She laughs way too loud, drinks way too much wine
Stumbling precariously along dirt roads in life
She holds your hand just a little too tight
But she smiles just a little bit when someone says "you're mine"

And there are stories she saves
For quiet midnight moons
Songs she sings when she's alone in her room

You don't have to be broken
To know how to break
Silences that echo, that echo with hate
Embedded so deep in the cracks of her bones
The ones she runs her fingers along
When she's all alone

And you don't have to say all the things you don't mean
You don't have to help her paint
such picturesque dreams

Because I'll bet she can unravel
All the prettiest lies
And still mean it when she says,
She'll stay through the night

Shelter

Can I make it better,
With the lights turned on?

Collectives

Groups.
Herds.

Crash.
A crash of rhinoceros.


Improbability.
An improbability of puffins.



An improbability.

Adventure is out there

And so it begins-
One who's packing his life into boxes,
Another who's doing so much work from behind a screen she hardly feels productive some days..

It is as mortifyingly scary as it is thrilling and exciting,
But here we are.

On the precipice of beginning something that holds so much promise,
So much wonder and anticipation of the stories waiting to be told.

I've always been in love with theatre and the process of drama-making.
And someone (wise, I'm sure) did say,
To spread the love.

Wintery nights in Osaka

"Haven't you ever felt like that?"
"Like...? I don't know?"
"Like that's all you'll ever need. Like this one person- and that's all."

Evenings spent by quiet waters

And time warps that worked their magic

"Couldn't it be me that you pick?"

Always the fool

I don't know what you're saying-
It's like your written words are a rush of white noise
While my voice
Has gone coarse
with things I have asked too many times

So remind her how to breathe
Go on, make her believe
What else is there to hold on to,
When we stand on such shaky ground?


I don't know what you're saying-
Your written words are a rush of white noise
And I know a girl, poised-
Waiting
To catch your truth in all its varying shades
Holding tight
With her cut up fingers and cut up hands
Hoping
to feel whole again.

The wanderer II

It's like I woke up,
And found myself at home
And right where I'm supposed to be