whatever they trynna teach you 
don’t listen 
you can only find yourself after spending enough time
looking at the sky and touching grass 
the rest is bullshit 

small men casting shadows 
you can’t fight 
but cast light
we flowers of sun 
blossom forever 

​

in essence

we are pure existence 
extensions to life 
we are light 
leaves

falling from the sky 
shy of wind
wounded by creatures
who’ve done more wrong than right 

​

deep breath 
deep grief 

funeral of the sky 
no one showed up but 
rain cried

the unbearable feeling of living 
like a ghost 
lost 
a world 
host 
a maze
in head 
windows closed
night cold air drums 
your ears 
crying loudly 

be present

​

whatever they trynna make you do 
don’t do it 
unless you are the one who decides 
then 
just do it;
the oppositions in life are for you to guide 
your inner compass.
don’t cling,
join the leaves falling from the sky 
dancing on Chopin sonata number two
Marche Funebre -
the waltz of the ego death 
2 rabbits with one stone 
they make you look like a serial killer
possessed by undeniable corruption of the
power to possess, posing threats to themselves 
drowning and taking others down 
with themselves,

that’s the best 
they can do 
trust me
you better run fast 
past that 
funeral.

​

whenever your calling is calling 
flowing 
connecting the dots 
put in on the line
in line with what you feel inside 
the body you carry 
with you daily 
habituated to the degree of not being aware of 
anything but your hands and legs and maybe sometimes other 
hidden parts of the soul carrier -
a door that’s opening only outwards.

​

you pull you push you pull
you push you pull 

you push

through times

instead of just being present
you invent doors 
from words 
you build walls between worlds

closed, locked 
by each of us
in the ether of fake 
meanings.

​

just be present