From The Inner Space

Let us all be blind to colour
And only see it when when a fellow
Brother or sister is being discriminated
Because of it.

Let us all be blind to gender
And only see it when a fellow
Brother or sister is treated different
Because of it.

Let us all be blind to sexuality
And only see it when a fellow
Brother or sister are being shamed
Because of it.

Let us tear out the eyes of prejudice.
Let us tear down the God that sanctions it.

Hi, guys, I hope all is well with you. I hope nobody minds that I share my new project with you - I’m blogging and doing all kinds of online stuff for this cheap n’ chic brand Fashion Temple, so if anyone would like to visit the Tumblr blog or even better, like the Facebook page, it would be great! Anyway, more poetry coming up soon =) Lots of love!

Where is the love, is it in our heads
Between the folds of our off white brain -
Is it in the chemicals going off
Like atomic fireworks in the rain

Where is the love, is it in our flesh
Is it in the blood that carries it to my head
The echo of every single beat of my heart
Whispering to the world:
‘This is what we are’

Where is the love, when you strip us away
Is it in the air, is it in what’s said
For strip us of our words, of our touch
We’re just two skeletons laying in the bed.

Ain’t it pretty
All the twinkling lights in abandoned city
Like the last exhibit of God’s dying pity

Ain’t it pretty
How the snowflakes are falling all alone
Turning to teardrops at the ground below

Ain’t it pretty
How the fire’s stirring underneath our feet
Take care, my darling, you must take heed

Ain’t it pretty
Life asks none, it gives all then takes from thee
And tomorrow, is at best, only a fool’s guarantee

Ain’t it pretty
How the stars speak to fools of things to be
Ain’t it a pitty, you won’t find that fool in me

Don’t try to become a better fighter
By waging a war on yourself

But do learn to be a better lover
By learning to love yourself

The off taste of the end of the cigarette
Lingers on my dried lips. I remember
The awkward creek in my counselors
chair. It came week after week.
The wandering of streets in the night,
So scared. Of the dangers of the night
Or of just being with myself. I didn’t know.

Sipping tequila with insomnia. She can drink.
I’d drift off to sleep, but she would wake me
Fifteen minutes later. For company, I suppose.
Letting days go by behind my drawn curtains
In the bedroom. Spare me the reminders
Of that life moves on carrying me with it.
I didn’t want to go there. Who does? Fuck it.

A frosted face. Like she stood in a place
Far colder than here. Her own place.
The raven cracks her beak open upon
The capital letter of what she spoke:
‘No.’ The whole world full of denials,
Bulimic from them. The assertion
Becomes some dreams’ doomsday,
For the love that divides and divides
Itself in the corners of neurons,
A swift abortion. Or a miscarriage.
He cherished her face like a child’s.
Now she made the whole world
Say no. Made it all negative.
The grief impenetrable. The head
Echo with the same emptiness
Of an empty womb. She stretched
The stomach of doomsday to
Infinity. She made all love end.
She makes all pretty things pretend.

Will the flowers bloom beautiful?
They will not, the colour will blind.

Will the sun shine brilliantly?
The sun will burn, the sun will hurt.

Will the children scream in joy?
The children will scream, it will annoy.

Will God love him nonetheless?
He won’t care, believing less and less.

The face painted to China doll perfection,
A date, the eyes beaming with affection -
The dress hangs off the shoulders like it lost it all,
There’s such sadness in the deep fold of the chiffon.

He’s always here to kiss madness into the head,
Whisper someone else’s name in the messy bed.
But going out where conversation is the charm -
He says he’s forgotten, it’s good to have time apart.

She sits on the bed and stares hard into the mirror,
The red lips frown, the mascara eyes with tears shimmer -
She grabs her bag and heads to the movies anyway,
There she sits next to a stranger who is no more strange
Than her should-have-been-there date.

God does not have eyes with which to see,
The all sweeping sea, yet alone the little me.
God does not have a mouth with which to speak
Up for what’s right, a word of strength for the weak.
God does not have arms with which to hold
Me together when life begins to take its toll.
God does not have a heart with which to feel,
Half the hell and quarter of the heaven I felt real.
God does not have the faintest guts to swallow,
The war, the hunger, not even my occasional sorrow.
God does not have feet with which to come
To the rescue, to answer the call of anyone.
God does not have a body with which to greet,
Those that pass away, never to be seen –

God is but a thought in
Our desperate heads,
They’re a lot more lighter,
When  all the Gods have left.

You are my missing piece from the navy sky
I ran out of ink when coloring it in
You filled that circular blank space – the moon,
With the long promised Shakespearean romance
From a land far, far away from any tragedy –

You ripped up the world without mercy
You parted my tectonic lips with your tongue,
Then you rebuilt the whole thing with your love,
Now, I dare the devil to try and shake it up
Till even he is swept off his feet by you –

You are the force behind my spit at things,
I let too close, too bitter close, eagerly biting -
You ignited in my eyes a fire that burns
Right through everything that ever frightened –

You are the only lamp in the room,
Because of you I can finally read life.

Sending off the copyright permission tomorrow - another one of my poems is to be published in April! It’s all very exciting and a huge thanks to everyone who follows me, likes my stuff, reblogs my stuff, writes their own stuff, messages me - you’ve all been and remain a huge driving force in my writing. Your poems always remind me that there are feelings, situations, styles and ways of writing I have never thought about. It keeps me on my toes, keeps me trying to improve. More thanks is due here than I can express in words x

billythekim asked: I'm not a literature kind of guy. I never had a passion for poems until I came across your 'The Love Me' piece. It's hard to describe but I think it touched me somewhere deep. Keep up the great work! I'll be keeping my eyes out for your update! - Billy Kim

That’s the best compliment anyone could pay me, I couldn’t be more flattered by the fact that you were touched by my words… Thank you for your message and putting a smile on my face =) I hope you’ll enjoy the poems to come!

I slip in and out of people’s lives
Leaving holes where I once lurked
Sometimes they carved pits in me
For my tears to fall in, words as knives
Sometimes I walked away, disappeared
Taking with me more than I deserved -
Both had led me to the very bottom
Of a glass, alcoholic stench bottle
No matter who you are,
Nobody is worth much at all there.

I would come back begrudgingly,
Like the sun rise from my sleep -
I would go back to fill those pits,
With the lies that they’ve given me.
I would return to others to give back
All the help I stole from their souls,
I would go back, but what’s the use,
Not a living thing knows.

If you’re out, you’re down the ladder
Into the snake pit or the victory square -
Back to your apartment, echo of silence,
Not caring that nobody cares -
Or maybe you’ve returned some years
Back into the fold of your mother’s skirt,
She too gave you more than you deserve,
Of all the wrong things, but never the truth
Never how all this back and forth gets
Right to the bottom of you and you
Right to the bottom of that vodka bottle
And you cry your eyes out still: the difference?
You’re either sober through it all or
Just intoxicated and blissfully unaware. 

If there is truth in what you said
If there is heart in what you did
Dear I will try to find it
In me to forgive

If there is me in your thoughts
If fair were the battles you fought
If there is passion in your voice raised
Dear I will try to love you again

This is unappealing as the yesterday’s snow gone grey,
Camouflaging the gravestones in his quiet yard -
Where bones long forgotten lay, and him
Where he died with the secrets of my past.

Ironic then, how white ice falls as if the powder
That whirlwinded us above to meet the Gods -
They expected him, we turned the hands of the clock
Forward, we hallucinated it all out, we went against the odds.

His arms were something of the night sky, moonless -
Drawing in with their infinite blue, with needle holes
Where little crimson stars shone through, countless
Compared to my cloudy veins, embarrassed I hid under clothes.

Look, this is not meant to be a perfect expression of any kind,
Of the life we lived without sparing a minute for the sober soul-
This was our love, this was our psychedelic wisdom that died,
And fuck, without him, I just cannot get that close… to it again.

And everybody I know on this rock is grateful for this tragedy,
Without him, the hand of the clock itself stands as if dead, still -
Prolonging the hour I dive into the fabled flames, he’ll  wait
To ruin the weakness in me, to outsmart the Big Bastard again.