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