The Portal

It climbs out from the yellow orb in the sky and it whispers into my ear, Don’t do it. 

I recognize the conflict between my place here and the place I want to be. 

I know I don’t want to be anywhere without you. And I am, yet I’m still breathing. 

Miserably, but I’m still kicking. 

I don’t think I need, I don’t think I need, I don’t think I need…

I don’t think. 

And so the crystals and specks of dust from the orb call out to me. 

They call out to me and tempt me with what might have been on the other side. 



The way he’d kissed her that night

It’d been as sweet and tender as two rain drops fusing into one 

Birthing a love in her incapable of dying from even the strongest of winds. 


I barely feel the world get by on its own. It’s encompassed by its own stagnant cycle; keeping itself on a steady yet still continuation of all life forms.

Slowly they continue on without the intention to prosper.

They make unconscious decision while the world also makes its own unconscious decision to move selective species forward.

In what seems like pure coincidence comes to what now looks like an intentioned benevolent gift.

The world must have someone to give and share its wonders to, just as much as we have much to give to the world.

Indiscriminately focused on keeping the wheels turning, we forget the machine we’re turning the wheels for.

Cursed with the need for knowledge and expansion.

So much that we might even die for it.

So much that we might even kill for it.

The atoms that mend the fabric of space and time, the atoms that hold together my skin will fall apart at any moment.

The ground beneath me will crumple away into nothingness.

A large blanket of nothingness through empty space.

Each and every one of us is a continuation of one consciousness.

When a life has ended, a new life begins and so proceeds the start of a new chapter in a single book that is but a single thread in a series of books.

We lead and formulate the content in chapters based on our actions.

One who writes a chapter full of misconduct doesn’t have the satisfaction of the end of it’s book.

Where we each serve as a chapter in a book, the ones who write a chapter full of misconduct will continue the series and the book will not end until the mysterious deity finds satisfaction in the original and sincere choice of words.

My book has yet to be finished.

Perhaps it hasn’t started yet.

An exhausted mind exposes an honest heart.

He was going to take a shower,

But he changed his mind..

He was going to take me out to the porch with him,

But he changed his mind..

I was given a second chance

I shouldn’t be here,

But I am..

To that, I concluded,

“I shouldn’t waste this.”

You’re a Work of Art

Why do you creep into my dreams?

You’re only a friend

I’ve only ever talked to you

And felt warmth by you

And loved you

So why do you walk slowly in my peripheral vision?

So why do you say nothing?

So why do you vanish when I flash a look at you?

Why do you creep into my dreams?

My Little Child.


I look at you the way a mother looks at her infant–

Your simple, mindless motions of tossing and giggling

Outrageously foolish.


As foolish as my reflection on hope for happiness,

but I continue doing so

with your smile as my start up engine,

Driving me to fulfill my wishes.


You were hopelessly made to be my everlasting entertainment.

Never has this hit me as hard as it has,

wanting to keep you in plain sight

like a precious artifact displayed for years to come.


Do such silliness as you please,

because I, your mother, will love every second,

admiring every idea of your existence in my life.


Forgive my candidness,

but I am scared.

I will lose you,

my safety net of a child.