To remove yourself from yourself is a sleepy process. It settles itself in comfort just as we do. We brandish our teeth at it and turn our heads. We dance around concepts of growth until our pillows hail us again. Can one really blame another settling in it? The simplicity? Just as we fear the uncertainty foreseen at the end of our lives, there has to be a dear complacence to it-- an ease. As life was never a grace, more than it is a fleeting gift, as desperately as it rambles its purpose.


An angel sent to croon its neck

Among humans, though it fails to beget

To know its purpose and its name

Why the cabal of heaven hath sent it

Not to mingle among them

But to elicit in them the freeing of their mouths

And the shackles that God frets to shatter Himself


The violin. o, how it sings

The holy strings of heaven's flock

The twine that sews ones lung

To hum their omnipotent hum

The one whom lends their ear to the

song of heaven

Too, finds themselves among suits sewn white

& wings tucked neat at hems.

O, the violin. how sweet tis to be

Once more, in the great halls of the holy


to be educated is to brood

long, drawn hours at a screen, at a book.

spine bent like a hot comb

the anxiety of a new class. it shunts through one's God-kissed skin

like an iron brand

in truth, it is best not to think so feverishly.

into a future that which only the almighty knows.

he watches us pace ourselves to the pits of hell

where even he himself cannot be bothered to pluck one out of!

so, do not worry, dear trying person

to punch and nail for a world that slips

through one's fingers like milk

you are still attempting to mend what thou

knows is unmendable.

which is, sure enough



one would picture the almighty

large, beyond the scope of our eyes

statues are created as such

symbols of their impressiveness, their demure

humbling us to our insignificance

it is a human concept


it is written, lord created humanity

in His image

He is but as large as us

His voice doth not boom

but it doth find itself ever present

in our bodies, our hearts

this is where it booms.

where it finds its width.


Silence berates me. It entombs me. Yet, it sulks on the top of my head, a circlet of melted, pretty gold. what am i to do, silence! you are ever present. i shoo you to the skies, & you are back in the blink of an eye. know you not the meaning of personal space! tho, who am i to outcast you? thee which compliments me, and me which compliments thee.


Just as the leaves age and wither

To grow and blossom green

the human spirit, too has the capacity

to be conscious of itself,

its footprint on the sand of reality

its face can age and wither

to grow and sprout anew

to be, not but another leaf green in the sun of spring

but, a potent bulb of mass

holding faintly, elatedly, the prospect of life

red, blue, yellow, violet

it will change, as the season do.


one should be happy to exist in their own skin

to know their change is imminent

so long as they heed themselves

words on a page no longer read as word

but instead slabs of food for the mind

to devour, and digest

a warm meal that feels to one's heart

one cannot serve a farer love


awareness of self hath benefits like no other. love, hope, passion, drive. these are but things only our active selves see, in their true meagerie of color. i love being alive, i love existing. i love being alive! if everyday felt as today, would the affect demean itself? it hasn't so far. i pray it never will. it never will! life, o life, i hold you so dear. to see you there, to know you Are there. to know you are of prevalence. do not abandon me. wrap me in your arms, life. hold me tight, never let me loose. life, life! you art such a treasure. life, life. you are here, alive, with me right now. thank you. thank you for showing me what it is to be real.


make known ones intent, you!

to shift ones tone, ones habits

is a practice only love doth sew

one that wills is one that wakes

and soon one will cry to the stars

"my lord, i grew!"