these hands

there are changes in the weather

that lives in your eyes; we will experience 

a high chance of storm

but still,

the sun will shine.

the sun will shine where you soul has hidden away from.

these hands were your shelter

delicate, but firm

the lines told you stories of all you could live for,

and you’d grown to learn them like the map of our universe.

now you have gone astray, 

like a leaf amidst the wind, spiralling out of reach,

and i only hope you will not forget the contours of these fingers,

these cuticles that don’t quite fit around the nails

from bad habits that cannot be broken.

i forgave the hurricane,

when i learnt its ways and learnt to appreciate

the beauty of destruction;

i looked in, i sat in the centre of the hurricane

and heard its hum,

calm and peaceful amongst the forces that churned and unwound.

these hands are still your shelter

no matter which way you wish to run

and the paths will hopefully

lead you to where you wish to be held again.

these hands are shaking, but they will still carry you

and still do their best

to catch rain.

of patience, of urge

courage, take me where the deepest fears linger,

teach me to swim to shore.

there are eyes that glisten with the yearn

for hope,

and there are those that look 

away from where the light refracts.

my days are towed,

heavy and testing on the pull of my shoulders,

bearing the weight of expired minds behind heavy duty locks.

there are tears flowing from a broken pipe

behind the wallpaper, 

rust and pressure wearing it down;

it will not be long now

until the damp grows through the walls 

forcing the corners to curl and

shrivel

so the strong and sturdy, too,

begin to tire.

but all it takes,

is a fitting hand and the right tools

to straighten things out

and stop the tears from flowing.

notes for the beaten

the dust settles,

in the stagnant veins of your soul

and soon the spiders will

leave their webs

to find new home - then what will be left of you?

on a night like this,

i stand with my feet buried in the moist brown of the earth

and embrace the logic

that quicksand is merely an aid for the people who have given up

to disappear is a very easy achievement.

i take a step forward

and break the hold binding me to the grasp of the ground,

to disappear is a very easy achievement,

but what do i really achieve,

if i cease to exist?

the dust settles,

in the tire of your mind,

and i appreciate how fear has matted your eyes,

singing its lifeless songs as they were once my own to sing

and i stare into a rendition i know so well

listen to a masterpiece that once sounded its discordance within me.

hello again, dear friend

i remember you, and what you made me feel. 

why are you back, and residing so comfortably 

in the home of my love?

the scars differ, yours and mine, his and hers, theirs and ours.

but every dent has its purpose,

etched by similar thoughts, similar reasoning - or lack of.

our energies rise and fall in phase,

like how your negatives will never stray far from mine,

but it is our perceptions that enhance us.

we prolong each emotion as we age,

losing the ability to restore balance,

the way a child would when she cries over scraped knees 

then proceeds to fill her lungs with laughter

when her sister pulls a funny face.

so just as easily, your positivity will not stray from my own,

and i give you

through every kiss, every thought,

every touch,

every sleeping and waking moment,

the positive energy burning and birthing on the pinnacle of my entire being

and i will in turn,

caress and cradle the negatives surging out from you,

catching them as they plummet,

to restore whatever balance the world is missing from me and from you.

it is alright to embrace 

and take what life has to offer,

in all its entirety,

because choice can be such a selfish thing sometimes,

in such an open field of everything and nothing, don’t you think?

take a leap

with arms wide open;

somebody, somewhere

will always reach out.