The only part of my day
That I look forward to
Is when I go to bed
And lay there making up scenarios
In my head.

I think of comebacks
To 8th grade bullies.
I think of witty retorts
To my mother's snide comments.
I think of intelligent things to add
To conversations I had months ago.

I think of all the things
I was too scared to say.

And in my mind
I say them.
And pretend how things would be different
If only I had the courage to speak.

We do not breathe a moment unloved
Though pain unjust
The most fearful kind
Swallows us whole
Torso and soul
Cognition and mind
This human realm
Heaven and hell together
Joined at the root
Ignorance a mountain walked upon
( we not looking down )
Anger desire burning the house
Bewilders blinds defends and
Shrouds the truth now
Is not the end ultimate
Manifestation of
Perceptivity we
But ancestors of those to be
Who shall see upright in spirit
Forebears dreaming
They are the highest form
A dazzling appearance i agree
Yet so far to go
The best is not we
Evolve a bit more i think

today
      smells of
              cut grass
                 stuck to
             flesh
     in the heat of                                    
       summer                           you
                                             tasted
                                          so
                                     familiar
                                   and i
                                  thought
                            your glass
                       would shatter
                             if i laid
                            my hands
                               on you
                                    so
                                     i'll pretend
                                         you're a ghost
                                                instead          
                                                  and say
                                                     something like
                                                      my river
                                                       is on
                                                     fire

time passing
a place to be
nowhere to go
so it seemed

twenty-five hours ago
didn't we break free

wet Mondays
called out
the grooves
that smiled
in between
Needlehead
and me