Red Flower

red flower,
i thought you just a
vagrant bloom.

yet here you are,
a year presumed faded,
with color tenacious
and unyielding.

sharped-tongued petals,
you have not forgotten.
and now it is i who wilts
with decision.

100 Years of Solitude

your distant voices call to me.
alone in my shroud
I, think, frozen
that you should wish me
naked.
curtains drawn,
veils fraying, neglect--
to the careful disposition
(solitude)
thus woven.

your voices grow ever louder:
"yield and be unburdened!"
ah, that you should know this
(huddled)
terror.
secrets tightly bound in
shawls knit silent.
I can find no movement.
I will keep your voices waiting
another clouded morning. 

Inshallah

What are you?

Are you the dandelion in the cracks between the sidewalk?

The cluster of red berries in the dead of winter?

Are you the tsunami wave that kills everything in its path?

Are you sex? Are you drugs?

Are you ancient men in white burning the fruit of women?

Are you madness in a hospital gown, bowing and screaming to the fluorescent lights?

A molecule? A formula? A particle and a wave at the same time?

Are you the blood that covers a newborn baby?

Inshallah, someday you'll tell me.

Inshallah, you'll tell me why your holy books make no sense yet are the only things that feel real.

Inshallah, you'll tell me why half the men in the world tell me to cover up and the other half tell me to take it off, baby, take it off.

Inshallah, you'll tell me why there are still people dying in the streets--how could you make a world filled with such cruelty?

Inshallah, you'll tell me why the sunrise sears my soul; why I wake up every morning because the beauty you created gives me no other option.

Inshallah, you'll tell me why they hate us, why they spit at our feet, smash our windows, set us on fire, all because we look like those devils in black.

Inshallah, you'll tell me why people kill in your name--who do you think you are? Or are you crying too?

Inshallah, you'll tell me why every time I've stood on the brink you've swept me into your arms and carried me home.

Inshallah, you'll tell me why all the love I've ever known has pointed again, and again, and again to you. 

What are you?

I was born
Long after your hair turned grey.
But I was stirring the wind
Long before you could
Speak.

Full, Alive & Free

And he said to me—

Full, alive, and free.

Child of magic, grow bigger than the sky.

Write your dreams in inked pen.

Let me kiss goodnight your fears

So you may wake

With dancing smiles,

Ready to marvel and play.

That’s all I ever want you to be.

And he cried with me—

Full, alive, and free.

I can climb mountains upon mountains

To find you.

I can stand sentinel at your door

As the lion slouches towards Babylon.

But little bird, never let

A man’s net touch your wings—

not even mine.

That’s all I ever wanted you to be.

And he laughed with me—

Full, alive, and free.

Set it all on fire!

Stand with joy in the blaze!

Those who burn will run towards the light

Screaming “LIFE!” in gunpowder kisses

Which as they kiss consume, consume

The fearsome hunger of insatiable mind

Never let it go always let them know

Your power

Full of grace

That’s all I ever want you to be.

Words Betray Me

I can say "I love you,"
And it is not a lie,
But it is
not
nearly
enough.

"I wish I could live in your heart."
That comes closer.
Growing roots into your
capillaries,
Sending verdant shoots
up
into your
ventricles,
Letting my leafy boughs
Breath oxygen
Into your blood--
what a gift
it would be to
always
provide for you.
But it is
still
not
enough.

"I feel every ounce of your pain in my own soul."
This approaches the sum of things.
My nervous system
Can no longer distinguish
Between your electrical current
and mine.
Every ache and anguish
Flows into me,
Sending lightning into my fingertips--
"Go to the Beloved!
Touch, soothe, be
Healed!"
But it is
never
enough.

And so these words betray me.
I can say "I love you,"
And it is not a lie,
But it is
not
nearly
enough.

Anthem of Self-Destruction

Inspired by the How Green? song "I'm Bored Therefore I Am"

I live in a cloister of debauchery, surrounded by the aimless amusement of lost and broken people. Echoing from the pounding basement floors stained with booze and the dorm sheets soaked with sexual frustration, I hear a sweet, slow anthem of self-destruction. Youthful vigour be damned--here, death matriculates as hyperactivity. In rare sober moments, my generation faces that most haunting inconvenience--"I'm bored, therefore I am." Terrified of the inescapable clauses after "I am...," too often punctuated with dysfunction, disillusionment, and debt, my peers flounder in filth and put up no resistance as a gnawing numbness ensues. There is no more "I love you"--only "I'm taking you down with me." The dully tragic and the tragically dull become indistinguishable, blurred together by drugged eyes, dilated and unseeing. Beneath the clamour and frenzy of hedonism, the gorgeous refrain continues, tantalizing, beckoning towards defeat. "Slip away and drown in me," it whispers, "what does it matter, anyway?"