The Search


the search will
never end
grab a book
and a pen
for every day
every second
will let you
a new lose end
in the eternal
in the perpetual
search of
who is it
that you are
the search will
never end
but you will find
again and again
that looking for it
is in fact
the best part


Everything That Went Wrong


what do you do with
everything that went wrong?
throw it in the bin
or store it in the back?
do you display it
on the mantle?
do you let it gather
dust on your desk?
or shove it deep
inside your backpack?
or do you chew it up
and spit it out?
do you silence it or
let it clamor, scream and shout?
do you let it pile up
laying it like bricks and mortar?
or do you wrap it up
and FedEx it back
and write to God,
this isn’t what I ordered?
or do you let it
rot and die and decompose?
do you use it like fertilizer,
to grow yourself a rose?


Halloween Baby


I’m a black cat
Clawing against
Your pearl white walls.
I’m the mechanic urgency
Of sudden
3 am calls.
I’m the pumpkin
Out on your porch
I’m the witch
In a fairy’s clothes.
I’m the golden leaves
I’m the orange sky
I’m the twinkling lights
And the hollow wind
Passing by.
I’m the shadow,
I’m the chill that
Creeps up
Your bones.
I’m the eerieness
You feel around you
When you’re all alone.
I’m the something
wicked that
Your way comes.
I’m the strange hymns
And hums.
Call me scary,
Call me cold.
Call me October’s
Very own.

(Happy Birthday to Me.)



This could all be nonsense-
for all you know.
cosmic, ethereal
bullshit, spinning
on my machine like
a thread, stitched
to my tongue like
on a cloth.
This could all be just
pretty words (arguably so)
and I could be hollow
without them
like an empty cardboard
box after you take out
a valuable, nothing more.
This could all be nothing-
just dizzying spells cast
on you for more than 30
seconds making you
believe what you read is
new and important.
This could all be just me
recycling words from
the mouth of someone
else and modelling them
into what I want, to
what you want.
Or this could be what it is.
This could be my soul
leaking onto paper because
it’s hard to explain.
Because these words come
knocking on my door,
like they are the very beat
in my heart.
We could dance to them,
If you’d get on the floor.
Sway with the glory
Foxtrot with the gore.




Words get
thrown around
like a basketball
and we’re
all players.
Sometimes they
make the basket
other times
they just
fail us.
In all
of these
years that
I’ve been
I see now
that some
of the
greatest words
do not
need saying.




Life here
is how you want
it to be.
Rainbows and roses
and plucking
off joy like
fruits from a tree.
It’s better than
any book you’ve
ever read
and talking here
goes smoother than
anything you’ve ever said.
And everything you’ll
ever need
is all that you’ll get.
But beware:
life here is
like walking through a
desert and spotting
water up ahead
only for it to disappear.
It taunts and teases
and once the rope that
tethers you to it
eases, you get
pulled back into
reality and you
will be awakened.
Maybe visit just
for the weekend.
For it’s a dangerous place,
the world that you can
delve into,
inside your head.