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
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.