Our gardens
have white flowers
but we cannot plant them
in every part of the world
because many gardens
have black flowers.
They will hate us
if we want to convince them
that ours
are more beautiful.

28.12.'14

Looking out the glass
down over damp streets
spread like boundaries;
streetlights and stop signs
to keep everything in, or out.

This city is a prison.

Your heartbeat is steady
next to me, slow.
Beneath that slight frame,
veins pump the blood that
gives you life.
The same blood that
allows you to cry at your
worst mistakes, or mine.

This room is a prison.

There is a rotating light,
the spotlight overseeing these
midnight prison grounds.
It burns from green to orange,
back to green again.

Your chest heaves, hitches,
I can feel it as the sobs
whisper out like a jury sentence.
The prison is here in white sheets,
where sighed whispers of
blame echo out.
Aside from that, it is silent,
the window holds out
noises of another world.

I wonder, glowing orange
to somber green,
what crimes I have committed
that hold me here.

I wonder, trapped by these
barbed wire streets,
what repentance I must seek out
to find sleep.

How many clouds
in use as wings
for you to fly
You are full of dusts
Sitting on the moon
and looking at the stars
across the sky

Some people feel like rhyming is important
But I think they're blind to truth
The most beautiful poems
I have ever read in my life
Contain no planned rhymes
They're the words that pour out of you
Straight from that center in your body
That controls your emotions
When you write from that place
Your words speak to people
So write from there
Don't worry about if this word rhymes
With that one or whichever one

To love is to burn,
for to feel heat,
one must set their soul ablaze.

To breathe is to drown,
for with every breath of air,
comes a suffocating waterfall.

To think is to be crushed,
for our thoughts trap us,
under their weight.

It is so with all things.
The things that I need to do
destroy me.

I'm trapped.