my hands are stained with signs of turmeric, fading yellow orange
my nose is filled with tickles of aromatic roots, ***** fibrous tubes
but these don't represent anything, except some signs of life.

my skin is inked from colorful dyes, as symbols of my truth
my face is freckled from the summer sun, as symbols of my youth
but these don't represent anything, except some signs of life.

my bones and joints, at varying places, ache
my brain and mind, at varying times, pang
but these don't represent anything but, some signs of life.

my heart has known each side of our endless tragedy
my love has discovered our infinite acts in jest
and these things don't represent anything but, some signs of life.

i'm aware of my insignificance, in my limited existence
i'm aware that that can change, as easily as it cannot
but i don't represent anything, except my experience of life.

i've come close to knowing death, more times than i'd like to count
i've come close to knowing love, more times than i'd like to count
but these don't represent anything, except some signs of life.

i've met grace and kindness in the eyes of the forgotten
i've met hate and insecurities in the faces of those with influence
but i know they don't represent anything more, than some signs of life

i know that nothing is exclusive or ultimately controlled
i know that people are stones being smoothed until they reach  round
and i know this represents nothing more, than some signs of life

i wonder deeply about the state, of our humans being.
i wonder deeply how far we've secluded ourselves from each other
and i know, sadly, this represents nothing more, than some signs of life

but i know we are that so called stone, waiting to be round.
cut from sharp abstract forms, drifting down the riverbed,
washed over loquacious time, smoothed of our shearing sides

but as long as there are signs of life
imbalance will sway our ways, time will be like running water,
endlessly working to smooth our shearing sides.

and this, as i think i know it, are the signs of life.
and this, as i know it, will change. hopelessly smoothed.
and this represents nothing more, just experience. not life.

my favorite picture of myself
was taken in a redwood forest

I stood next to a tree
at the age of seventeen
and the height of six feet
and about 130 pounds

and for once
I felt short
and not the giant myself

i do not know how to love
softly,
i walk across this ocean like
i am from heaven
but my feet keep slipping through
the surface,
roughly
i try to hold my bones inside my body
but i have gotten used to the way
they look on the outside,
quietly
i hold my own heart with my hands
because i cannot trust anyone else but,
tightly
too too tight.
but do not tell anyone, megan
do not tell anyone.
i wish i could have loved you,
softly.

a question troubles, island’s peace is lost,
“am i who i am?” eager land inquires.
disturbed, the once serene and calm water,
enraged waves sent off, crashing onto shore.
the answer that you seek i cannot speak,
straightforward answers, never meant to please.
a storm threatens a downpour of yes, no,
confusion flooded, train of thought submerged.
surveying islands, bird’s eye takes the view,
clouds fleet along, marveling at it all:
a lake, a river, waterfalls of hope,
a hill, a valley, mountains of regret,
grown with experience, plants and trees stand,
learning through challenges, animals flock.
“what an amazing sight!” wind blows soft breeze,
“what an amazing mind!” whistles the bird.
land and water, both finally, calmed down,
resolves to address the troubling question:
“am i who i am?” echoes the island.
wind and ocean answers in unison:
“a tiny plot of land, blessed by the gods,
but with one’s hands, an island has emerged."

and just as fate should have it
we can never be
just meeting on a road we walked
side by side for so long
for it to divert
all too soon

the first mile
the second and the third
I miss seeing you by my side
we really had to say goodbye
all too soon
but it's not like
you would care
do you?
would you?
if I asked?

and I will
never see you again
probably
after a while;
will I forget?

will you let me
hold your hand for
the first time
and the last

and how would you respond
if I told you
that I loved you
would you
have anything to say?
anything at all?