Prayers smooth over the glass-beads of my eyes,

palms paired in an attempt to preserve your grace,

my salvation suspended on the verge; between my thoughts and your tongue.


Battle Cry!

Your hair moves on you in just the same mesmerizing manner as the rays of sun which so delicately caress every edge of you;

And I am spent without reservation

against all sane advice

I’m spent so entirely on you that the depths of me spill out with each breath encompassing the very thought.

Let the axes be drawn and maybe let our tongues waste some of the life-giving red on their edges before we start destroying ourselves in attempting to cut our hearts out.

Perhaps there are no naked scenes in my mind of you,

because  the spring breath you possess means I’m constantly in worship of the waste-land in me, brought to life by the mere sight of you.

And I am not ashamed to confess that even from eternal distance and space-giving, life-allowing, nonsensical barity – your essence could never lose its insatiable aroma.


Could I…

Reach out for your palm for a moment and pretend you’d asked me to?

And if I…

Let you go, promise you won’t ever look back at me…


But those sun rays remind me,

when your shoulder shies away –

that there’s no one else who found me;

in the setting of an ugly day.



The First Reason Continued

Whenever I would mention you, I’d say something dramatic like,

“My skin color murdered my first love.”

The truth is, you were never there with me.

Seven years of holding on to you, of re-living what I considered my first kiss.

If I close my eyes for longer than a few seconds – you’re there, under that lapa… in that garden where I lived out most of my childhood; your lips and mine seemed to have forgotten for a moment how to exist without each other, and I still remember the sweet scent of you… somewhere between cinnamon, coconut and honey with a tinge of camphor.

Seven years of being ready to take you back if you’d only asked… and you did ask… just to change your mind. Over, and over…

I wanted to get into the details… how loving you made me fluid in my ability to give of myself physically because knowing that was one aspect of me I never shared with you… I wanted to make sure that when you allowed me to touch you – you’d know that I was your home. That your hands were meant to roam the atlas on my skin.

I guess the most disappointing part of the last eleven years; is that after everything – I am letting you go without feeling about it.

I never gave up on you. Not for a second, even after I got over you… I cared and I searched and when I found you; you were so eager to spend time with me; until I realized that you’d never change your mind about me. You have conditioned yourself to have only a negative response to my part in your life… to use, to hurt, to disregard.

So “my angel”… I truly hope you remain blissfully ignorant about the depth of my love for you; especially when I am no longer around for you to hurt anymore.

The first reason

“Hey! It’s Hannah… Hannah Baker.”

For the most part; the last few weeks have been great. Amazing even.

For a few days I was stuck in a day-dream of what I thought was finally reaching a pivotal point with a special person in my life. I got a work promotion and generally… things just seemed like they were falling into place.

My, wake-up call began with much more than having my livelihood potentially threatened…

It seems my heart beats way too fast for any living human to be comfortable with.

I started watching 13 Reasons Why as a point of curiosity…

But it soon turned into an obsession with that one thing I romanticize more than love itself;


No this isn’t a plea. It is more like a confession.

I already know the way in which I will choose to exit; right now it is all about timing. It definitely is not my time YET.

It’s 02:07 a.m. and I am generally not concerned about how many of you will see this as “attention seeking”. After all, I lost a friend because everyone around didn’t see past the stretched out arms.

My arms are no longer outstretched. They are tucked safely underneath my chest, unwilling to be convinced otherwise and aware that at some point they will choose to behave in a way most comfortable with a clean exit.

‘ Settle in, because I’m about to tell you the story of my life.  More specifically, why my life ended… and if your are listening to this tape –  you are one of the reasons why.”

“my angel” – you are the first reason.


The Executioner’s Axe

My speech for freedom was a success,

and thank darkness for a cloudy night.

For I could not afford a single soul to see my face as I stood,

de-masked above a dying crowd.


I roared about the actions necessary,

should we desire an end prettier than the starving crows…

though thus urging riot I simultaneously guaranteed a revolutionary’s final date with my counterpart’s sharp claws.


It seems to me that the powers which confine us,

are afraid as wild youth as it nears its end.

Natural life will always be the outcome.

What is up has got to fall; and isn’t that sometimes a reason to be quiet?


When one whose life is so alight that they react to their ‘nurture’,

they will burn a fire in the hearts of dead-men walking.


How this army will march united… I wish I live to see.

So that my eyes may dry and hate subside –

my axe no longer need divide,

my self in two as one who raises freedom and beheads it all the same.


My axe chips as does my soul whenever a revolutionary’s crippled.

This is how an executioner prays:





There is nothing in this world but mist,

blanketing over exposed convulsions and…

lulling our lungs to calm against our raging will.


Calm is a universe,

so separate from this -me-

so presumably occupied that it is left to loneliness in Her sadistic romance.


Worn out;

Our eyes struggle to make home within our mist,

they remain closed in wakeful struggles –

never seeing the colors surrounding our often too narrow grey paths which;

in the arrest of guilty breaths all lead to one central eden.


This guilt,

this… gift;

received with so little resistance is often no more than a domesticated python.

So why not tame it?

Re-name it… make it yours… own it and see;

a python does not revel in eating souls as a hobby.

This is not a poem

The last two poems I published on here were old pieces.

The intention is to gather each and every piece I am okay with on here for safe-keeping… Mainly because I am my own worst critic and I tend to burn my work…

Also because life is fickle and no one ever knows how or when it will cease and I know that some people would appreciate having something of mine to keep them warm when it gets cold everywhere.


Usually when I get cold everywhere, the words become easy to find and easier to compose with. I guess this time it’s a little different.


Until next time and thanks for reading:


My First Poem

I am unashamed to say that every love was my biggest.

That is to say;

No one else mattered when I was yours,


I hadn’t even noticed that we weren’t the only ones.

There are only one-and-only moments…

So I made the best of ours and then carefully stashed them away in my garage

full of “special memories”.


At midnight you walked into my room,

your eyes were a river source,

your hands – what propel earthquakes.

You stretched out your arms towards the stars on my face

and I wished I could wipe the honesty off your eyes – it cannot be unseen;

the deep breath in my ear will not go unheard and

the pulse between my thighs is feeling itself so bad

I imagined you proving it wrong with your mouth.


There is a plum in my throat and you are kissing her.

This pulse between my thighs turns into

an accidental spray of chili-pepper juice behind my eyes;

and you tell me she has enough milk to heal all of the blind.


I’d rather go meet Morpheus in the darkness and remain there.

I’d rather not hear that you know I know how to love you best of all.


I’d rather go blind than to have seen that truth behind your longing stare.


At midnight…

After you walked into my room; the ball and chain off my heart finally broke the link with their weight, and I am willing to praise you for this act of grace.

Come save me while you break her heart,

Come heal me while she bleeds all out,

Come kiss me while she’s turning blue,

Let past death birth our future.


Let’s be the only ones

Let’s have our one-and-only moments…

Let’s play them on repeat, press record, produce and own them.


The road to awe…

Be the journey I would choose even if I had a million tries…


I am unashamed to say that;

Every love was my biggest one.


I see a sea of dreamers.

Foreheads resting on elbows,

Elbows resting on counters,

Counters built up by the broken dreams of the countless.


I see a sea of dreamers,

Resting their heads on their elbows.

Their elbows resting on the counters which,

are made up of the shattered dreams of the countless.


I see a sea of dreamers

Lifting their heads from their elbows;

Tugging at each other’s shoulders.

Elbows slowly leaving the counters,

Fingers clasped in a chain,


Looking ever-on-upward;

Never to be countless again.


Now the counted:

are seeing a sea of dreamers.

Resting their heads on their elbows,

Their elbows resting on counters.

And… In a loop –

The counted are defining the countless.