the Subtle Sinderella

(written in 2008 a la self-discovery)

It was an angle she hadn't seen; or hadn't known better.
An angel who hadn't dreamed, or hadn't seen the starry string.
She often hid to sing and it was hard not to let her.
It's what i thought when I met her, she often thought of silly things.

I'd pause to find some cause in dreams,
"It's because our dreams are where we find reason to pause."
She'd often scream of bears and paws, I never found any.

Many a night, she took to flight. She never shook the oak's cold blight.
And moss swore they never met. Forever touched. That night, she wept.

T'was brief, but grief and applause filled the sunken air.
A drunken tomb felt unholy and my mangled mermaid fled the glare.
Felt the fair wind flutter..."I need space to grow and care,"
My old murmurmaid muttered. Then I left her there..​

mirror envy

(written in July of 2014 a la reverence)

I try to see myself, it brings me health.
The shelf I sit on brings me wealth.
Not money, no, the brain is helped.

A mirror helps me, sees me, knows me.
It often shows me all my glory.
It often leaves me drunk and lonely.

I reexamine to find my worth.
The frame holds mirror like I hold earth.
I find it when I'm finding hurt.

Reflections are vital.
To frown is to smile.
You stand on your head just to prove you're no liar.

I see myself like mirrors do.
That dusty glass leaves me renewed.
That dusty glass reflects light like moon.

In acknowledging this, my mind feels frayed.
Not shame, but it comes out that way.
I can not blame me on my brain.

I'm blinded now but trying to leer.
I'm happy now but dream severe.
Switching places with the me in mirror.

I V O R Y (a castle, an ocean)

(written in July of 2014 a la bewilderment)

It started from hope and then sprung from the mote.
The castle soon sung of the dreams it had wrote.
It refused to lay broken, instead it soaked in the quote:
"I am but a man and you're but a note."

He knew his walls would always stand afloat.


A fan of the land, but still fine out at sea.
I do my best writing through the eyes of she.
A tree, underwater, is still standing free.
So, I long to stand beside it, hoping it guides me.

Would be my ivory, family tree.


For children stay children until they admit:
The problems they see...well, they're half of it.
Unfit to empathize with the eyes that commit,
They decide to push, point fingers and spit.

I quit too, but don't you think that befits?


I'm aware of the meaning, but find it difficult to hear.
I know that the silence of love comandeers -
My everything. I fight it but have felt it for years.
It's not that endearing, but is the only thing joining me here.

A castle, an ocean and love fill my air.
I beckon them closer, but forget what to do when they're there.

growing bigger (not bitter)

(written in July of 2014 a la exile)

It was the fourth step; distorted depth.
Hands held the head that wept.
We slept between the cold and mean
Existence that we swore we'd seen.
And that we swore we'd seen enough,
But eyes will close when faced with bluffs.
Encased in dust, the road was rough.
A tough and blinded bed of rust.
A bed of trust that turned to lust.
Of course, the coarse skin was enough.
And no remorse we ever felt
Could warn our torn and heavy selves
That knees held up arms that couldn't be helped.
Like shelves, they finally fell.

"Free Yourself", she'd often say,
But I had already turned away.
And faced the taste I'd set in stone.
She was exactly what I swore I'd own:
What I swore I wouldn't lose
If choosing was a gift to use.
And 'being' was a gift we got -
And so there we were. But now we're not.

She was the goblin princess, I was her crown and throne.
The 7 sisters warned me of the gift I couldn't own.
"You aren't aware and/or you haven't learned.
What makes you think you will not burn?"
I shrugged them off and dove right in,
But insecurity and misplaced priorities win.

So, now she's free. I'm trying to let her be.
I'll never be fine when I am but a memory.
It's in my blood...no, it's in my head.
A picture of perfection was a picture of us above my bed.

The moon still comes, I guess she's got a crush.
She baits and bade me to her touch.
She swears this strife is for the best.
I say, "That's trite", but still nod 'yes'.
She begs me to stay stuck and to let myself feel.
"Don't numb out the meaning - the grief is surreal."
I know that she's right, but it hurts to admit.
I'm proof that running will only remit.

Or, rather, it proves I'm a kid.

deserve her (or don't)

(written in '08)

In the forest, it seems, I'd feel suddenly pleased.
An attempt to up-heave what my walk slowly feeds.
Though, at times, it's as if it's never seen:
A good meal. So, it keels over and can feel itself eat..

..itself

A laugh comes from tickles, while my life ends near ripples,
That have found themselves deeper than any philosopher's riddles.
In the middle of ending, but began when the sending of settling was mending/defecting.
I'm condescending? Is that really the honest ending?

How conclusive is this(?): it all makes me wish,
That I had the nerve to serve her what my heart wanted to give.

"Deserve Her or Your Part's Given to Him"

Hark, the herald angel of sin.