I hope I feel what you feel when you found your dream.
I wonder why you found yours, while I can’t even find mine.
I want to steal your goals — but that’s not the kind of person I can be.

I dream of being a soldier, but the darkness inside holds me back.
Taking lives isn’t in me, yet I still want to chase that dream.
Sometimes, I feel left out — even in my own world.

There’s a deep wound in my chest — that feels impossible to heals.
I want to become the person I see in my dreams but I can even stand on my own.
Life feels strange, like I’m already gone.
I’m alive in flesh but dead in soul.
Didn't  think I can stand on my own two feet.
I need support — but I hate needing anyone.
Suffering in silence is safer than suffering with you because your just a human so you can judge me too.
I don’t think I can live with you — even for a week because I feel my body getting weak.

To love you
In secret
burns through me.

I can not hear the birds
Singing to me.
Your song echos

Touch me
I want to be devoured by you

From within, I cry out to you
but my surroundings paralyze us

We cannot say it.
Like salt statues of lovers
I freeze when I turn to you

Why, then, do you wait for me?

I am stone, I am still, I will never catch up.

To the moments that push me back when I could have gone full-******
To the times when I refrained from spending the only money I had on something as frivolous as seeing you say hi
Somewhat the best antidote to stupidity is shaking my head no and waving a polite goodbye
So if I seem like I'm thinking about you alot
You may say I'm yes-ing and no-ing to you alone
Because I'm already broke
And you make me feel, like buying more time with you by saying yes
Since yes may mean an Amen to You
Even I know, No is much more exciting
No is harder
No is rougher
No is sexier
No has repercussions
No I am not interested in this superficial interaction because your space smells so much like you and I want to dig my face into your hair
So I'm sorry
No

I mean, Yes please.

Yes, I would like some coffee, please.
Yes, I would like to have a conversation, please.
Yes, I would like to fight my dad so I can borrow money to spend around your space, please.

It's not infinitely cool that wins anyone, though.
It's the finitely present, that gets their attention.

Let me think about how much I haven't said anything really thoughtful to myself
But I have said more thoughtful things to you than the one fixing my bed.
I have seen myself kinder because there are people who have a nurturing way to them that makes us want to be them.
And I know I am spicy and not sweet
But
If I could be that type of person.
I would make sure I had it easier for me to say
Yes
Please.

The bad may come in threes,
But you were not that.
Tragedy echoes not
The feelings within me.

You are the Great Third,
The final of the trio
The golden sheft of wheat
Given to the gods of autumn.

You are the shining sun
A glorious ray of light
But a cloud rolls past you, dear
Shadowing your might.

The tragedy may have been me
But twas it not you.
You may have torn my soul apart
But you can mend it anew.

I open this blank Word document.
Its white expanse a challenge I am not sure I want to take.
But now I’ve got two lines - going on three
will this be the seed of a small green sprout of a tree?

This page is a bright sky
beckoning me to take a breath
at first shallow barely containing enough oxygen
to sustain sitting up.

But writing is like breathing to me
I do it most of the time without much effort
inspiring and expiring
here in this white desert
one line at a time
minute by minute, day after day
trying to find something worthwhile to say
worthy of my time as I sit here growing older
or your time to pause here in this blooming desert
never quite sure if it or I am worthy of the fuss.
But isn’t writing the thing that sustains us
no matter its poetic patterns or rhythms or rhymes?
Writing is breathing to me and do it I must.  Lots of times.

In A Cloud Of God

I meditate
In a cloud of God,
The phrase enticing,
Spicing up my inner vision,
Paradis-ing selfsame vision
Into supervision.
This decision to be deep in thought
That isn’t thought exactly
But a tactful way to find the mind
Without a wandering in imagery,
Colloquially speaking,
And between you, me, i.e. we, us
Who chance to meet on this  
Our [quasi] paper
Is escape of noblest kind,
Leading blindly on pure trust
To someplace nice – yes, nicest!

In A Cloud Of God 11.13.2017
God Book II; The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin

I am in love with a man who bleeds sunlight
and whose eyes wash tsunamis against
the harsh shadows of his lashes on his cheeks.
He hides an untamed storm inside of him,
waves crashing into rocky shores while the sky
drowns in blue; and I drowned in him.

He is not a robin, but he carried my heart
through bleeding skies and fireworks.
He is gone now, chasing after new dreams
while I bury what he’s decided has died
and choke on the secrets I never realised
he kept from me, hanging on my wall in
a morbid display of blindness and loss.

My heartache is a war cry in the darkest night,
shattering the windows of my soul until
tears leak out to grow a new Atlantic,
now that I cannot look in his eyes again.
I drown in the knowledge that he has
covered me with scars from wounds that
never were mine, but that I bled from still.

I hope one day he can learn to love
something without making it bleed, and
maybe I can learn to remake my heart
out of something that isn’t glass, and
not to giftwrap it every time I feel warmth,
and to stay far away from the shore.

- He is a hurricane, and I have always loved storms. c.s.

she has no name
she is his wife --
Lot’s wife
she follows him
it’s expected
as they climb from the valley
she turns
to take another look at the life she
left behind
- it’s not allowed
it’s not allowed to look
is she curious?
does she miss the home she left behind?
a woman is not allowed
a woman cannot disobey
not in the mirror she stares
not even into her own soul
- it’s not allowed
***** she stands
into a pillar she turns
a curvy statue of salt mountains
head turned to the sea below
elegant curves whisper
sounds of eternity