In the Green

I flip through the atlas’s of the world.
Hundreds upon hundreds, here I am buried,
beneath maps and charts on old parchment.
The seas and the lands and all that come with.

But I choose to only search for you.
I trace your favorite places I know you run to.
The warm, turquoise oceans, colorful reefs.
I follow the rivers, but there is no sign of you.

I even find the icy mountains, with snow
enough to bury, avalanches that drown.
You can survive in many places, ones
I dare not search, fearing I will find blood.

But instead, I find you in the very place
you decided to hide from. I find you in
the fields and grass, I find you in the flowers
the same color of your golden hair.

I find you in the thickest of forests,
prancing with the stags, their antlers as
high as the treetops. I find you hunting
with the wildcats, gently fierce in your attack.

I find you in the reflection of the greenest
emeralds, in the dustiest of golds. I do not
find you in the color of ice, as I thought I would.
Instead, I find you adorned with my colors.

The green of the wildest lands.


an angel observes the horrors of humanity

my superiors wish me to write of this world. well, what am i to say? it is bright here, the atmosphere is heavy. i feel as if i am a drop of darkness suffocating in a pool of light. their eyes, they scrutinize me. but oh, how their air smells and tastes sweet, as if that is not heavy at all. as if breathing it does not hurt my lungs so much that i struggle to breathe each night as i fall asleep. how sad it is to see them cut and kill flowers because they think they are beautiful, yet only to cut and kill themselves because they think they are not. i have never experienced something as astonishing and burdening as humanity.

they cut and kill their animals, too. i have eaten meat, but at least i remember the animal it came from. here they do not care. they purge and swallow as if the mean is not rotten. it tastes sweet to their tongues, but i will not touch it. some animals they do not kill; they lock them in cages. i will admit the sight is one to see.

their rivers aren’t even pure. many of them contain some kind of human pollution. though the water is clear, the fish still die. what beautiful scales have been wasted to be made into garments. what beautiful furs have come from slaughter. these people, everything they consume paints their lips red like the rising sun. it is a disgrace to my name.

even the birds are not free. they fly away from smog that kills not only the animals but the humans too. it even makes my eyes water, my breath stutter, my heart flutter. what a wonder and a catastrophe humanity has been. how have they survived here, and how long will they continue to? how can they just ignore their planet dying, as if it’s not the only one they’ve ever known?

oh, how i wish they could see. humanity is a disaster now out of any time, but it is also phenomenal. there are boys that walk on soft and hard ground alike, never flinching as the soil stick to their feet, or pieces of their feet stick to the soil. the only remarkable thing of note is their strength. their taste for change. many of them, i see it in their hearts. it is a strange thing i’ve noticed, what they call each other. is not all love acceptable? are not all identities correct? what matters is that they are all human, but many of them do not think that. it is irritating.

yet through it all, they are all strong. they have moved from sucking the life from flowers, to sucking the life from all around them. they still refuse to listen to the force that they claim guides them, when it says all is not well. when it shouts at them that change is needed.

i think i have come to a conclusion; humanity is repulsive.

fine print

what a lovely thing it is
to know
you gave your heart
but not
your soul

yet you still lost it all
because you forgot
that when you signed
your heart away
your soul was
the fine

this is what you get
when you try
to share
your life
with another.

a collection of thoughts

am i too big for my own skin? or do i just make myself out as something i am not?
sometimes i see things from the outside and i can see me hiding in myself because i want to pretend i am something great.
it feels like lies, but never have i wanted more than lies to be truth. i want to believe that what you see is what i am.
but can that be?
i want to be what you see. but can that be?

fate (number two)

We gather here tonight
To bask in Fate’s delight.
A tale to tell our path,
A tale of Fate’s dear wrath.

Who is fate up there,
With her shining silver hair?
Arranging constellational myths,
From her fingertips.

What can we believe of Fate?
Basking immortal in the sky,
To her we wonder why–
The stars are wrinkles in time.

What drives the stars to shine,
And what can we ask of them,
In lines and curves and light?
Can they guide us through our life?

Can Fate tell us all of this?
After all, she is made of myths.
She burned the flying Icarus,
And cursed dear Prometheus.

Who are we without our fate?
Do we know our own way?
What are we without dreams?
What are we without prophecies?

“Where is Fate?” we ask.
“Can we coax her out?”
Instead she whispers down,
Fate is found inside ourselves.


how do we realize our Fate? or how does it realize us?
we thought we could find it by being free, by being wild things no one could tame.
it’s running through the woods late at night and counting on Artemis to light our way.
it’s howling at the stars instead of the moon because we count on the stars to guide us.
it’s using the fire Prometheus stole for humanity to keep us warm.
it’s perching on the branches of trees and waiting for Apollo’s chariot to streak across the sky.
it’s for the people we were once, the people we are now, and the people we will become.
“what is Fate?” we ask. “is it an otherworldly being?” we wonder. “with hair made of constellational myths and eyes made of galaxies?”
no, Fate is none of that. it is not written in the stars, because we have seen those same stars for thousands of years.
and millions of lightyears away those stars are dead–or they are dying–leaving dust and smoke or nothing at all behind them.
Fate is found inside me, inside you, and inside everyone else, too.
Fate does not reside in the sky, it resides inside our hearts and our minds.
we may think all the decisions have been made for us, that we’re tumbling toward our destiny and we can’t decide where we get to end up.
let me tell you, Fate is not written in the stars. Fate is written inside ourselves, and it’s only up to us to realize it.
so what do you believe? does Fate realize us? or do we realize our Fate?

statues and stones

statue angels and stone cold kings.
mine their hearts and steal their rings.
turn them into crowns for nobles unbound,
sitting with Arthur at a table so round.

ancient martyrs and modern heroes.
tales of rebellion and battles they go.
fighting horned demons and winged serpents,
with blood on their hands they feel the repentance.

they drink their rum and consume the alcohol,
waiting and watching for the hammer to fall.
yet no news came of the hellish flame,
that was said to burn them all.