someone said
that turning pain
into art
takes guts.

they said it
about one of my poems —

called it inspiring.

then my job is done.
all i ever wanted
was to find someone
my words resonate with.
and in the process,
somehow,
i ended up
inspiring myself.

the pain i worked on,
moulded into poetry,
became my muse.
and when i feel low,
empty,
or bruised,
it calls to me
with its relentless tides,
half-formed stanzas
and mismatched lines,
until its whispers
become a symphony
i thought
only my heart
could hear.

i don’t need hurt
for my art anymore.
just give me a feeling,
give me a word,
and i’ll ask my poetry
to get back to work.

We gonna rock
right, rock means

something, right, we
gonna rock this joint, tonight

means something to the mob,
representative miniscule bit of it,
we, you and me, whatsoever we agree
paying rapture ready attention, to we, us

the living words appearing in your mind,
this mind we share using knowing, old,
wise, ways we lost through misconnection,

truth and wisdom, tandem, two minds,
arranged with worthiness weights in place,

we are, those champions, those folks from
former times, the old days, the glory days,
these days,
we believed were our destination,
ever, after
ever before, now
we were stuck right here in now,

and then, now, again,
same old, same old, now.

The good guys and the other guys, the thieves,
and us, those stolen from, we too tiny to think

we may be involved
in eternal warfare, as mere
peace makers, sent
to perform
on demand, pure

peaceable possibility supposed up above us all,

peace past understanding, achieved
in confusion, defused, refused
since
when
precisely,
cut incisively
to the core concept, truth weighed in,
throwing sheer folly
at our fear
of death

stopping
the heart
of our confusion, as we agreed,

we may be all we
make believed.

And immediately appear
as true as ever

imaginably, just so.

i had no idea how heavy
the heart can be
when it clings
to a dream long gone.

i didn’t need reminding
of how selfish i’ve been.
i stayed away
to find clarity, space—
and who i was meant to be.

my roots are still fixed in the dark.

but i know now
what it’s like
reaching through the clouds,
and being crowned by the sun.

with my first chip in hand.
after thirty days,
i’m ready to speak again,
and let love back into my heart.

First, square that step.

Begin to gleam with joy.

Heal the being you are.

Do square the body, and

Give that token you have.

Speak forth your strength

In sound and form,

Create the light that leads

Your foot steps forth, and

Then on you go.