Here I am,
they call me love.
But how can a word hold
all of me?
This bliss that I am,
they try to name.
This sweetest dream,
this golden life.
This warm blue sea,
a human wave.
These always and forever days.
Here I am.
They call me love.
I shall name humanity
‘the kaleidoscope’.
Each of us a colour.
All of us the shimmering view.
Yet, still,
despite the glorious, glimmering shine
of individuality,
we insist others dress
the colour ‘me’.
What for?
What will come of the view
if I live as ‘you‘?
Sometimes
the only words necessary
are:
chocolate
is
good.
Never become separate
from the raging, hungry depths
of you.
Sweet you.
Sweet, glorious sun.
Shine for a thousand tomorrows.
Shine for a thousand blazing days of you.
I cannot create unless I soften.
I cannot write with the wind,
I must become it.
I am the beautiful breeze that flows these words into the sky of all things.
Human is but a small part of me.
The blissful wind
I am
is the rest.
The cherry sky
was never meant to stay,
however beautiful.
Home is in this house.
The quiet of my love for them.
The dreams of my essence, racing into a fresh new world.
Home, you are my refuge.
Family, you are my home.
In the morning
I will ask for peace
and a soft smile from a friend.
But if I was always
happy
how would I know
the absolute beauty
of real
human
connection.
And how would I discover
the strength
I have
inside.
I was a ballerina in a past life.
Of course, I can’t be certain.
But as I look in the mirror,
lift my arms, tilt my neck—
I know this place,
this grace.
And sometimes I wonder why.
