Origami Angels

When I was young

I’d dream of a life that unfolded in front of me like the wings of an origami angel

I’d sit in the backyard, wishing on the seeds of dandelions as if I held 1000 paper cranes between my fingers.

When I was young

I’d sit under a sky which looked as though a vulture took the world under its wing

Memorising the tales of meteorites

Only to realise that I know as much about shooting stars as Mark David Chapman.

Where as I lay there wishing for world peace

He probably wishes Lennon would come back and sing him fast asleep

So just imagine,

All the people he carves single file

A new friend each day.

Writing lyrics on stone walls like commandments

But you can’t change your passed Mark

Just let it be.

When I was young

I was told 110 stories

Were written to be burned

As New York folk lore.

This life is a page turner

Bound with twisted steel

Spines coming un-stitched

Breeding legends like arts and crafts

I wanted to be the artisan, that blows glass lungs from desert sands

Repairing the storytellers fragile existence

Those who told that miracle come around about as often as Halley’s Comet

Leaving me to wonder if maybe she’s only in orbit because she’s chasing her own tail

Like I am left chasing the tales once told to me

Of a paper-bag princess actually comfortable in her own skin.

When I was young

They told me to be cautious

Cuz if dreams come true

There will be so many forgotten days.

In lucid sleep I’ve built this man brick by brick

Dreamt of the storms where the winds would tear this roof from my Jericho walls

Filling me up like a rain barrel to spill over the asphalt and grow Eden

It wouldn’t be the first time I was left empty.

And though the darkest days were gone

The shadows meant that I always had a friend stitched to my toes

 Telling me to open up,

So I spill my guts like its child’s play

Because in some places it is.

That’s why, when I was young, valentines were made of purple hearts

They weathered wars in this chapel

The pews were trenches from which we eves dropped on sermons spit from no-man’s land,

We stood as martyrs

Fought to stay free of will

And self-exorcised these demons.

During prayer I’d fold my fingers like the wings of an origami angel

The creases played my stories like the grooves in vinyl records do

I am still young

And I write my wrongs on bathroom stalls

Hoping that somebody in their most vulnerable moment my either learn from it

Or forgive me

I have spent 40 days in the desert

Searching for enough sand

To craft lungs for all the breathless willows who dare not whisper

Just in case they makes more Georgia pines tongued tied with nooses spilling from their lips.

I’ve seen gargoyles

Nest in these temples

Guarding me from these ghosts trying to break me down

So make me myth

Give me the knowledge to know:

There’s too many words and not enough stories

There’s too many star and not enough constellations

There are too many drugs and not enough ecstasy

There’s too much noise and not enough silence...

Here,

Now that I’ve given you a moment of gold

I want you to spend it

Remembering what it is

That makes you

Forever

Young.

Blood, Sweat and Braille

It’s been a long, lonely climb

And I’m sweating bullets so when I reach the top

I can give this world a piece of my mind.

See I came way too far to turn back now

I made decent progress

Then stumbled down

But it was up hill both ways

Now figure that one out

As it’s one of life’s greatest riddles.

But I came way too far to just back down

In the face of such riddles because I’ll figure them out

But these things take time

So don’t count on me.

But if you must I hope you realise

I’m just 1 man

trying 2 make it

in a 3 wishes type of world

so  4give me if I don’t live up to your expectations

as I’m still pursuing my own.

Cuz I told myself that I’d be the type of man to climb mountains

Stand upon their peaks

And witness the galaxies through Earth’s pinhole camera atmosphere

But how am I to summit mountains when I can’t even conquer myself

And I swore

that I’d have a story worth preaching form the top of mount Sinai

But I’ve taken it one step further

Now I’m screaming it from Everest

Can’t you hear me from up here?

I want these words

To start a revolution so heated its like I’m bringing hell up from underneath my feet

I got this Krakatoa mentality and I’m pushin’

To have Earth spit fire like she’s spouting orange orchids from between her lips

This peace offering to gravity as it’s not the only thing bringing us down

It’s these hearts which weigh heavy

But don’t lift with your back

Its just an attempt to keep us grounded

Which shows that even God gets scared of heights.

But don’t we all have our phobias we’re told to get over

And if you want me to face my greatest fear turn me inside out

It’s this terror

Which keeps me pushing against this land slide which trying to bring me down

And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills

I hope you know that NASA aren’t the only people shooting for the stars

That’s why I always have new wounds

And I love to trace the scars

Because they read like scripture when you close your eyes

I want to tell a story in blood, sweat and braille

This sign language is a cautionary tale

And this weak body language tells you why.

It’s for the days where my own mind could drop me 20 stories so help me.

Cuz yah, thus far it’s been a long, lonely climb

But not one that I’m meant to do alone so help me

Write a story

Worth preaching from the top of Everest

I just hope

They can hear us

From up here.

40 Angels

I know people who shiver as if the ghosts which haunt them are made from their own stolen bed sheets.
White linen innocence trodden with foot printed demons
Known to traces lipstick kisses on inner arms
Leaving butterfly knifes in stomachs when they get nervous
this is the feeling of new-found love for ourself
but it’s more of a Jeffrey Dauhmer kind of affection because we are loving ourselves to pieces.
unsteady hands which tremor as if Japan’s oscillating mountains reside within their ligaments
making Earth's axis spin crooked with divine smiles known to be the backward bent spines of angels.
golden arches to the pearly gates
where maybe rainbows are strung just to shoot arrows
bound for arthritis stricken joints making praying hands more painful a chore
causing grown men to make childish decisions in the face of new problems resulting from old decisions as their shallow thoughts send them off the deep end.
Ocean worn and liquor cursed bottle messages  lost in translation,
slurred between the syllables of
60 men with a tendency to walk crooked, 40 angels smoking blow in the park and 26 devils stuttering bible verses behind church walls
Drowning in tears, rain, salt water or is it just chase, they don’t know any more
lemon twisted
With pinot noir blood pumped through veins
So these Bombay sapphire eyes
Can see one more tequila sunrise.
of soul stirring beauty
And I’ve shaken hands with broken men
And let me tell you there is nothing firmer than the grip of a person barely hanging on.
Hands which are too pre-occupied to realize the holes in mine because I have been nailed to these cross roads waiting for the changes
I have whipped into shape by the pressure to be mature for my age
And when I have fallen I had people tugging at my shoulders just to help me stand to pursue the straight and narrow
But I’m still a little crooked
So I’m hell bent on tomorrow.
the days where these 40 angels dance like the devil to say they got low
With moon light studded earlobes where one small step for man took mankind closer to shaking God’s hand and one giant leap backwards from a firm footing on our own land
We cherish mysteries where lifes unsustainable inhales weeze words of promise to curious minds
because from conception to death we are looking for moments which truly leave us breathless
And though I am asthmatic I take every breath for granted and the only thing I don’t is life itself
as what is breath if it sustains nothing more than yielding finish lines
and hollow day dreams
when we rather sleep to make the time pass faster any ways
though nothing seems to stop the night terrors formed from sleeping beneath my ghostly bed sheets
These 40 angels have news printed demons which taints their white linen innocence
When red lip stick kisses on inner arms turn to butterfly knives in stomachs.
don’t waste worried on days gone by
So please, treat each day like the smoothest whiskey
Forget about chasing the past.

Drunken Words

She was born to look at life through hour glasses

Knowing that things get better with time

Like fine wine

This sorrow is an acquired state.

Taught from an early age that the grapes of wrath are bitter from the vine and brew nothing but bottled up emotions corked by candle lit dinners

 This message in a bottle leaves her wasted, but it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.

By mid afternoon her speech is stuttered and slurred as if she is speaking through a rising tide of white Riesling as the crimson of her pinot blood places rosé gently on her ivory cheeks.

 She is best enjoyed in good company over stories of lovers passed.

 Her taste compliments yours lips and the blue in your eyes so nicely

 And she’s the reason why drunken words are sober thoughts

but tonight her drunken tails are sobering.

 The blurring of my vision comes from the tear stained pillow cases used to store my midnight philosophizing as my own creations make my head spin.....

Or maybe I’ve had too much to drink after all but screw it

Tonight is made of broken hands because the seconds don’t seem to pass

And Mother Nature fermented the fruits of our labour and packed them in crystal ball bottles meant to be broken apart so we can watch it all spill out in front of us.

 She lined up four glasses,

Poured a little into each one and sipped them with a tongue venom laced with arsenic eye contact

 It was the first time I saw anything other than dawn crack under the pressure of starting over.

Especially since she’s the stained glass window that allows even the brightest find their color but you can only fall so many times before you finally break but she refused to shatter.

When the chip on her shoulder sent her stumbling she brushed it off and taught it how to stride.

When her mind would wonder she’d teach it how to glide and legend says she tamed the lions with her pride so it’s no wonder she survived the rising tide.

She is wading waste deep

Standing there

Vulnerable and shining like green glass in the sun as if she was on the edge of the atmosphere ready to jump.

When Thor raised his fist with her in his hand ready to cast her like a shooting star against the black pavement she found her voice

Hidden in the canyon of his life lines and she finally got the courage to look him in the eyes and scream, at the top of her lungs,

Do it...

Break me...

I dare you!

Ciao

I saw waves breaking

Over her face

Drowning her cheeks

In the deep black and blue of Mariana’s trench

She was drowning.

Muffled by the oceans current

Sweeping her words

Away into whirlpool pupils

Keeping an eye on the sky

To make sure that she was alone.

I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a siren’s song fall silent

Until her voice broke over the rocks

Into a thousand crystals

Raining syllables on the shore

As she cried

Speaking in fragments

To catch breathes in the troughs of the waves

It was low tide.

I remember,

El Niño’s grasp holding her down

Warm to the touch

But so potent that it formed monsoon rains

In some places and sunny days in others

Death will do that to somebody.

And no matter how much you try

To look on the Brightside

Night falls over us sooner or later

And I can’t run fast enough to stay in the sun’s rays

So please

Carry me through the times I have to sleep

So I can still see the light through my eyelids

And wake up to its smiling face

It is freckled

Like grey shore line rocks

Forming earth’s beautifully hemmed skirt

In the spatter of her waves

I once caught her dancing

Silent

Even though she caught my gaze

Like a well trained fisherman

She let it tire

Then reeled me in

Closer to the point where I could hear her say

“Ciao Bella”

As if it were the only thing I ever wanted to hear

Using the sign language of tears

And the pronunciation of her gestures

But I have never been fluent in body language

Forming spaces between my fingers, and hers

My dialect and the only one she knew

Because yes and no are mutual

But goodbye is universal

And I remember she called me beautiful

In the last moments I would ever see her

Even though we made eye contact

Every weekend for 2 more years

It is high tide.

The moon is smiling at her silhouette

Beautifully placed just below the surface

Like a coral reef

With life scurrying off her body

As if it were the healthiest

Of all marine phenomenon

Because I know

Though she was pale in those moments

She was vibrant

Though she was silent

Her ever breath echoed through the hallways

With the anticipation

That anyone could finally be her last

And as she finally took a breath

In unison with me

Her last syllables were

“Ciao, Bella, you can do this without me”

Handcuffs

I'm sorry that I never had to suffer a youth like you
I watched you grow wiser with each passing day
at a rate that I couldn't even fathom at that age
I guess things are different than when I was your age
but it just goes to show how fast the world can change
I sheltered myself from the beauty of roses to avoid pain in my life
but you embraced the bouquet and now,
scars of Ill love and stain glassed picture frames burnt around each memory insinuate that you ain't the person you look like.
You have some tricks up those sleeves on how to translate cold steel to feeling
making blood brothers with a bitten lip and stretch marks on those hips from being forced to grow up so quickly
Your hips, used to sway to the music until you lost track of the time
 it was 4 in the morning when you called to tell me that the dotted line running parallel to the life lines In the palms of your hands was begging for you to cut jagged attempts at sobriety so that everyone's ideals would just be silenced for a while and you wouldn't have to lie to me and bring red hands over my eyes and whisper. Everything is alright.
But I know better when you hold down the cuffs of your shirt when you hug me to separate me from the pain u feel because you don't want it to cut me too.
But if it helped you, I'd let them nail me to a cross without any Novocaine to replace the warm blood I lost And make me numb, from the cold intentions in my heart which breaks like icicles as you cut us apart, I'll be fine.
Knowing that my knowledge of growing a smile on that face stops the flowing of your heart while it's going insane will save you one day
and one day
when I'm brave enough
I'll drop to my knees and propose to you with the sun set in the sky like a beautiful diamond and beg that you stop bleeding me with those razor blade smiles as you use wrists to paint me the bigger picture of what life is
and it's abstract
 like a dreamland where we can stand,
 toes in the sand and witness the simple pleasures around us like mother nature's waves which seem to lick her shore lines in search if self satisfaction because what she gets from human beings is only a fraction what she needs.
But fractions form the stained glass frames which are burned into my mind to make light of situations like these.
give me the chance to fall to my knees and breathe a sigh of relief because these come few and far in between
so one into you and one into me
hopefully it's enough to give wind to your tattered sails and bring u off to a horizon which folds on itself to make infinite origami cranes out of the smooth Sheet of water.
Because I want you to be granted all the wishes you can utter in that one breathe
because when it leaves your lips... I promise...
That it'll the most beautiful thing to stop the swaying of those hips.