you’ve been fighting for so long – you’re afraid to let go, of your self.
so painfully, you hold on. at war with your spirit.
the universe that is.
unbeknownst to you – there is peace to be found.
but first. comes release.
you need
to let go – of your self.
-a raucous silence


what i sought was belonging – what i found had gone missing.
solace in the silence. there was a stillness in the quiet. left alone but not quite,
still i remained in the presence of my person, still i remained burdened by the memories of who i once was or who my thoughts had traced me to – someone, anyone.
but not me.
impossibly, i could not recognize him. not me. not anymore.
it coudn’t be.
alone but not lonely all the same – just missing. missing. absenting myself from whom i thought myself formerly. lost – unable to find that which i sought.
so i stopped. searching. i stopped.

and now – still lost. but most importantly, still.

-iwantedtoshare this with u.


oil black rich and pilfered

all you have now is your memory
but soon you’ll be without that too.
everything seemed diseased with leaving.
cancer borne from your father, his from his own too. though we burst through our mother’s wombs – it is our fathers who touch us first. sometimes in ways we’d rather forget. often times with hands that teased at their presence – the promise of a love so close that its absence was unmistakable. you could feel it. no point in denying what’s always been there – its ghostly form become real. now. a mark.now – on your skin, oil black rich and pilfered – resembling something like a mirror – this mark – you.in the image.of your father – now. become real – this mark. a reminder. of disease and its leaving. how it came before. came again. refusing to be


words again

i’ve started writing again and i must say its brought me life. i dont know whats happening at this juncture of my life. i try to be better but it feels i don’t try enough. not hard enough or enough of the time. i am still without discipline. but instead of feeling awful about myself i feel myself more on the thought of inconsequence. of passing. and leaving. and what it means for the thought to take flight, that feeling to take root. because no matter what i do – great or insignificant – the outcome feels the same. my birth. my death. and the earth’s dying too. no hope for any memories. no home for them anymore. except where they will never leave. impregnated in my spirit. and perhaps i’ll remember this feeling and birth life once again. i’ll try hard, maybe i won’t. i’ll smile a little bit, i’ll fail a lot more. who knows. i just feel im ready to go where im needed. to be there. to come back to where i am. to be here. not everywhere all at once. but where my soul needs me to be. wherever that is because these days i just don’t know. but i know its there somewhere. im there somewhere. i want to come home.


these days

i still remember the sun,
and the warmth of a forgiving love.
i still long for its smile,
and the gentle touch of its light embrace.
i still remember the moon.
and the freedom of its honesty,
the serenity of its pain
and how it learned me to shed my name.
i still remember the seasons.
and the unquestioning accompaniment
of a change that stays the same.
i still remember the earth
and the secrets it told
‘all things a cycle,
in a circle with no ends’
i still remember the sun.
and the gentle touch of its light embrace