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About Kristin Windsor's Poetry

I began writing song lyrics at age by age eleven. As high school began, writing poetry became my number one coping tool to battle depression & tolerate the abusive voices within my mind. I wrote hundreds if not thousands of poems & songs. (For my original music, please click here.)

 

At age sixteen, I published my first book of poetry, after publishing

several others in various anthologies. My book's description reads,

"Tales of spiritual struggle, everyday joys, & deep despair are

strung together with a unifying style of intensity in this collection

of poems. Five unique sections explore both the dark & uplifting

aspects of passion. Within the mystifying poetry, the author hides

bits & pieces of herself so that you may emerge from its pages

with a newfound understanding of a youth’s heart."

 

As high school progressed, my poetry became more playful & light-hearted. During college years, I attempted to branch out even further & challenge my poetic abilities of self-expression to create content with deeper meaning—poetry that provoked thought & introspection.

 

Wrote hundreds during early high school years to cope with major depression.

About Kingsley Kyler's Poetry

An alter within Kristin's system is Kingsley Kyler.

 

During ninth grade, Kingsley was the host of the dissociative identity, meaning that he was the one "fronting," the part of consciousness present in the body both experiencing & responding to external life/reality.

 

His primary methods of coping are still effective today, the second of the two primary methods being poetry & writing out his feelings & describing his emotional experiences in either an abstract manner or in a storyline others could relate to somehow.

 

During high school, Kingsley wrote hundreds if not thousands of poems, which I (Felicity) find truly incredible. He was completely dedicated to expressing his emotions without upsetting life in any capacity, which meant keeping his pain to himself while still finding a silent way to express it. During class in school & at our desk at home, he scribbled away in notebooks, on loose-leaf binder paper, on random scratch paper, & even on pairs of jeans & all over his body repeatedly.

 

His writings expressed a never-ending sorrow that was indescribably more painful than ordinary sadness, a heart so completely broken & shattered that it could never be mended, & loneliness that was worse than the hell described in the religious teachings of Christianity. Kingsley wrote about the haunting terrors of the voices within our head, screaming in pain. He wrote about the ever-darkening depression that was quite literally threatening his life. He let it all out.

 

But now, he doesn't know how to anymore. We've worked SO very hard to suppress all such darkness simply because it was necessary for survival.

 

Now, however, the tides have shifted, &, in order to get to where I need to be, I MUST allow those emotions to be addressed & expressed. I (Felicity) fear it deeply, & that holds Kingsley back.

 

Our goal for 2018 is to encourage Kingsley to express himself in healthy ways, especially poetry. Hopefully this will help reduce self-harm & other forms of depressive & even life-threatening episodes.

 

We thank you deeply for joining our crazy journey of healing, self-discovery, & personal growth.

 

Please enjoy a variety of poetry below. They are written from various times over the past ten years, some written by Felicity & some by Kingsley, with more to come, hopefully! :)

The Chase

You know you're drawing lines

       when the circles disappear
and I'll know love when I feel it

       which is always when you're near.


I just can't say the words

       slipping off this tongue.
Love's just a lie, just for fun,

       and we're all just too young. 


It was only for a chase,

       the thrill of the pursuit
just to see your open,

       gabby mouths turn mute.


The accolades I won with you

       through our mischief days
are what I hold dear to my heart

       —now, forever and always.


It was all in my head,

       a fairytale daydream
to think this all a

       well-planned-Cupid-scheme.


You masked your heart

       as I masked my intent
as we played the game

       with no heartfelt lament


(though we acted like angels,

       heaven-sent),
questioning what the word

       Love really meant.


Daisy chains and boxcar trains

       slip by
as the sun fades away,

       and I still wonder why


you are never, ever near;
      Why did you disappear?

Transformation

I'd like to be a tree when I grow up.

I'd like to be the sun, moon, & stars.

I'd like to be a part of nature

and it's majesty divine

without the pain of human life

and without eternity to worry of

and without the complications

of human mistakes and expectations,

errors and miscommunications,

emotions and deceitful expressions.

 

If I could withdraw from this human race

I would.

I'd rather be a creature crawling earth's dirt

in search of a nice place to curl up for the day,

for the night, for the life of an animal, 

a soulless beast only breathing here for a short while.

My preference would be to have hooves

rather than fingers and toes,

rectangular pupils & multicolor eyes

rather than my blue ones,

and wings or fur or bristley skin

rather than my smooth white outer shell.

I wish to fly away, bound away,

tunnel my way to a new life.

I intend to transform myself into a creature of little meaning

in a desperate attempt to escape my humanity.

The Echo of Dripping Thoughts

A rambling of memories

       riddled with emotion

creates a sound much like

       a chaotic, great commotion.

 

Frightened are the feelers

       who felt their way through death,

who barely clung tightly to

       their fading, gasping breath.

 

Anger bubbles - burns & churns - ,

       ignited by abandonments of past

pals & gals who freely handed out

       pretty promises that did not last.

 

Fear of failure prevents recognition

       but that does not stop the sound

that’s traveling from head to toe

       to initiate a message so profound.

 

Dotted lines begin to connect

       as multiple motors are ignited.

Juggled between sparks & thoughts,

       letters dance about, so delighted.

 

Just as they secretly recited, a hint of words

       form beneath the cracks of sanity to start

a parade, pretty little masquerade,

       feet dancing to the beat of a heart.

 

A terrifying beginning grows towards

       strength, power, & beauty.

Words flock together to speak their mind,

       communication their delicious duty.

 

Diligently,they work together,

       organizing themselves to make some sense.

Then they’re cropped, trimmed, & pruned

       so sweet significance is condensed.

 

Activated by tears of passion,

       Heart no longer may contain

the drip of beauty that all started with

       a deep emotion of indescribable pain.

 

Silent surges of sage signals

       echo through emptiness, unseen & obscure,

living in a world so tragically untouched

       by lines of everlasting literature.

Cherry Picking

Let's go cherry picking,
plucking the ripe red round
marbles off their roots,
stealing them from the
bush they've called home for
their entire lives. It's just like
us, you see?, as we
innocently sat by & watched the
world crumble around us,
perched on our shelves of
cluttered brown stems
where names weren’t needed

because we all cared for one

another regardless. But then

Reality struck, shaking the bush.
Each cherry fell, one by one, into the dirt.
Some were picked up & put into
pretty little baskets with
checkered ribbons & promised to be
used to their full potential; others
just lay there, bathing in dust,
staring up at the rest of us,
humiliated. We clung tightly,

fearing the day we might fall.

 

But time marches on,& the

wind of changing seasons swept

through & knocked us off. We fell—

first you; then me.Life has never

been the same, the wind whisking us

wherever it pleases without

consideration to our sanity, feet

threatening to squash our dreams,

hands taunting us with possibilities

just slightly out of reach, & the rest of

the cherries ridiculing our helplessness.

Everyone falls at some point. So let us go—

let us go cherry picking. Maybe we can

swoop up a few songless souls &

revive them with beautiful purpose,

reminding them of their dazzling

charm & captivating colour. Though

everyone falls, not everyone is

able to climb back up to a place of

contentment. So let’s help them get there.

 

We’re all just little cherries

who can’t help but fall,

so we attempt to glide with grace,

maintaining some dignity &

declaring that we are falling for a

reason.

Untitled Love Poem

Chimes drizzle rhythm
into the edges of your sewn up spirit;
it leaks into a rebirth, silk like honey

& as promising as the

glorious rainbows in the heavens.


Never before has such a soul as yours,

so beautiful & intact,
bothered to invest so many irreplaceable hours

into my damaged little life
that lingers here, now,

on the verge of devastation.

On the verge of collapsing behind basic repair,

I sink into your arms

& lean into your chest. A foot taller than me,

you drape over me,

clutching me with tender care.

 

Green eyes glisten,
dancing with playful curiousity

& vibrant life. Your

lighthearted smirk, goofy expressions,

warm presence, inviting personality,
& pleasant conversations keep me
peacefully contented.

 

The act of exchanging a

level of intimacy must be earned with you;
cheap love & temporary satisfaction are

unattractive in every fashion

& your worth exceeds such callous commitment.

I drift away in your eyes

as we sink into the night,

& for the first time in my life

I am home.

Between the Sea & Sand

I think I'll walk the line

between the sea & sand

while I think this through

& try to understand

why love is a maze, mystery, riddle,

& through all this mess, I'm stuck in the middle.

 

I think I'll sail the seven seas

to search for answers & a smile,

to find something that may yet please

that can push me forth from this denial

of forever wondering why

you left without a goodbye.

 

I think I'll soar the sky so blue

to look for who I'm meant to be,

in search of every thought of you,

to locate Fate's lock & then its key

that'll save me from the me today

& set myself upon Fate's way.

I think I'll trace your name in the sand

as I tiptoe along the shore

because love is a thing I can't understand:

I want you &nothing more.

Feelin' Real

Things that are real don't feel as such

until truth reaches out to touch

the heart of stone &mind of steel

to teach of things, both fake &real,

to reassure the soul of open eyes,

to unmask reality's clever disguise.

Things that're real just don't seem real,

so I base fact off what I feel

Unicorns

Dancing around like it’s a

ballroom; spinning about with

utter glee & sheer ecstasy.

Natural thrill knows no better

synonym than the moving oneness,

this well-articulated formation of

creatures. Enslaved by a bubble

yet not trapped: freed by the

intellect of infatuation. They

roam the land without

consultation of fierce reality &

bitter truths. Brutality is but a

word never mentioned to their

slightly undeveloped brains.

Ignorance is surely bliss as they

flit about, imaginary prancing

ponies, strutting carefree with one

another as if twitterpation lurked the

land year-round: there is no season for

alleged love when it appears present

always. So they dance the year away.

For, in this land, there are no

seasons; merely moments where

bubbles are never popped. 

American Dream

If I could float upon the heavens,

       Majestic steamboats of white & blue,

Whisked away by a breezy breath

       Of a dreamy wish I thought I knew.

 

The ultimate life of flight & freedom 

       Glorified by shore's abstract lines,

Feathers gliding on invisible forces as

       Envy sparks from the way your eye shines.

 

Sweet silhouette against a pastel sky

       Screaming of the American way,

Living the motto of "do or die,"

       Conquering fear each risky day.

 

Delicious colours lick up the

       Waves, Skating in & out of smiles,

Unwavering call of hungry impulses

       Echo down the beach for miles.

 

Shoreline, Skimmed, Flit

       Across the slick oceantop, 

Gleefully, float across the sea,

       Not daring to ever stop.

 

Diving into bleak depths of threats,

       Scavenger of the Ocean's hand,

Hard-headed, Stubborn, So on your own,

       While I merely stand upon a land of sand.

 

Unsharpened knives pierce with the 

       Splash, Beauty leaking from the drops,

Whisked into quest for, question of survival,

       Water's growl allergic to feather's tops.

 

Responsible for precious life, Still

       Burdened by the needed Bold,

Objectives grasped within the wing,

       Fearless of the odds, so cold.

 

Taken for granted, climbing air, from

       Blue of ocean to the sky,

I look up at you, Thing in flight,

       I hear your declarative, thrilling cry.

 

You shout of freedom, so serene,

       Yet tell of times when Life's a drag,

You crash & burn yet stand again

       Firm as the American flag.

 

You shout of freedom, so serene,

       You tell of days when it's a pain:

The times you're chased, meals are

       Scarce; you hate to fly, still, in the rain.

 

Yet never do you quit your journey

       Soaring steamboats of white & blue

As you're whisked away by a breezy breath

       Painted by a Dream I wish I knew.

The Race

A chuckle & then the race begins.

I never meant to steal that precious gift,

a treasure secreted within every soul,

craving to be known & stolen, shaken up

& discovered & renewed by another.

It tickles inside, chalk etching smiles on the

blackboard of the heart. It knocks & pounds

& pushes on the door, yearning only for release,

freedom from its birthplace, roots, foundation;

this pumping creature is all it has ever known.

Now it desires emotion & loyalty & a kind & caring

touch. It wants life. But I never meant to

steal it, let it out from its cage prematurely.

& So the race begins: heart racing as we chase

each other ‘round the trees in the park

just so I can steal you again, this time by

the hand. Heart racing as we race, forever

racing time.

Impossible is Nothing

Let's pretend for a moment

       That this world was ours,

Eyes consumed by Love

       &A million little stars,

 

Let's imagine for a second

       That this Love could last,

That every mistake we made

       Is long since buried in the past,

 

Let's envisage two pretty little liars,

       See how they make it by,

How they relate to the pointless cheers,

       How they Laugh, Live, Love, &Lie,

 

Let's ideate of all the ways

       We'll live happily on for countless days,

Sing of Love &Happy grins,

       Forgetting Fate &all his sins,

 

Wishful thinking, Wistful nights,

       Forgetting all our pointless fights,

Masked within the miles between,

       Loving the sunsets, So serene,

 

We've misplaced the doubts

       That we once shared,

We've relinquished Fate

       (As if he once cared!),

 

We've taken hold of each other

       By the hand &by the Heart,

We've grasped hope of Forever

       (Though we don't know where to start!),

 

Let's pretend for a moment

       That this world was ours,

Eyes consumed by Love

       &A million little stars,

 

Let's imagine for a lifetime

       That we were meant to be,

That only us together will ever

       Set Love's potential free.

 

"Impossible is just a big word thrown around 

by small men who find it easier to live in the world 

they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it. 

Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion. 

Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare. 

Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary.

Impossible is nothing." — Muhammad Ali

In Sync

Two souls of distant hearts meet &, so soon,

eyes fall, in sync, with a silent, mystical tune

causing words to whisk their way out from where

it was dangerous to ever show some whimsical care.

Now I wish to write & whistle & wriggle

through the turbulence of life's magnificent riddle.

I miss having a love ever so much

yet I destroy everything that I try to touch.

Memories of past flings seep straight into

the definition of me & every thought of you.

Judgment clouded, I doubted the sweet possibility

of, for once in my life, feeling free to be me.

Verbal honesty frightens off any chance at romance

yet souls persist, hearts won't quit, & we sync into a dance.

Despite our defenses being highly equipped,

our brick walls very slowly are chipped.

Though pieces are not yet put back into place,

they are found from the ground at a much more rapid pace.

Sweet potential is seen with day's stunning dawn;

we secretly hope that pain may soon be all gone.

So step out from the shadow; leap onto land you can't see:

sometimes just one leap of faith can set a soul free.

My Sweet Somehow

I've been staring at these old pictures

       Memories spilled through ink &bled

Into the thought of Never, The hope of

       Forever, &Everything we said,

 

Life without you astonishes my soul

       Even now, As I move along each day,

I have yet to learn to live without you

       Somehow, in Some sweet precious way,

 

Just tell me we would've never worked any

       Ways, That I didn't waste any thing on you,

That you have benefited &So have I

       (Though we know this to be wholly untrue).

 

I've been sifting through old thoughts

       Of all that we once were, &Now

I've slipped into a Hope of Forever,

       No thoughts of Never, Some sweet someway, Somehow.

Sinking Sand

When have you ever known what to do

       or how to see commitments through?

You failed when you tried and ran when I cried

       and now you’ve forever left my side.

Where will you go when only I know

       that you reap what you plant

       and you plant what you sow?

What will you do when I’m watching you

       and all Life has fled, along with Love too?

Who would trust you if only they knew

       all that you’ve done and put me through?

Why can’t you see the pain before me

       because of who you can and can’t be?

I trusted, you lied; I failed when I tried;

       you laughed when I cried; now Love’s left my side.

When will you understand I’m standing in sand

       and I need you to lead me to solid land?

Promises

I’ll scrap book the promises you once whispered

beneath the canopy of summer love

when the world paused and tipped its hat

wishing us good luck on our insoluble endevour

into an endless cave of fading echoes

that once held a future, but now only tells of your

broken promises.

Breaking, Broken

Broken Heart Breaking Hearts

I wish I could un-know you. take back the
promises I kept & ignore the ones you broke.
venture on through life’s magic without
pausing to lift you up off the ground: loyalty at


first sight.
believe in love without immediately inviting it.
ignore time ticking on as I fantasize about
a family of my own someday. slip back into
make-believe where the petals never stop at
“he-loves-me-not.” I wish I could un-know your

Brokenness
that

Broke
me.

Hello, End

hello End. the
taste of your name on
my tongue has felt
so sweet for so long.

so long, Hope & all that is good.
I'm sorry to be so misunderstood
that my life ends on a tragic note
rather than the melody of inspiration.

hello End. oh, how beautiful you are!
you bring rest, relief, all I've sought for
for ten years. I plead for you to come,
come end this misery; come, End.

Releasing My Label

back in the darkness again...
will this raging battle ever end?!...

24 years strong, I am...
the darkness will come again...


but so will the glorious Light
before which will end this dark night...

So, I will keep up the fight,
Soul beaming forth my profound Light...

boldly confronting the darkness within
for I now know it was not caused by my sin.

instead, it was pain inflicted upon me
that shackled my consciousness despite desperate attempts to break free.

fearlessly facing inner demons plaguing heart & mind,
confident in abilities to leave the past behind,

I seize this moment—here & now, today—
refusing to allow this “disorder” to get in my way.

My Favourite Things Rewrite

Swinging in hammocks & chasing teal rainbows
Daydreaming o’ kisses, apple pies in the windows

Love wrapped with a ribbon, all laced up in string
These are a few of my favourite things.


When the wolf howls
When the lies sting
When I’m feeling sad
I simply look back at my favourite things
& then I don’t feel so bad
.

The Scribbling Dreamer

Meaning scribbled between the lines of

an unreasonable thinker

who writes his life story on the sides of

cereal boxes and meaningless cardboard

discovered on his midnight escapade

as his eyes scanned the dark horizon

in search of a dream to put him to sleep.

The mash of disrupted crayon colors

flood the imagination of a broken mind

enough to gather the altitude of a gasped breath

in a manner worthy of a dreamer

and the dreamer's beloved path, for

"a dreamer is one who can only find his way

by moonlight, and his punishment is that

he sees the dawn before the rest of the world" (Oscar Wilde).

Beautiful Soul

Where did you go?,

so lost in their definition of

you, of "truly living," of

alleged happiness. Yet,

deep down within that

beautiful soul I've witnessed,

do you truly feel at home?,

comfortable to live as you wish,

accepted for your quirks & flaws,

adored for the scars that

speak of great strength &

perseverance. Is that the you

that they know? Have they even

seen that side of your

flawless spirit? I have. &

I fell in love.

But now that perfect beauty

is nowhere to be found.

You've lost yourself, &, in

that process, you've also

lost me.

The Insanity of Words

It is a matter of sanity,
of exploding to feed the soul's natural craving
of deteriorating beneath the call of Words—


Words, the dreaded love of every author's life
which builds the bridges between senselessness and reason
& tears down roads into the realm of plausible facts and illustrations.


Tears collide into the smiles of fate
where Words mark the pathway, lit by sheer ambivalence
because love and hate are equal to the writer's heart
just as peace and war confront upon the same battlefield.


Leaking from the ink and blood, brains cannot confide
with the passion; nor can passion agree to disagree
with a mind of perpetual cogitating.


Within the passive thoughts of an aging story
sneaks a mouse who never gave up hope
to be discovered though he knew not of
fame and glory and what those titles entail
because never had he seen beyond the horizon
of his own meager view of the kitchen floor.


A raging toss between the pages of an unwritten story
will prove to drive Words to madness
as they reach out and touch a heart
that soon opens like a blossoming flower
upon the discovery of itself.


No matter of touching nor hearing nor seeing
can ever behold the wonder of Words
and how they affect every being on earth
and change lives for the better or for the worst.


It is a matter of insanity to see Words
placed before an illiterate mind
that cannot even begin to fathom
the wondrous creation of letters and symbols
to form a reasonable statement, full of intelligence
and life and mystery and satisfaction and explanation and emotion.


It was never a matter of retaining sanity
because no sane mind can keep itself
bottled up in a jar of contentment;


rather, it wanders the fields of loneliness
and travels through valleys of desperation
and seeks a soul that can relate to its journey
through the land of untouched wounds.


To retain a quest for sanity, the author meanders
into the vast, open air of Words
that labels each and every soul


Insane.

The Forgotten Book

I see their faces,

mirages in the wind.

 

not even Time pauses to

tip his hat at their

valiant efforts. I wish to

know their names,

hug their forgotten souls.

maybe then their

dreams would

possess pleasantries

rather than the looming dark(ness)

that haunts them now. they have

stories, you know. just as we all do.

but the difference is,

no one wishes to read theirs

simply because their

covers don’t catch the eye.

some don’t even have

pictures or fancy fonts or

witty titles to draw you in.

 

there’s death in them, you know,

within those precious souls.

you can see it in their eyes,

feel it on their breath, even

hear it when they hum their way

through long days of endless struggles.

life is a precious storybook. not a

single soul on this earth wishes for

their book to remain unopened.

contentment might be more

common if each book bore

worn pages, dirty from

filthy hands

clutching them with affection,

& if the pages

wore thin from being

tossed & turned with excitement.

but of course

 

Time has not time enough to

pause the wicked game as

competition carries on,

each book striving to be the

next bestseller.  

beautiful souls are tossed aside.

only when they are written about

do we somehow wish

we could have

 

known them.

(*Inspired by the movie Albatross.)

Clutched & Curled

I'll never understand what

happened in those months of

African twilights & scorched summer

earth when my world paused for you

while yours kept right on spinning.

Whatever it was, I hope the journey

fed fulfillment to the heart I was

formerly permitted to love. The fingers I

once clutched & curled became a fist that

soon shooed me away. A ring, gone yet

never forgotten, cowers in the corner of a

box decorated with Eiffel Tower dreams,

sweet mystical schemes of “forever &

always.”

           I suppose a thought of you

with every glimpse of chocolate pools &

shiny pennies & freckled-face grins shall

remain with me always, while your heart

wanders elsewhere, traveling into the

heart of a broken nation. I just hope

you learn to fix yourself before

promising to fix another’s devastation.

For now, I’m wandering too, still

gathering the pieces to my own

shattered soul. Maybe some day I’ll even

attempt to forge it all

                             back together.

 

Reign, My Rain

In a moment, it all goes black,

Sunlight gone, The clouds roll in,

& So it is in human heart,

The dark'ning day consumed by sin,

 

What mark can tell the true Time's fall,

Who's ever heard of Time at all?,

For truly Rain can cloud the Mind

& Leave all Reasoning behind,

 

No Time now may chase the rain

Falling down my windowpane.

 

It trickles down like a slow leak,

An introduction for the Storm,

A warning—soft, slow, at ease—,

Gliding down in perfect form,

 

So what of Pasts & Histories,

So what of Truth & her Mysteries,

So what of Opinions & silly remarks,

So what of a chill or a fire's sparks,

 

No Vote could chase this rain

Sliding down my windowpane.

 

It rolls, It growls, It speaks in defense 

Of every dark thing hidden within,

It mocks the wind, It sharpens Cloud's call,

It points out the darkness of Soul's sin,

 

Thunder speaks, Oh tell me now

Do you still believe in You somehow?,

Or has this darkened day taken its toll

As you hear that thunder roll?,

 

No Thought may chase away the rain

Now slipping down my windowpane.

 

Rain, it falls, It cries, It dies,

Afternoon has hidden her light,

Emotions, Commotion within the Soul,

Inside, Heart cries, Dark as the night,

 

A flash of something unlike the dark

To attempt to make its bold mark

Upon your precious, sweet disguise

That hides the Fear beneath your eyes,

 

Oh howling wind & intense lightning

Do seem, to you, child, so frightening,

 

No Hope will ever chase the rain

Now rushing down my windowpane.

 

To summarize, now, I must say

This is, indeed, a darkened day,

But Soul does not need a light

To be inspired to shine bright,

 

All it needs is a Belief

& Some sweet form of Relief

To thrive & make a mark on Time,

Even to write some cheesy rhyme,

 

So hear me out, I will be Me,

My reign will set this Soul free:

 

No Disbelief could chase away my rain

That has washed away every trace of pain.

Escaping my Coffin

Locked in this casket before...

Neverending emotions seeping into my dying skin...

Air toxic with empty breaths from mindless passerbys...

No one to hear my screams

because they’re silent:

I was never taught to use my voice.

Burning alive from the inside out,

Torn apart by all the injustices

that caged me in the first place,

Lost in a land of broken spirits trying to break me too...

Will I ever break free?

 

Fairy sparkles slip into the cracks of my coffin;

Singing drowns out the wailing sorrows from (the) town;

Chains begin to crackle & break open;

Light seeps in as the lid slowly begins to creak open...

Dare I hope to be saved?

 

I am blinded by the light!

Sitting up proves painful.

Overwhelmed by the sudden change, I cringe

& sink back into my coffin.

It’s comfortable; it’s “safe.”

Do I dare to leave the only place

I’ve ever known to explore the light?

 

Slowly, I rise. It’s a painful adjustment

but I take on the challenge

of adapting to this new world, this

new reality that dares to offer hope.

I am free.

Untitled

We realized, all at once,

       that we're all too big & this world's too small,

& we stand so grand,

       so great & so tall.

 

But where does that leave us?,

       as we lay here awake,

with plans to be dreamt,

       wild world to forsake.

 

We kick off our shoes & relax,

       for this life is a beautiful ride.

We're so grateful not to have missed out

       because the children within us never died.

 

We slip into a slumber

       more restful than most nights

because eyes are wide open

       to this land's glorious, invisible sites.

Morning Bike Ride

Sailing through the misty wonder,

       eyes scan horizon for a taste of air

only to find what lay under

       fog, thickening, and more fog there.

 

Peeping silence stirred the brush

       beneath the sleepy mind—

unable to feel wind’s great rush,

       unable to leave home behind.

 

Spinning, turning, sailing in the morn’;

       Seeing, yawning, welcoming the day,

Knowing this is where dreams are born,

       Blinding/Blinded, glancing into sun’s smiling ray.

 

Songs are heard from hidden birds

       stretched beneath the dawning light,

Heard in tune, melody—no words—,

       Glowing like Time burning bright.

 

The road’s a sea and I its sailor,

       responding to its beckoning cry.

I’ve never seen the earth much paler

       nor a bluer sight than this blue sky.

 

I pause and prop my legs ajar

       to steady myself and the bike below

as I stare into the hills afar

       and above at clouds, white as snow.

 

The earth’s a meadow and I a flower

       waiting to be picked by one

whose heart is more sweet than sour,

       whose laughter fills my eyes with fun.

 

I sigh and push myself back onto

       the purple bike that’s carried me

through the lands I thought I knew

       like this road, a deep blue sea.

Bleeding Lies

Back &forth between what's real &fake,

Bleeding lies, Truth to forsake,

Love or hate, Give or steal, All for the take,

 

Poisonous, Baneful, Harmful to the touch, Chased,

Virulent, Detrimental, Deadly in the taste,

Lies envenom the heart, All toxic waste,

 

Deucedly noxious, Crying with helpless pain,

Injured beyond all rectification, Driven insane,

Rainbows faded, Dawn's gone, All's gray &plain,

 

Handing heart out only to break,

Bleeding lies, You're my sweet mistake,

Torn between what's real &fake,

 

Crossing the line I did make,

Bleeding lies at the stake,

I'm forever between what's real &fake.

Quake in the Night

The lamp, it burns with a faint glow,

hiding the truth intellect doth know

with the sweetly soothing ember light

—All in the dead of night.

The hands, they hold each other warmly

unlike the coldness they once felt norm’ly,

for now they love and cling so tight

—Happy in the night.

The sun, it shone without a care,

ignoring fortune waiting there

as it burned—it gleamed—ever so bright

—All in the dead of night.

The trees, they sway, not knowing why

they shan’t speak though they live and die,

and they’re tall and proud yet have no might

—Still in the dead of night.

The soul, it churns, unclean and scarred,

pushing upward though it be hard

to seek redemption and return to white

—Praying in the dead of night.

The wind, it speaks a wistful tune,

laughing at the sun, the moon,

and all clear nature lying in sight

—All in the dead of night.

The eyes, they dart to and fro,

glaring at all—above, below—

and bidding danger to attack and bite

—Malicious in the night.

The rumors, they spread without remorse

as they attract Fate and Destiny’s course

though they shan’t take all Fate by force

and upon Earth’s doom, they provoke a fight

—All in the dead of night.

The cries erupt without a cause

and life shan’t even break nor pause

though Fate doth count all of their flaws

and tears fall while reaching a new height

—All in the dead of night.

The pen, it scribbles down a thought

of which the person never sought

though meaning to Earth it has brought

as hand keeps moving, trying to write

—All in the dead of night.

The stove, it heats to begin, prepare

a meal for mouths, for host to share

and tongue is bidden to taste a bite

—Hungry in the night. 

The house, it shakes, so unaware

as the storm lashes down to scare

with roof to damage, windows impair

and cause the household a decent fright

—All in the dead of night.

The staircase quakes with ill-intent,

misfortune bidden and, soon, sent

as mind observes life’s not right

—All in the dead of night.

The shades, they shiver with a tear and a cry

and, with howling wind, begin to shudder and fly

as all trembles in the misty moonlight

—All in the dead of night.

The mouse, it peeps, terrified and alone,

missing the days when the sun once shone,

for now it is darkness the house doth invite

—All in the dead of night.

The lamp goes out as shouts are heard

though silence invades their every word

and blurred is their precious sight

—All in the dead of night.

The house, so quiet, sleeps for now

though it may awake—someday, somehow—

and all is calm, so snug and tight

—All in the dead of night.

Creeping during the fatal quake,

death is near—alert, awake—,

refusing to, a soul, forsake,

feeling led, again, to take,

though it feels wrong and not quite right,

two souls forever sleeping tight

—Dead in the dreary night.

Maimed

If I knew I wouldn't hurt you, I'd try to explain,

But I'm only cutting you down with this pain.

Repetitious fights are so drab & mundane,

Displacing my brain: Totally crazy insane.

I'm driving along in Love's fast lane,

Trying to maintain, contain, refrain

From spilling the Truth

Of all I have done in my Youth.

I cringe, Break down, Stand in the rain,

Weary of struggles, Of wearing these chains.

 

I remember your face but have forgotten your name

Because all the world's words are the silly same.

I'm reliving the guilt, Taking on the blame

'Though it began with him &all he became.

I'm living a lie, Just playing this game,

Misplacing my fire, Misdirecting my aim,

Refusing to spill the darkness of Truth,

Of all that I've done in my Youth.

I've stepped into a fire, Consumed by this flame.

For Love, uttered a curse &a mild disclaim.

 

If I knew I wouldn't hurt you, I'd try to explain.

But I can't, so I just keep on playing this game.

Come Again

Sinking ships and fading dawns,

       Nights come and go but never move on,

Slashed between the graying shades,

       Rainbows never come again,

 

Weary from prolonging pain,

       Caught up in unmercy's rain,

Rainbows never come again,

       Forgiveness may never come again,

 

Hidden in the caving wall,

       With haunting whisper's beckoning call,

Ghost's shrill voice is heard and all,

       Yet never do you feel so small,

 

Never backing down from fear,

       Never thinking end is near,

Never breathing your atmosphere,

       Never considering heartless cheer,

 

A mystery, a vision, an unseen dream,

       Is all you have to go plan your scheme,

Hoping last words won't end in screams,

       Maybe you'll remember this heartless theme,

 

Tackling the shooting stars, you'll forget,

       The one hope that turned to regret,

When you said goodbye to The One you met,

       Denying heart's unpayable debt,

 

Sinking ships and fading dawns,

       Nights come and go but never move on,

Slashed between the graying shades,

       You may never come again,

       Hope may never come again,

 

I wish that you would come again, . . .

Josefin Slab, 28pt

Josefin Slab, 18pt

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