I religion in the forest
I worship what I see
the majesty of mountains
the purity of the sea

I am the deity
along with four legged creatures
and night owls
the serpentine slither

I claim no following
for all is known is
my memory

my sight my empathy my love my being
and I sit on a log
and worship this orb

like a true believer
that I am the creation
the superstar the reason
the prejudice

the forbearing

all I see all I hear is inside
so inside must be god
the visions
are but tricks

and I sit on that log and watch
the river flow and the storms grow
and sunrises

and get it
I am the screen
to a movie

and what I make of it
is all

never mix a poet and an artist.
he whispered to me, his words mix like
paint in his head to form a beautiful
sunrise.
"two pretentious people can never
get their way,
we're two busy expecting the other
person to make a move".
i'm too scared to let him get close,
i'll write about him,
i won't be able to forget about him,
and all i want to do is act reckless
at night and pretend
i'm good in the morning.
i wonder what games i'm playing this time.
maybe i wanted to kiss him,
maybe i didn't.
my brain can't make it's mind up.
i'm fickle.
all i know is an emotion in the moment,
and i tug on it,
i won't let it go.
if i can feel anything at all,
let me feel it.
so i'll play with his hands and he'll shake
his head and complain i never know
what i want,
and our heads lean in and i tell myself
i won't kiss him,
and something twists in my stomach,
and i tug, i tug.

In the musings of the dark Koel
That perches upon the winding bough
The sun that flushes from the east
Upon the earth's curving brow
In leaves that bend across to brush
The fruit of life that time bears,
The carnation's awakened blush
In the unseen breath of morning air
In swirls of clouds that float across
A placid sky of limpid blue
The ripples on the lake embossed
With dancing drops of sunlit dew
I know His chants, sense His thoughts
I hear hymns of divinity
I see His hand, I feel His touch
Midst echoes of eternity

We all leave things behind
Whether it's a handprint on a window.
The memory of a kiss on one's lips.
Or a memory.

Everyone's always around whether they're there or they're not.
They've left their handprint on me, on my heart and it will not fade away as easily as a mark on my window.
I hope it gets blown away by the wind.
Off the surface of earth itself.
Only a mere memory that will fade over time

And when I think it's gone, it reappears.
Colliding with me like a thousand volts of electricity.
There's nothing I can do to stop it.
I must let it course through me.
Touch every inch of my skin, glide every crevasse, fill every hole.
Till I can no longer speak.
Till it's pulling at my vocal cords preventing me from screaming.
Screaming everything I feel inside.
From the anger, to the sadness, to the loneliness.

I hear only gasps of air escape me.
Hoping that I am only swimming on a warm summer day and that I'll make it to the surface to take that long awaiting breath of air.
But I can't.
Because instead of swimming up, I am only getting pulled down.
Like a puppet being controlled by its master.
Only one can control the strings.

After a while, I look up towards the new hope awaiting me and wonder;
"Is it all worth it?"
"Will I end up in the same place?"
The same dark lonely hole that I've landed myself in?

They tell you there's so much to look forward to.
And I wonder for a second if it might be true.
But then I remember, I will never be in control of my fate.
Because I am a mere puppet attached to strings waiting for the show called Life to start.

the same blue chairs
the same smudged whiteboards
the same ****** teachers
for 13 years
its not preparation for life
its torture
pure torture
your brain in molded
to think the way society wants you to think
the lack of freedom to think in  this world
is what holds us back the most
we must be normal
well what if i dont want to be normal
theres more to life than a nine to five
a wife and two kids
a church wedding and a mortgage
live with no regrets
fufil your every want and need
live to experience
and die with content