Eloquence evades me.


I find myself distressed, because I cannot
spew out pearls of such intense clarity they make
jaws drop in awe, eyes bulge with wonder.


Write to me some summer lines.


Write to me an ode to the days of yore.
when words and daisies
lined up my street with white sunbeams,
golden dreams.


Now even happiness leaves me uninspired.
oddly content. oddly hollow.
bated breath and tip-toeing eggshells to see
if it (when it) ends.


Suspicion.
Superstition.


Hollow laughter in hollow silences.
Hollow words.


I become become become
speechless.

I am the lovechild of glittery gold city night lights and illusive melodies on the subway.
urban child. city child.
child of the chaos. child of the beautiful .

child of the constructions which
lace cold pavement
and cold heart


stony smiles in gray water puddles.
stony imprints of people's gray souls.

snippet.

A spectator watching my own life on a remote t.v screen I am
too far to even try and come close and
reach out and touch myself to
feel me and pinch me and stare me in the eye and see
if i am real and i
am me.

and yet...

You find in me the girl I lost to the hands of time and eyes of men and
eyes of time and hands of men.

I lost myself to use abuse and scarlet
tattoos
of scars and wars fought, forgiven
and not
forgotten.

but you make me forget and you make me hope and hope
is not the thing with feathers but the bird of stone that
weighs me down and wakes me up and makes me wonder if
this bird of stones can fly.


i soar on these dreams and find the world
flying beneath my weary feet.