I swear I have lost it,
I called out for help
Not a soul to here my cries,
Not a voice to stop my goodbyes,
I swear I'll lose it
If you forget me too

You are the abundance of stars only visible to the dreamer in the wake of night

The sun and its companions as they glow to shine a light on the surface of your skin

You are the mischief that forms the toothy grin on the face of a child’s curiosity

The everlasting glow on their faces as they question the world around them

And I am lost in translation, confused, amused and somewhat enchanted

To you I am the clouds that hide away your blue skies

But to me I am the ones that shield you from the glare of a jealous sun

And to each other we are foreign, bordered and misunderstood

Lost in translation I’m waiting for you to understand ,
That to you; you’re nothing, but to me; you’re my dreamland

There was nothing between my senses,
Not a touch of conscience or rebellion,
I felt the quiet whispers of insanity surround me,
With a burden of wishes trying to flee,
My mind was Troubled by a lovers key,
Slowly ignited with one who can see ,
After all I've lost all sense of humanity,
I've forgotten feeling, hearing, seeing but mainly I've forgotten how to believe,
I've lost all my senses to insanity,
Trying to fly away from troubled unspoken symphonies,
Like flying  birds, I wish to flee,
I've lost all my senses trying to be,
One who was sane
And one who could see,
I brought down barriers of prosperity,
Trying seek flying birds as they flee the cold of the melting north,
After all I've lost all my senses to irony

Your strokes they were just so truthless
Your colours they made me ruthless
Made me stand and stare at my reflection
You told me my eyes were just perfection
You let me finish dreaming
But it turns I was hopeless
You painted my picture
Never let me see the truth
Of what canvas holds
And when you hung it up in my heart
I never felt so cheated
Those eyes you tried to perfect
They weren't  mine
Those lips, rose and red
They never lived
Your black frame lied like like a raven
Showed me a picture I never was in

Dust settles between this continental divide
I, on one end, a fleeting candle wick
Burning slowly, hopelessly against this cold
And time, like fallen clouds,
Does everything to hide the sun.

I practice dancing to sounds of silence
Distances become all too familiar
and like melted wax, I fall to the floor

hoping that before you walk away
you will break this barricade of silence
that time has built around us

Maybe someday I could breathe
Maybe someday I could see
Maybe someday I could feel
Maybe someday I could heal
Maybe someday I might wake up
Maybe that day I might just learn
Maybe I'll know why the sky was blue
Or maybe I'll know why I loved you

I wandered...
Across an open field
And felt the waves of sea breeze
I tasted the salted waters
As drops landed on my face
I wondered...
Whether home was a mistake
I thought about the people
The graves and faces I left behind
Not thinking that I was home
All along
I waited...
For a distant train
Or a letter of reconciliation
Maybe even a voice calling out my name
Or a ticket of desperation
A message begging for my return
To a shallow place
And I wrote...
Back to nothingness,
That I was home,
By a deep sea,
A vast field of my memories

With an overcast sky, summer warns us
the moon stops by for a brief conversation
before taking its leave, replaced by the sun
I stitch together sheep counts, Z's, and dreams
but these days drag into my subconscious
and streams of melancholy drain into one

You shake your head, watching me
it seems I have mistaken midnight gloom
for rain clouds and thunderstorm doom
Summer's warnings, now clear as day,
everything they were meant to say
I tend to overthink and underthink everything we are

When winter comes,
with endless hours of midnight
maybe then, I will have enough time
to consolidate what we are destined to be
unmistakably

Tangled unfinished thoughts  
rehearse midnight waltzes
in attempts to fill the gaps
left behind by transient dreams

We swim in pools of flowers picked from the gardens
Grown from your words
Going back and forth between poetic sonnets
And bare laughs
Feeling pain in our ribs
Healing the pain in our hearts
I try to write sentences too cluttered to make sense of
With metaphors, like gardens
So that you may not accidentally figure out
Everything you mean to me

So that you and I can spend a lifetime together
Picking words apart
Searching for meaning and walking with the stars
Because these midnight conversations
Are too precious to be lost to effortless deciphering

I am a nomad inside my own mind
I dwell in my thoughts for a short time
And then I’m off running
Through scapes of sandy dunes
Made up of sand crystals
That come from different dreams
Versions of a story waiting to be freed
And I run towards the water
Where happiness resides
Wandering over hills
Watching the sun set and rise
Looking at the stars
Searching for the times
When memories were moments
And my dreams were still mine

Somewhere in the tremor of this monsoon rain
Your heart itched in remembrance
And denial took its hands away from your eyes
and so, you cried,
you cried a mountain of tears
Enough to fill the gardening pots
When you watered your roses
With salted despondency
And the flowers began to wilt
You realized to set these dreams free
But even then, they were too far within
Like the arteries in your chest
Keeping you alive

I scrolled through my camera roll. Here’s a photo from five years ago, it’s still fresh in the mind. In it were canola fields and a glittering wind. I could still feel the breeze lingering on my fingertips. It was me and a camera I no longer own, my dad, who, in his impatience, still drove me out to a field, outside city lines, so that I could take a photo of the sunset, for a class. There are some simple things, simple pictures. No person, or place of any significance, but they sit on you, right on your chest. They weigh heavy. I wonder why. Background set. Now I will look and feel the touch of yesterday. Swallowing every color in the picture and letting its sounds ring in my ear. I wonder why. No person or place of significance, but it sits on me, right on my chest.

Waterfalls of your everlasting memories
Flood down, pooling into pre-existing floods
Of stories, you left behind
Words I could never seem to understand
Memoirs of pain and grief that lay dormant on my skin
I swim in the ocean of teary-eyed nights
That colour these passages
Trying to decipher, trying to find the beginning
But every time I dip my fingers into these cascading waves
My eyes always seem to latch on to the moonlight
That you left behind
And stars that fluoresce with remediated happiness

The waters turn to sand
And I sit in this empty space
Echoing the future to your dissipating anguish

The birds speak of a kindred soul
One that basks in the afterglow
of a solemn moon lingering in the daylight

and you watch as nights go on
the way it changes phases
falling in love with the idea
of embracing the volatility of life

Moon sailor, you watch pensively,
Hoping to catch sight of the evening moon
Lost at sea, your heart searches
for a lighthouse to guide you back home,
But clouds wash out your bones
As you make your abode in the sky....

....Dreaming

You’re awakening is always a beautiful one
It encompasses the adrenaline rush of life
And you tend to fade into the sunrise
As your back rests against your bed rest

You wonder where the morning goes
When you’re out searching for the colours of your dreams ...

...after you blink it’s nightfall
Because time is limitless, it’s a construct, a measurement
That feels undefined

you start to pour your body off the side
And You feel the blood in your veins shift
Your headaches start to disappear and reappear
And it’s time to once again run towards tomorrow

Until the day the morning never appears

Although I am a dreamer
I wasn't really free
Even though I was a realist
It was a dreamer I would be
Because I was lover
I couldn't really see
And since I became a hater
I was always hating me
Then I was a sister
But one I couldn't really be
And then I was giver
But Giving was not free
And someday I'll be a mother
Only then I'll be me.

You stand on one side of this
Mountain,
And I stand here,
Where fields of memorial Howers grow
Where colours blend into cobblestoned paths
To make hopscotch grids,
And carry children's laughs
Tell me where you go
When I try to reach out
For your cold hands
How easily you fade to memory
How easily It all fades to black
I find myself far from this mountain
Back into my restless eyes
Where I left reflections
Of you, my dear past.

Find me a world of my own
Tell me my story, tell it over the phone
Let the static blur the lines
Between crowded rooms and lonely times
And if the world is looking for me
Tell them I’ll be in the clouds
Finding a place to breathe out loud
Amongst my dreams and all my visions
I will breathe in my own illustrations
So if the world comes looking for me
Tell them the Nefelibata is finally free

I’ve placed myself in debt
From borrowing the past
And now my headspace is always unclear
Regrets tied around my wrists
And the future, always slipping from my grasp
Runs ahead
Holding signs too far for me to read

Take a walk with me down my favourite street,
down memory lane
it’s still under construction
Memories built and renewed
I will tell you stories about foreign colours
so you can paint them onto bricks
placed by some past version
of myself

I don’t think I’ve lived enough life to be nostalgic

But I can’t shake this melancholy
Instead, I look back now that the journey is over,

Whatever the journey was
Sometimes it’s just a walk to the other side of the neighbourhood

Remembering and singing songs from a life I never lived

You know that feeling?
When you remember a moment
Restructured to fit what your emotions desire
And then it’s born
Out of empty space
Nostalgia, a blue flower

Let’s take a walk through my dreams
You see them speckled with hopes and memories
You’ll see they are broken and incomplete
You may even see behind the grey clouds
A hint of sunlight stringing beaded fascinations into things to wish for

What is this feeling that seems so foreign yet familiar?
As we head our own ways
down our own paths
maybe we will think to look back
but until then  
Let’s walk back to the fork in the road
and reminisce over everything we’ve seen,
over and over,


until we meet again.

I don’t know how we ended up here
The mountains and the crisp air
Something cliche about the atmosphere
Something I read in a poem in my notes somewhere
A feeling of contentment dances nearby
And infused with the oxygen we both breathe in

It has thorns like roses
and solemn hues
the pinpricks from picking
these flowers have left maps on my hands
that I read when I am lost in the woods
by my childhood dreams

At the break of dawn, letters sit by your bedside
narrating moon sonnets,
Remnants of satsuma and rose, colour in childhood streets
and you find ways to bottle nostalgia into a fragrance,
and with it, blooms melancholy.

I drank a whole glass of nostalgia,
Took a flight around time,
And found myself sitting where I started,
In a state of unnerving silence,
Thinking about how the thunder
Stored in my swollen heart roars,
whenever I’m somewhere,
Lost in my memories.

I sometimes sit on our old couch in the basement
And think about what we left in its recline
The leather is cold and distant
It is coated with the film of time
Stained with tears, laughter, and secrets Nestled in the crevices is all my growth
When I lay my head against it
1 can hear dialogue from the movies we watched
And faint conversations with ghosts

Red branches,
out of place?
White snow,
been here for days
Old goodbyes,
In a tight im brace,
Just couldn't let go

up and over hills
we go, we go
but on the drive in
those hills
those wonderful hills
the ones that catch my breath
and lock it in their grass roots
the impossible to climb
but on the drive in
so wonderful to see

You
see pain,
Feel pain,
Live pain,

I cannot give an explanation for this pain
But I will sit here in silence
Peeling away the darkness of your pain,
find the embers of hope in your pain
And use it to ignite the fire to keep your cold hands warm.

You wash your heart with evening rain
as waves of drowsiness hold out
paper boats made of written dreams
that search endlessly for a lighthouse
to guide them home to you

Paper will always be a mirror,
Where words will be the reflection
of your thoughts and hopeless dreams.

If I could see the world I'd paint it so the blind could see it too
So that they could hover there fingers over the strokes of France and Italy
Or maybe they could smell the culture from the continental divides
Or maybe they could just envision the architecture at its easel
But what's the point when they can already see.
When they can touch the world and feel the boundless gravity
The kind that holds its ground in rich escapades
Or maybe they could hear the gunshots of the hate
But what's the point when paintings will warp soon.
And even with all the paper paintings and all the paper planes,
We might even see the world too.

Greenlights takeover the afterglow of the sun,
Raindrops paint cities on our windowpane,
We run onto the street with our bare feet
Hand in hand, holding onto a parachute made of dreams.

I hope you keep the taste of your dreams on your tongue,
When you’re gathering the courage to run towards stormy waters,
And I hope that when you reach the shoreline,
Your unspoken words rest on your eyelids,
So that every time the water burns your eyes,
You find comfort in your heart’s lullabies,
Written for you to keep you warm,
when the thunder shatters your barriers.
I hope you remember all the words we exchanged,
Because I’ve written yours upon my sleeves,
Hoping that you would remember them too.
I hope that when you reach the other side,
You’ll find the colourful remnants of the setting sun,
They’ll wash the lightening away from your eyes,
So that you can see the outline of your shadow,
As you reunite with your past self,
The one that hasn’t forgotten how to dream.

We were trying to be soft spoken
Little words but very broken
Quiet voices and loud screams
Senseless whispers and impossible dreams,
But reality is hell and love is war
In a life of cliché and nothing more
But small talk with some sultry silence
Is what I call the perfect evening
Where it's you and I
And the sound of our scribbles, laughs and tears
I'm the writer and you're the pen
Where an evening alone with you
Is all I need to conquer my fears
Burn my rage
Onto a page
And let the world read.
A pen, you are all I need.

You write letters with your broken pen
after waking up from a dream
undisturbed, among peonies soaked in water
your feet rest against the sand
that once kissed the moon
and the stars write back to you
transcripts of our conversations,
like fragrance, they leave a trail in the wind
and we remember them
on those odd nights of wakeful dreaming

I'll stand here, on the edge of time waiting for the world to pass me by
soak in the sun, with every last breath
then disappear when the smell of rain starts to water the earth

When the soil rises into my soul, blanketing my heart with it's earthy embrace
I'll soak in the water drops, the ones that dance on my finger tips
and watch the clouds start to grey

I'll let you colour me, with your rain
I'll let you cover me with your pain
I'll let you envelope me in your everlasting sent
oh petrichor, I'll even let you take my breath

I'll paint my face with plaster
Forget the happy ever after
I'll build up all my walls all over again
I'll keep my lips quietly shut
And never come out to be beat again
I'll rip up all my stories
Break into all your glory
But I'll hide them once again,
I'm sorry I even spoke out
I'll disappear in the fall out
So maybe we can forget this one again

playing catch with conversations
passing our thoughts
on the taste of the sea
and the way things glisten
under the glow of hindsight
this rain, feels all too maroon
and the roads, like veins
carry forward the spring gloom
I dusted off my shoulders
Just for this today
so, we could sit in the presence
of silence, and a quiet peace
with the pattering of a gentle storm
in between each heartbeat
bouncing between words and worlds
throwing out into the wide open
how we feel about time
just as it passes us by

And we sit on the porch steps
our bare feet rest on cold cement  
the space between memories and contentment
starts to occupy your lungs
we watch the distant rain, still too premature
yet you, in fear of the future
run inside.

In endearing silence,
Exists the stillness of black and white,
The painter holds the palette against their chest,
And their heartbeat colours in the pigments,
As their brush strokes the canvas,
Droplets of light begin to surround you,
Like floating fireflies, or stars on earth,
And in your eyes, colour blooms,
You sit, framed, in black and white,
But the smile you wear when you stare at wonder,
Brings your colours back to life,
The painter captures a portrait,
Made from the paper of destiny,
A picture of you finding yourself,
As the silence waves goodbye,
Leaving behind echoes of your hopeful laugh.

Honey drops in to the Milky Way inside your tea cup
We sit chatting for old times sake
Friends of distance and enemies of uncertainty
I hope you’ve paved your road on those maps
That you pinned onto your walls
I hope the sun didn’t chase you away
I hope the foreign thunder stole your heart
And you found reflections of a beautiful past
I had written the night before
Inked into letters from the moon

From across the ocean, I waited for your postcards
Yet we sit here, with our thoughts
dancing in the silence between us
Your spoon makes ripples in your tea,
I dream to see the world you’ve seen,

You reminisce and I travel with your memories

You in your full bloom, at peace,
like swirling honey in warm milk,
made of rich pigment and velvet petals.

take a breath, and paint a picture,
of the transient atmosphere,
and you swaying with the ocean breeze.

send it to that part of you
that is lost in endless worry.

My thoughts take the shape of water
And drizzle down from the hands of smokey clouds
my scalp itches with desperation
to feel the coolness of the September wind
run its fingers through my hair
but here we are, under canopies of summer rain
thinking about the leaves changing colours
and how everything will fade again
my lungs, they ache for foggy streets
to inhale the tears of evergreens
and wander off to where the air is thin
I write in dark corners, hiding from heat waves
With an aching heart that yearns
to see you grow