Haiku (Series #1)

waiting for a speech
knowing I will speak somewhere
where they have to clap


Popcorn Day

Silent in this coffeeshop
mocha-infused nostrils
smoothing hands on the wooden table
waiting for life to unfold

for life to make sense again.

the buildings slouch together like siblings on a couch
watching the same television show

the locals shiver in flip-flops and overcoats
smoking their cloves
blowing their words into the air

the children march in school uniforms,
teachers and parents bobbing beside them
brown bags of popcorn bunched in their hands

the children toss their laughter in the air
one kernel at a time
their handfuls of chatter
thrown fast at each other

the adults munch solemnly
some staring ahead
some staring down to observe
to envelop
the chatter decorating their faces
like strings of lights on an evergreen

and I remember what it was like to feel
in my hometown.

Set Free

It wasn’t pretty, parts of my days
burnt my skin and scratched my veins

blew quite literally from my mouth
pinched my heart and ripped like cloth

the vision I had to sustain
the colors I clutched at desperately to see

were pointed at to me by you
your fingers found that they could bleed.

The tearing of our flesh and sound
our metaphysical seams

was necessary to find this light
that I can finally see.

I wonder where I’d actually be
if you hadn’t helped me along
if you hadn’t shown me the truth of pain

Would I be lost?
Would I be gone?

Your truth I can gladly see
is knotted at my ankle

it knocks me down when I am dumb
and flies me higher than I expect

it never drops me on my head
but shows me the ground I’ll find instead

it tugs and holds me in the comfort way
the swaddling warmth I need

it reaches for me when I’m down
and hands me air I need to breathe.

The fingers bleed and the truth tightens
the flesh still red and raw

But my flesh is mine and your blood is yours
it’s malleable and strong

The world is bigger than it seemed
and chances are scattered ahead

No longer buried beneath my burden
I am set free

and I am here.


the feathered edges of my voice
my fingers trickle and watch
the light syrups around your smile


the stilted words I now pronounce
the quake in my stomach grounds
my toes tension-bent at the knuckle


the wrongs that gave my brow furrow
the tiny pieces that un-grow
the pages where I wrote you into being
different than who you are


marking boxes every day
building life and loving stay
reaping more than what I’ve sown
but sowing the true


Shades of Light

The shadow on your chin
creates the mystery
where secrets could lie
but the moment they arrive
you turn your cheek
and light floods your pores
shining your truth onto me.


I didn’t want to let go of your hand
as we walked you through your greatest fear.

The sand felt like it swallowed me whole
hurling pod after pod of seaweed at my ankles

tempting me to give in to anti-balance

but I felt your hand, the smooth skin, the slant of the sea
slick between our fingers, but unable to break
this bond.

Land Mine

Today I stepped on a land mine
my breath knocked out of me into the street
the blast blowing out the fillings in my teeth.

I tumbled over backwards before breaking down,
the pieces melting off my bones
coagulating into a squishy sludgy me.

When you walked over, I expected you to step
over me and onto your next task
or to scatter me like a smashed spider beneath your feet.

Instead you fished into the pile of splatter
and pulled out the raw pink underneath
wrapped it in a blanket

and sang a song of your unfailing belief.

People don’t exist to validate me,
my perceptions or fears,
they exist to have the same shot at life
as I do.

The one thing I can watch them show
is the acceptance that they made the right decision
when they chose me.

Today, I stepped on a land mine
and it was about time I blew away
the perfect show I thought I was
for the imperfect better of me.

Skip Right Through The Puddles

Come and sit, sweet child,
Your cheeks are rubbed raw,
your eyes are slits of sad.
Come feel the fingers of fair
as they drag across your scalp.

You can’t trip and fall into blame
When you skip right through the puddles you’re finding
You own the puddles
splashing your skinned knees
washing the dirty deceit from your wounds.

You are not used to me being here, I know
but I will never leave again.