So, I missed you,
misused
the tales
that other dudes
passed on.

I stole
the swollen heart of
the dark art’s love,
in observing
and serving up
other peoples
stuff,

little notes
about their lives,
things that I
did not experience
or survive,
but I still write
about those desperate nights
bringing their realities to light.

I plagiarized,
with a chameleon’s guise,
took their truths,
rationalized,
and fictionalized
with little details
and larger lies.

But isn’t that how
strangers empathize?
Isn’t this how
creatives thrive?

perhaps i had it all backwards,
and we are not the more evolved spirits of animals, and animals are not the more evolved spirits of plants

perhaps we are trying to become that which a plant already is:
a converter of suffering into purity, of darkness into light

just as with each in-breath, the plant takes in my suffering
and on exhale, converts it into loving oxygen,
which we drink in hungrily, yet unknowingly,

and just as each spiraling ray of sun is synthesized into pure life energy,
relinquishing the need for consumption of another self,

perhaps we too need to become more like plants,
and not the other way around.

as aspiring plant-beings,
we too can breathe in all that is
and exhale all that is to become.

Your lips part
At the nape of my neck

You brush them
Against my tingling skin

Closing my eyes
At the slight touch of them


I'm home.

I'm often not sure whether

     ....the trees are waving

..hello

          - or goodbye.

Through the forest of trees from your lips

   I can read your unspoken words.

       As each leaf falls

   the view becomes much more clear.

       Words that once reverberated through the forest

   seem as lifeless as the fallen leaves at my feet.

        I await a rush of fresh air

    to stir and animate the dead silence around me.

I still remember
Frollicking in the garden with you
Falling in love with
Magical colorful lights
Your hand entwined in mine

Sweaty palms
Widened pupils &
Your pretty eyes
Infront of mine

A fairytale,
As psychedelic
Trips usually are
That's what you were
One big trip
An illusion
An idea of who
I thought you were

What I thought we were
What I was to you
Wasn't enough
Didn't mean more
Than the next party
We escaped to

It wasn't until
Frollicking in the garden
Past cold fingertips &
Warm coffee sleeves
A beautiful family
Holding hands

Fresh baby face
All theirs to hold
Did I realize
That's what I
Wanted
Instead

-It was within that one moment I wanted to escape to reality for a change.