Ride through my veins, driven by your cruelty and anger
Leave me nothing, but those shadows and dark places,
You were afraid to touch, afraid to enter,
As my broken hands clenched red fabric,
Twisted it ‘round as whispered screams echoed.
The cracks though my being, held together by silken webs.
A rough touch enough to break me and scatter,
My mirrored reflection towards the stars.

Your my want
My need
Why I breed

Can I feed
I smell you from afar
The natural kindling you are

Come to the sky for me
From up here we can have a view
Lovers below me then you

Naked skies surprise
Another word of the wise
When I find love we will not die

No one can ever take my love
As we catch a glimpse the sky above
Our love like a woven fabric

Together we blanket the naked sky
Our love can make us fly
Forever running from the question why

Naturally we begin to dance
Sending both of us in a trance

Every face is a story
Etched into the air we breathe /
          And these journeys
Lead us to paper lives of survival’s manifest,
Where solid colours refuse to exist
- And black and white enmesh
To cloud the streams of speech
We use to guide us to
The non-existent chapter
Of complete understanding /
          Leaving fingerprints
That overlap over others
Until an artwork is forced
/out/ of our ghostly presence,
Always to be remembered
By all we’ve touched -
Long after memory has lost itself...
In the streets of brains
Trying their best to rest after they have successfully
/etched/ themselves into the fabric
Of spinning time and a gravitational pull
          -Irresistible-
Breathing out one last patch
To add to humanity’s short stretch,
To feel the very essence
Of reality within them
Before returning to the beginning /
Every face is a story

When all in all
is beautiful.
To face it
the rest is too small!
Can a fabric,
a piece of the veil,
eclipse it at all?

Yet the sky is
upside down.
Every morning
lits up a sun.
Something!
The little earth
is hiding in the core.

i cant promise you
that god exists.
i dont know it for certain.

but i do find myself
wondering how
i can even see the sky
in the night time.

i dont know if god exists.
or of all the different ones,
which is most true.

sometimes we are so blinded
by uniform
we forget what lies beneath it.

The length of the silk fabric.  
does not determine the quality.
It may be long,
or it may be shot.

So when you ask me about
the length of my poems
my answer will be
that I want to enjoy every word,
feel every sentence and
appreciate all of the fabric.

And when you notice your daughter’s clothes change
-shirts to crop tops,
her blue jeans to ripped jeans,
scuffed shoes and all-
remember how good you felt in them, too.
The tearing of fabrication can be liberating.
And if she’s lost, doesn’t know how to make things new,
Show her.
And be new.