One Day.

"One day, you'll find someone you'll move for"

What a beautiful and sad sentence. For one day is like an eternity, but in truth we only have a short span of time to find it.

Rift.

This is unsettling.

Something is amiss,

Like a minute detail lost in the moment,

Or the heightened sense that a boundary was crossed and broken.

The music is playing,

But neither of us are dancing.

It's as though a decision was made silently and secretly,

And there is now a wall.

We've returned to our own circles,

Separate, cold.

I don't like what this is,

But if it proves true I will watch us drift apart,

Without making a move,

Without a sound.

We'd be strangers,

How truly sad and tragic.

Kintsugi.

His heart. Oh his heart is so full of love it spills over and drowns everyone around him, yet he remains the only one who can't breathe. 

He is the bright glittering glass corroding away within the sand, the ones people bring home and keep for themselves. 

But all he sees is broken glass without its original purpose and wholeness, washed up and lost, never truly belonging in anyone's home. 

God he's beautiful just like kintsugi.

Shattered pottery sealed together with gold. He is the broken pieces, he is the gold. His flaws are what draws me to him, like moths to flame.

But flaws to a broken man remains cracks even after they've been put back together.  I can only watch the moth wings burn.

Awake.

It's odd to wake up outside of your own skin,

Each time you attempt to assimilate yourself, everything stands at an end, goosebumps.

You realise how hard it is to breathe,

Your mind a tumbling mess,

Empty.

I am breathing underwater,

So just let me drown.

Breathing Underwater.

Everyone is drowning.

Each clawing at the nothingness of life,

Desperately struggling for a breath of air.

Everyone is sinking.

The surface is never in our grasp,

The water weighs down and pushes us deeper down.

Everyone is suffering.

Eyes wild with fear and frustration,

The darkness of uncertainty constantly searing unto your skin.

We can't breathe.

We can't breathe.

But we are alive.

Poetry.

Is like silk,

With a tinge of French or whatever that makes that language divinely sexy.

It is the imagination of a child,

Manifested in the form of an adults perspective.

Is saying simple things with many words,

A piece of art with many shades of one hue.

It is easy yet so intricate it is difficult to swallow,

Beautiful yet surreal and distasteful.

It is lightning that strikes the soul,

With thunder that screams meaning.

It's like singing but there is no rhythm,

A heartbeat that is soon going flat.

What is poetry?

This is.

I Have A Monster in My House

"Say that one more time"
That line echoes in my ears,
Like sharp claws wrapping around my throat.

"Say that one more time"
Each word falls off your tongue,
Like stale death and poison.

"Say that one more time"
Breath foul of hate and fear,
A putrid soul beneath the cowl of the beast.

You terrorize and instill fear to all including your kin,
You do not see that you create disgust with your hands.
You think so highly of yourself,
But you do not see the little child that resides within.
A "5-year old prick" that's what I called you,
You sought to harm with such a simple taunt,
You are nothing but a coward.

That's why you hide behind your big appearance,
And learn martial arts,
And get involved with crime.
You think it's so cool that you're termed the "bad ass",
But the bitter truth is,
You're so afraid of being intimidated that you've lost sight of what you should be.
You criticise others but you don't see,
you don't see.....

You are a hypocrite,
Pathetic,
Weak,
Fearful,
Despised,
Stupid.
You are all the things you've feared to be.
But you do not see.

"Say that one more time"
I dare not gaze upon this monster before me,
He is not my brother,
But a horrid creature that will not hesitate to remove me of breath.

Mother once said you have love in your heart,
She was wrong.
One who loves should never make the ones they love fear you.
And now,
I fear you.

"5-year old prick"