Poetry, nature, art, and anything else that piques my interest.

I can’t do this on my own.

Midnight on my Bed
And my Ceiling a silent Sky
To solely my Sight,
Rhythm on my Chest.

At the Top of breathless Lungs
I sing in an empty voice
I’ve arranged to bear my Name,
A Shade approaching my Soul.

This ain’t a Love, yet,
For my Walls remain.

This ain’t Love, yet,
For my Walls resist

The Entrance the Image requests;
This Throne is still my own,
This Citadel lit, self-sufficient,
If only I could keep it asleep.

But I’m awake tonight
And my Mind breaks the Distance,

But I’m awake tonight
And a Week shakes like yesterday.

But I’m awake tonight
And your Voice takes my Hearing.

But this ain’t Love, yet
Here I keep on writing.

And now my Vision’s out
On the Paper,
A humble Bottle
To bend and sink in your Eyes,
To twist and tumble as you please,
Because maybe, just maybe
You’ll claim to have felt the same
Area of yourself fold in.


Once a Man dared to say
That all of us aren’t Isles
But connected as a Continent.
But how are we bound?


Yes, we search for Pearls
To shine in our Eyes,
Faithful as the Birds
Never to return to their Nests.


They speak “louder” than Words,
But still they bubble high
To pop at the Surface,
Only the Grateful to hear.


Sure, but we must meet
At the same Frequencies
To link our drifting selves,
Or the Current waves us apart.

Hope …

To find our Fins
Lingering the Ocean Floor
And climb our Trenches
As if linked, wing-by-wing.

Fresh Lungs

I gaze in the Waves today
And Wonder plays across the Lungs
I struggled from the Deep.

I ponder the Bonds, come-and-gone,
Who fed the Salt on my former Skin,
The Walls of Ice on my Horizon.

I sense the Scars over the Flesh
And a Pallor beyond the Sun
I have no sense to shred.

But I’ll track your Path
No matter how the Sea batters you along,
Send my Air, better these Lungs.

Let our Rivers be fickle
If you’ll surface.
Let the Current carry
You anywhere
You see a Hint of Rays
Surge like Fountains.

On the Risk I descend
And my Gills unravel,
We’ve both got our Fins.

"If you let go a little, you will have a little peace. If you let go a lot, you will have a lot of peace."
by Ajahn Chah (via thecalminside)


Oh my god youre straight? I had no idea. You seem normal to me. Did you know that Sara is straight to? You two should totally hook up. I cant believe youre straight. You could be my straight best friend. We could go to football games together. Itll be so much fun. So like how long have you been straight? Youre whole life!? No way.

(Source: 2teal)

Back on the Shore

Strained as my Limbs have become
I’ve resurfaced to meet the Islands
Who drift and dance, faded, become
Notes in a Song still unfinished.
No, Words will not do.

And I thought these Shoes too big,
Thought these Lungs too fresh,
But they fit to my pointed Feet
And breathe out the lively Din
Resting within my Skeleton.

Maybe the Salt will fall apart,
Or make a Shield of my Skin
Again, but I feel that Buzz
I once did on another Isle’s Sight.
But yours doesn’t chain, leaden.

But no, Notes for now.

It was over before you took a

No Fire for the Pyre,
Just a Flame for the Field
Crumbling the Rubble
Who struggled to assemble
Itself to begin with.

You scoffed and said it wasn’t
A Shot.

But here you are
On a Friend’s shoulder,
The only Net to hold you
While the Surface ripples,
Shudders in its Wake.

But “you” grew tired of it,
Didn’t I?

It’s all in my Head
But the Mind’s wider
Than the Sky dared to claim,
So to Hell with the Pyre!
I’ll rise just to laugh at you.

Oh, sure I’ll burn
This Bridge for you.

Norfolk Midnights

Strata define the Corners:
The Money carves
A Neapolitan Napoleon
Of the Streets omitted,
Included in its Marvel,
Spectacle to the Owners
Of cracking Memories.

The Banks arrest the Sky
In its Inhabitant’s Name.
Yes, the Den in which he lies
To himself about the Cries
He tore down the Day
I built some Hope in these Eyes.
(A small bulding—fireproof.)

Don’t need your Permit,
My Heart has left your Limits.

Don’t need your Presence,
My Hope has left your Essence.

Don’t need you reckless,
My Mind has present Tensions.

Don’t need your Haunting,
My Ears have cut your Breathing.

Yet I need your Presence
To not arrest the Men I meet,

I need your Permit
To clear your Wounds from me,

And I need your Haunting
To lift itself, free.


I ain’t workin’ a Nine-to-Five
To keep myself floatin’
But you’re hauntin’ me, alive,
Rollin’, chokin’
On the Air you creep
Under when you sneak
Into the Thoughts
To crawl in my barren Sheets.

A Bridge to Leave

You speak to my mobile Screen,
A Bee in Vibration keen
In that I can see, feel
Its Distance buzzing here.

Yes, here in my Ears
Where the domestic Fear
Of a Coast without a Pier,
A Bridge you fail to pass—

You don’t ring in Aftermath
As the Veteran’s Past;
You pass the Path
And laugh—post-traumatic—

And you, too, vanish.
Spasm, then Static
Like your Presence: pneumatic,
But no Oxygen to sustain

The Effort I make
To believe I’m “just great”
And totally don’t hate
Building Bridges to never cross.