Poétique

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If I’m telling the truth
Even with all of that love surrounding me
I’ve never wanted to die from the
Grief so much in my life

We were once a very beautiful thing. I’m getting closer to nothing.

I think I cried myself to death
I’m not sure now what is left

Why reach back out into the past
Nothing left for us to ask

Once what was lived can also go
Just a memory of a show

Block the pain
Disrecord the memories
No more heroes in the sun
Gods eating their children

Until Zeus arrives
His mother carried a stone
A protection from the teeth
That met the demise of
Every child before

I am the stone

Cerveau des Étoiles

What would it take
To pull me out of this hole
There are only
So many stars left in the
Sky to love me this way

Even typing is difficult
So the outer space
Begins to inscribe
Upon my heart

What my hands cannot do
Does the world grow tired
Of my words

Will they crave what the
Planets choose to write

Can I crack my brain
Open enough to poor the
Plenty in

To sink and drink me in
A portal
What is the traditional
Recipe of life
A paste of pleasure
Our souls simmered
In red wine

Come back tomorrow
Find your tastebuds
Waiting for you
At a table with friends

No longer strangers

Ugly

Even a gift can be ugly.

It doesn’t arrive in silk
or land softly in the hand—
it drags itself across the floor,
loud, uneven,
refusing to be mistaken for grace.

You thought relief would feel like light.
Instead, it felt like friction—
paper instead of air,
checks instead of ease,
a system that stutters where you once smoothed.

But what you called smooth
was your own body absorbing impact.

You were the silence
that made everything look like harmony.

Now the noise has somewhere else to live.

They call it awkward.
You call it visible.

They call it inconvenient.
You call it accurate.

And accuracy is not pretty.

It has edges.
It names who carries what.
It refuses to blur.

This is the gift—
not polished, not gentle,
not grateful for being received.

It is the return of weight
to the hands that generated it.

It is the end of invisible labor.

It is the moment the structure stands
without you holding it up from underneath.

Even a gift can be ugly.

Especially the ones
that give you back to yourself.

Becoming

Can someone explain to me
Why all my limbs
Are falling asleep

What will become
Of me in three years time

Will there be enough to
Survive

How much it matters now
Responds with distance

We live for today
Today becomes our future
What happens later
If there’s not enough

We become tired
Almost a whisper
Of our past

The thing that shaped us
Disappearing

What will become
What will become

One More

We have parted —
We have outgrown the form
That contained us.

What we called — and “with”
Was a seam under tension —
Two truths pulling in opposite directions.

So I did not leave you.

I left our version
That can no longer contain reality.

Love has died —
It has changed shape,

Just subtly enough to survive.

And somewhere beyond the wreck,

Without needing to be held back or held back,

If
We are ever —
Untouched.

The women they talk
The men they walk
Alone to one another
Little pockets of experience
I fight the system
Gazing at their every days
It is less isolating
Sun is sinking into
My skin
Stretch to reach for
Direction with drums
Broken conversation
Enormous effort
Every drop
I have to give
Is to reflect
A love I see
In every face
Ancient reflections
Upon the bare soil
Unexplained explosions
Shifting colors
Bleeding into me

Hospital

Time is temporary
Love is permanent

Wherever we are
Halfway across the world
Will you stay alive
Long enough for me to return

We were abandoned
We fought we held on

Nothing holds us
Like we hold ourselves

Then we hold one another
In the absence of the physical

The sun is burning
Brightly

I won’t sleep any longer
All the rest I could need

Will not give me the
Security of your existence

My gravity is a magnet to you
Before I was ready to go
You could leave me first

Am I your heart attack
They all say it’s not my fault

Protecting ourselves
From what

One last touch
One last kiss

Are we our end
Or do we assume
Too much power

Believe

Do not believe
What is not yet known

What is unknown
Is not yet ours to think
We know

Nor should we think that
We know

To trust in someone’s
Word is to think that
We know

But to trust blindly
Is to confuse what
We know

We do not sit but refrain
From pretending what
We know

Rushing to fill the void
With false certainty of what
We know

Deceives the soul

Bird

I’m like a bird
Free in the way that doesn’t land
Circling because the ground
Still asks too much

We’re on top of the world
Until we’re not
Until gravity remembers us

This boundary was not for
Anyone else but me
A quiet fence I built
So I wouldn’t keep bleeding
Where I already knew it hurt

I feel so down I don’t know
How I can make it work
I slept all day to greet the world tomorrow
And tomorrow arrives anyway,
Still carrying the sadness

I want fun
A drink.
A smoke.
A moment that doesn’t ask me
To be whole

Inescapable me

I’m torn up
I hope I find myself tomorrow,
But I can’t decide
If tomorrow wants me yet

I don’t know if I will ever go home
I know I don’t want to
And thinking I don’t have to
Makes me happy in a way
That surprises me

I can’t make sense of life
Right now
Standing in the middle of my
Essence falling apart,
Trying to conjugate a future
That won’t sit still

I just need fun
Relaxation
Something in me
Something to me

This is the moment before resilience —
Love has left,
And meaning has no resemblance

The structure I believed in is gone
The effort no longer feels legible
The world loses saturation

Something careful
Was treated carelessly

She responded with love
Because she knows who I am —
Not because she didn’t feel anything

Whatever I once was
And I don’t have to earn that grace
By suffering forever

The love for me is great at home,
Somehow I don’t think I can circle back to it

I will return to my mother

Simple

The left hand goes numb
Over time the heart throbs

Read the ancients
They will tell you

We are capsules
In time carrying the weight
It only grows

What we miss we wish
What we hold
Will grow old

And with time the
Answers we sought
Will become more
Evident

A truth untold
In ourselves

Not only ours
Belonging to
All of us

Sharing the best
We hold the worst
In this we find

Later that the
Understanding was
Always a part of us

Never open enough
Inside to receive
An invitation
To the self