
the anchor tied to my ankles pulling me down shattered and severed. 
i could breathe again.
blush caressed my skin, salt tickled my eyes.
i just remember the richest of feelings, the fire in my chest ignited and alive.
sand in my hair, we danced on our backs; toes outstretched towards the waves.
it seemed impossible that this could ever end or become insignificant.
tries multiplied and went unanswered.
emptiness made for hollow company, becoming too familiar.
yet still in that twisted way of mine, i crave and yearn for that emptiness.
even if the rich feelings will remain strangers and the fire will never light again.
emptiness means it happened, means it was real.
instead of nothing at all.

merciless keeper

beauty finds its keeper within the hearts of the free;
dancing in their minds alone, finding solace and peace under each stone unturned.
i thought i could fade, thought i could wish these feelings into the present. 
into my presence.
failed and tried toils scabbed my knees, dusted my lips into bitter wings.
the lying mirrors spoke in sharp tongues, shouting all the same; branding scarlet rhymes into my skin.
unsightly, unwelcome, unfavoured.
of course, by me, believed to be true. never doubting the reflections.

vanity, the easiest poison to swallow, riddled my blood. 
the way it had so many before me, the way i pitied.
it burned and boiled, seeping out of my skin until i cried for the haven of mercy.
mercy doesn't save. she seethes. she selects.
not me.

purity frayed at the edges, pulling at my fingertips. 
could the scars fade and the blindness subside?
my knuckles white, clutching to the relentless poison, let go.
fear shattered, crashed to the floor. each piece, home-made worries and troubles, released.
sharp shards cleared, delicately replaced by a trail of salt.
i followed, my feet curling into the soft dust into the sea.
where freedom reigned, the mighty kingdom.

beauty finds its keeper within the hearts of the free.

scattered

They say that patience is a virtue. They say that time will grace the presence of your heart and heal all of the hurt. Eventually.

If wild hearts can’t be broken, then can mysterious hearts never be kept?

I struggle to bear the weight of the world’s predisposed juxtapositions and ‘core values’. To be a team player, a model citizen… When can one sever the binding ties and let their true heart free? When can we live under the consequences of none; play in the kingdom of our own making; of our own destiny.

I treat my heart honestly, I tell myself each of life’s unabridged stories. The ones that I have come to read, anyway.

I feel the worn pages under my fingertips, holding the page that so many have touched before me.

Each soul is given its own journey to take; some pause and ebb, others race with intense urgency.

I simply sit, waiting; eyes fixated where green meets blue, where air meets earth.

perfect day

this day would be harmoniously decorated,

donning the brightest charms of fate

affixed with the most delectable tastes, sights, and sounds.

some old, strung together with Polaroids of favourite and worn pages of familiarity.

some new, stitched to one another with the thrill of unkown depths to explore,

waiting for me to discover them.

this day is closed to all burdens,

all hurt hidden in the corners of my mind.

this day does not welcome any spiteful thoughts

or words into my head.

it excludes all prior engagements,

to-do’s hidden in the dusty cupboards in my brain.

nothing to do but remain in a pleasant state of being

me. 

pockets

                                         

i’m rifling through the pockets in my mind.

every deliberation, hope, reflection, and speculation

unveiled for the world to see.

fantasies, memories, and flashbacks under the scrutinizing eyes

of those who carry doubt and hatred in their back pockets

as if they are objects of urgency.

scorn and venom; the main ingredients of their persona.

those who fuel the fire of exclusion and ridicule

watch as my proverbial dog-eared to-do lists and my sole secrets

spill out, drifting to the floor            one      by        one.

each casting a pronounced, poignant aura into the room.

the heavier things; the prejudiced juxtapositions clatter to the floor.

they shake the vast vicinity with their candor

leaving me bare and exposed;                                detached from refuge

my mental possessions float above and around me like ash.

 rise

scarred and wounded rhymes      from the dust,

pushing me to my knees; I begin to gather the pieces that remain.

just do, you just know

i find myself by the sea
solitude is the only company i can trace; a hollow companion
empty pages swirl overhead, sinking into the bedewed abyss
ink blurs and eventually fades before i can read the seemingly imperceptible rhymes
no answers remain, simply a dark toil awaits
trust is a foreign tongue; irony in a touchable form
as i try mightily to sink, i simply rise above all outstretched, evil hands and breach the surface
 life's persistent shoves and pushes bruise my knees, stinging of salt
the reigning sight, the constant lighthouse ablaze guides me home; the page i always remember
my travelling heart