There is a man who has a large beautiful home
And a grand yard behind it
His sheets are made of Egyptian cotton
And he imposes his fit body onto them every night

On his bed he dreamt
The sky was quickly changing from pink, to blue, to grey, and so on
The ground was made of mirrors so he felt sorrounded by the clouds
He wasn't afraid even if it seemed strange
So he starting walking the set path in front of him

He came upon his house and went inside
And in it he saw nothing
And the nothingness hit him
He swore it off with anger
And went out to the large yard with shrubbery sculptures

The grass in the yard breathed
Ominously so
The ground had cracks but wasn't dry
And there was a spiral labyrinth

There were no trials in this maze
Only one task
To follow it all the way down

The entrance, stone with etched words he couldn't understand
Grew as he approached
And he felt the weight of the world like a roach
The hedges inside the labyrinth stared down on him

He felt the hedges stare all the way down
They dispised him for reasons unknown
And whispered
"What would you do in our shoes?"

At the center of the maze was a blood filled, oozing, heart
Every beat was slower than the last
And he understood it as his own
The sky turned a strict, brooding grey

Frantically, he searched his mind for answers
He blamed the people around him
"They're poison!" He shouted
But that couldn't be true

He wept, for he didn't know what to do to make the beating regular
And the hedges stared
And the sky closed in
And the whispers turned to shouts

Then it all stopped
The heart, beating
The hedges, staring
The sky, moving
While he was glad, he felt alone

But then it seemed the world spoke all at once
"Give us your all, we shall return the favor, and we will be one."
And he awoke in his beautiful home
And he wept in repentance

I enter the labyrinth
in hopes of finding You, O Lord
with fear and trepidation
I walk on

I enter the labyrinth
wrongly do I journey
in the space I go
when You were in the lines

I walk through the labyrinth
anticipating Your call
waiting for a sign
to tell me I am Yours

I walk through the labyrinth
hungry for Your embrace
craving the touch
of the Master's hand

I journey in the labyrinth
circles in circles
trusting in You
O Lord, my guide

I journey in the labyrinth
the labyrinth of life
and I find You, my Saviour
in the simplest and most wonderful of things

I exit the labyrinth
thankful, grateful
that for one blister in time
I am blessed with Your peace

I exit the labyrinth
reaching the sunset of my years
looking back, I realise
You were with me all along

They look and see
The quiet surface of me,
Slight waves of personality.

They don't know what I hide
How strong my tide.
The depth of my sea,
They simply cannot see.

They will never be
able to swim to my depths,
or reach my upmost steps
Couldn't possibly stay afloat when I've wept.

To see what lives in the deep darkness of me,
There is not enough breath to explore beneath chest.

I am a labyrinth.. I confess.

A monochrome film plays
Over and over.
To a singular audience.
It rewinds.
Pauses.
Fast-forwards.
It sticks on one frame
Over and over.
In the scene
It's me, lost in a
Labyrinth.
It's walls lit with
projected clips
of a monochrome film.
Playing.
Over and over.

Look at me.
Just look at me the way you look at those other girls.
They’re everywhere, little miss ‘perfect’s
who have *******, big bottoms, blonde hair
what’s wrong with me?
Just because I don’t look like that.

Talk to me.
Just talk to me the way you talk to those other girls.
You know the ones I mean,
the ones that initiate conversation through the eyelids they bat,
through their smell that lingers as they walk past your table,
you just can’t help but want to talk to them.
What’s wrong with me?
Just because I don’t smell like that.

Be with me.
Just be with me the way you want to be with those other girls.
The way that you slide into your covers of a night
and ponder what it would be like to be in theirs.
I can’t help being who I am.
What’s wrong with me?
Just because I can’t be like that.

Well maybe I should stop watching you.
Well maybe I should stop imagining you.
Well maybe I should stop,
         maybe I should stop being with you.

The nightly news suggested that my clan and friends
and poetry and me gather all of our things
and evacuate the city but because my folk
are people in the margin, people in financial

strain shaped by oppression, I have - instead - loaded things
and bodies into a single caravan and am
en route to you because you are smoother and longer
and stronger, taller than the tallest road in the world.

In my mind, you have become the road; a road whose peak
is 18,000 feet, a road whose place is between
the East and West, a road whose beginning has no end
and a road whose end has no beginning - none at all.

Heavy rain. Flood water. High wind, the weatherman said.
For years, I have been compelled to take this road, to ride
its curves with finesse, to drift in a single gear for
miles, to go and go and go on the smoothest road 'round.

For years, I have been compelled to take this road, to be
elevated at 18,000 feet - yes, to be
transported closer to heaven, to be and be and
be on the longest, strongest, tallest road in the world.

En route, an elderly man asked me, Why her, young man, why
her? I shifted gears. Accelerated up a hill
of you and said, Because she has exceeded all things.
Exceeded what, young man, exceeded what? Do tell. Do.

All other roads and passageways, the labyrinth of
life, everything, sir, everything.

And how do you know we will survive along this road?
he asked.

Because no matter the point of origin, so long
as we are on the road of her, there will be fields whose
crops are plenty - always in season, brooks whose water
never recoils, and rivers of milk that do not spoils.

At it's best these moments feel like nothing.
A force in my cranium telling me there's something.
Telling that I am to understand but can't.
I can,
but I can't,
can I,
can't I?
An unsolved puzzle doesn't hold answers
but can you answer this ?
Does every answer have a question?
Does every result hold solution , resolution ?
Crock pots don't stock well with others, only in the asylum.

Yes
I'm lost in my head
It's not that hard really
With the labyrinth in my brain
A left turn sends me to disaster
Go to the right and I find insanity
Around the bend I just might find
That happiness I lost four years ago
I'm going in circles
But I don't regret getting lost.
If I'd never strayed from the straight path,
I would never have understood
The beauty and horrors of life
I would never have known risk
I would not know what it's like
To be alive.