
“This is the doorway time,
the passage from youth
to adulthood
Where we use words
we almost understand
and display emotions
we don’t quite yet know”
“There’s a river in France called Touch…
I’d hoped to have seen you there with your hands spread
Memories of you & I skipping town, dodging clotheslines with the pant legs
Your hair kept like rose vines with the strands red
The nights we’d toast wine but demand less
Life was so fine. Our souls scribed in the grand nest.”
Dream bright like an ocean
Dream bright like an ocean
I find it hard some days to be me.
I don’t choose to be broken, you see,
but that scar and me, that scar and me.
We’re far from dreaming bright like an ocean faraway.
I work everyday with no money to see,
a want and need to fund my writing dreams.
Life is hard with twenty shows to watch.
You can’t keep up when things get rough.
Forever on your guard, a writer might botch
favourite characters, write them weak instead of tough,
or ruin a scene that’s meant to be tender
between two characters that truly love each other
and make it violent because selling out the gender
is more important than love between brother and sister.
Life is hard with twenty shows to watch.
You can’t keep up when things get rough.
Forever on your guard, a writer might botch
favourite characters, write them weak instead of tough,
or ruin a scene that’s meant to be tender
between two characters that truly love each other
and make it violent because selling out the gender
is more important than love between brother and sister.