Poetry & Prose

Like the sea kisses the sands of the land,

I find myself endlessly crashing into you.

My blood rushes warm, waiting

until dawn breaks through your truth;

Bringing light to your most vulnerable edges,

like tiny crystals and diamonds wedged

into a mended bed of metal…

I wish to be grounded by all of your elements.

Something like a gold sediment.

Settling at the bottom of a liquid

and I’ll drink from you until I’m quenched.

And, when I’m parched again,

I’ll pray to the patron saint of beekeepers.

“…Still, I remain having faith in the process towards greatness. I’ll write into my clarity as if I was handwriting my name on the wall of a glass steam room. Letting go of what’s in my pores and wiping it with my sweat, blood-vessels pumping memories of trauma and wealth, I see the divine rhythm that exist’s within the pain of poetry.”

“I’ve walked in two, a duality in paradox that fuels anxiety and creates tension in my every step, but I’ve been learning I am both at once. I am becoming one with my duality and the presence of them, as I am existing, always, in the middle between all three as the frankly subtle possibility for everything to manifest. I am the source of all good and evil and their potential to transmit and transfer emotion to tell a story about God, because I am that that is this as it exists, and for it I am at peace at all times.”

“The sun’s out warming me up. The good spirit is in, saying, ‘Tell my baby I’m back in town. Come out and shake my hand; ask me to stay awhile.’ And so I did and now we kickin' it. She’s introducing me to Her friend: The Lightbeam. She got me walking, living, and breathing better in every step. I walk through sand like I’m living on the edge of the earth. Breathing in sea breeze. Seeing C-notes by the greenest trees, as I remember the sounds of berimbaus... The good spirit is in. How good is this feeling? I broke chains from biking so hard my blessings caught me from falling, and now I smile good. I don’t have to practice no more, I just perform. Good morning horns sounds the tension in the clouds. I think it’s heaven in the break. I’ve been here before. How sore I’ve been only the good spirit knows, and now the air feels different on this side of town as I smile good and recreate the sound of berimbaus.”

“...I remember someone once telling me that we are gods,  Because our hair grows towards the sun - That the sun beams make our skin glow like rainbow when it pours, So that means our bone marrow is made out of the wisdom of cosmos; Enough to heal ten thousand generations of sunseekers Hiding in the moonlight, dancing,   Waiting to be reawakened.”

“And for whatever reason, the universe created me with a predetermined experience with you of which the beauty, desire, and love I hold is only for me and no one else. I speak of something grand, bigger than these words on a screen, yet at the same time more simple than it’s primordial technical code which allows this stream of consciousness to be recorded and saved as a memory for even after our passing. I speak of something more profound than the external vessel by which you are burdened. More profound than spoken and unspoken traumas; shared or hidden scars. These laughs and aches were chosen. And that’s the truth of my beholding of your beauty within the human condition - I see what no one else see’s, not even you, and that, right now, is mine; our passion to keep forever. 

These words are not meant to convey a confession of deep love, nor is their meaning one of fatal attraction, but of a deep understanding of how the universe is conspiring to grow me into the light of who I always am…

And to grow you into the light of who you always are.”

“The seeds have long been sewn beneath my skin and I’ll let whatever grow through keep me warm during winter.

I’ve poured Jameson as many times as it’s rained. I’ve let the pain replenish my bad truths. I stand before a mirror instigating the man seducing my mind into playing you like a pianist performing their first song on a holy night.

Judgement has come and gone without a word to end the exhausting silence. I waited patiently only to act in betrayal. Now I’m staring at the screen, hailing distance at the glory of times past as my halo spins around my horns.”

and timing is beyond truth.

“...Shifting my head to the left, just over the rise and fall of the comforter, I see a vase holding a singular sunflower. It’s petals still bright yellow like the sun, and stem stiff as a bone, together they are a leaning monument in remembrance of the ringing bells heard within the heart of the giver. Although still shinning, the flower is decaying from a lack of nutrients. The individual rays of flower lean over their fallen petals. They are acquainted with death. The two met when the flower left their home, but it wasn’t their choice to leave so soon. They grew just enough to be plucked and used. In the end, they are left to die on a bedside table. I asked them if they were a symbol of a lasting human emotion or a sign that a short-lived experience is to come. They remained silent, soaking up the fluoride infused liquid, while they leaned over their fallen petals. A knot formed in my throat knowing I won’t get an answer. I picked up the glass of water to my right to quench my thirst and continued on with my school work.”