noun.

1. the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.

2. an institution for people needing professional care or supervision.

adjective.

1. relating to the place where one lives.

2. (of a sports fixture) played at the team's own ground.

adverbs.

1. to or at the place where one lives.

verb.

1. (of an animal) return by instinct to its territory after leaving it.

2. move or be aimed towards (a target or destination) with great accuracy.

* * *

home. the soft burning fire in the corner, a red-orange glow filling the dim-lit room. the heavy scent of ashes in the air, sinking. drowning in the sofa, into the darkness. it’s raining outside. you can feel it. the taps on the glass, the rush of raindrops. someone is in the kitchen. you can hear it. the clanks of dishes, the movement of feet against cold tiles. upstairs, there’s no one. you can imagine it. the empty bedrooms with open doors. the windows are closed but there’s a chill. there’s a breeze that rustles the perfect made beds. the lights are off, the curtains drawn but something gives the rooms bright even in its coldness. something you can’t describe. you are downstairs in the living room, lying on the sofa. your head is leaning on the arms of the sofa, your eyes are wide open, but it feels closed, the world around you falling away like feathers. and you are slipping into darkness - but all you can feel is colours, lights, movements, an image of feet against a black and white floor before another overlaps; a man in the night, face shadowed his back blazing yellow-red-orange by the sun. it feels like your watching a scene, disjointed images that don’t fit together but feel right. and there’s a feeling in you that you can’t describe but it’s important. you’re sinking and sinking deeper and for a moment everything drops and you can hear your heartbeat in the silence. it’s quiet but very loud. and it’s all you focus on, the rise on fall of your chest, the way your heart thumps and thumps, the rough texture of the sofa on your skin. and there’s a song you can hear. somewhere far away, near the ocean in the sunset, feet in the sand there is a man who strums a guitar and sings. somewhere there’s a beat of one two three, the chimes of bell and a voice screaming out into the wilderness. the beats of your heart overlaps

with the song and it feels right. feels like there’s a power hidden inside you, slumbering waiting to be awakened. time stretches and every moment feels important, precious like if you don’t etch this into your soul right now you will regret it. the images flow in again, the song fading to a shuffle of clothes, lips tugging into a smile, the crease of skin as someone bursts into laughter. you move into the heart of summer, everything is loud and bright it hurts but in good away; like running away and away till your muscles ache and your sweating, heart lunching against your ribs and your are tired, but smiling wild with teeth. next, you slide into an ice rink, arms wrapping around each other, bodies pulling closer to each other, ice scraped by blades, wobbling knees, the echoes of breaths ringing in the air. and then you areaway into somewhere everything is falling, colours turning dull, the alive bright colours of the world losing their light and everything is draining away, turning to shades of grey. everything is quieter, tuned down. and you can focus on the little things, instead of having a clash of instruments banging in your ear. the silence. the air. nothing. and the world narrows down to you again. the raise of your chest, the beat of your heart quiet but loud. the breath caught in your throat. — home.

* * *

-Spirit ethereal

Like Sunflower and rosemary

God‘s great eyes opened upon you and gave you all her beauty.

Long hair like night sky

constellations on your skin

Shall we rush in? Shall we make no apologies?

Shall we dance till the morning? a slow waltz?

you are taller than I so I bask in your shadow

I shake though I hide it, you shake and you show it.

We are afraid of what the other might think.

So here I sit contemplating your beauty. We are so similar in mind

Sweet discourse and frozen thoughts. Sweeping it under the sheets like it is nothing.

You cast yourself down.

I will take it slow

I will drop hints.

I will dance around you

Plant sunflowers

Pick lavender

Put rosemary on the table

Do I not know you enough to make a decision? Do I not know at all?

Am I a fool?

For you are not made in that image

I am not made in that image.

I will cling to Eve’s hands and plead with her to reject the idea that she was at fault.

Perhaps they’re right?

perhaps friendship is a motion I have not yet experienced.

The sweet nothing between sentences.

From religion to science to everything in between, I create my own spirituality.

I wish I could speak in tongues.

I wish you were the only one that could understand me.

Sweet mother I pray to a god unseeing

My tears water the plants around my grave

Foxglove and lavender

Sage and rosemary

Sunflower round my face-

This is something like a love letter. This is probably something like a rant. This is too many words, brain-spillage. This is not poetry. This is not prose. I am sorry if that is what you were expecting today. I’m sorry if I am not what you were expecting today. I am not what you need. I am I. I am probably not what you were expecting today. I am single-drop hemoglobin in vast, ocean-endless veins. You are type-O carrying while I am AB-incompatible, toxic. I am I. I am I, inside of I. And I tend to lack the propensity required to carry on conversations. I tend to lack the emotional drive to lend myself to others more than just temporarily. I am I, internal-searching. I am I, inward-facing. This is expulsion. Evac/Recharge. Evac/Recharge. I am lack of responsibility for you. Do not leave your feelings in my hands. Do not expect me to hold water or sand. I am sieve. I am leaking. I am not fit for holding. I am vessel of me. I am awareness-raised yet surprise-unwarranted. When I say I am inconvenient. When I say I am unreliable. When I say I am lacking. I am dissociating. I am I. Please believe me.

He’s 83 years, my dad.

He’s sometimes good and sometimes bad.

But, really he’s the only dad I’ve had.

He hides things now. For a living. Almost.

His keys. His wallet. His television remote controls.

“So’s nobody can pinch them,” he says.

“Y’know. When they sneak in during the night.”

They work on a nearby construction sight. The invisible five, unknown to the police.

He’s beaten men in the past.

But somehow that beat wasn’t meant to last.

He sits on his teeth, sometimes.

I think he’s trying to keep them warm.

And once they were in his bed.

Top and bottom set.

But they weren’t his, he said.

I worry he’ll bite himself on the bum, eventually.

The woman died one night… gave the paramedics a fright.

Sirens and blue lights everywhere.

Only… there was no one there.

Nothing’s ever there.

Or ever pinched.

Not even the lifeless body of the unknown woman.

She’s known to the police, because he tells them about her whenever he calls them.

It’s all false.

The teeth.

The alarms.

The works.

So that proves it’s true.

Like Donald Trump. My dad keeps smiling.

Wherever his teeth are, they smile!

I had wept while singing my favorite song - faltered - then furthered singing along. Now, in a quandary, I wonder why I chose to torture my vocals (and listeners) so. Yikes, how the notes rose to my nose! - but it brings me to a point:

suppose with me... is this bewailing of the music a form of music, too?

There exists a beauty in our ugly pain. Perhaps that is why I chose to sing.

Perhaps music permeates everything.

~Cotton Candy

#music #sing #beauty #sad #exposed

You were a handsome light falling across my blackest edges. But you clung, sticky and unyielding. You clung, desperate to brighten even my darkest corners. But I am no moth. And your light does not entice me the way that you wish. So you burned brighter, still. Enveloping me in you. And the luminance blinds me. And I save myself the only way I know. I push your glow away and fall safely back into midnight.

I think the saddest word in the english language is

Almost.

We have so many words for sadness

Blue

Melancholy

Sorrowful

somber

Bitter

Weeping

Sorry

Dejected

heartbroken

Broken.

You can count them like stars until you fall asleep,

But almost is

Unfinished

Not quite

Just about

Anything.

Almost is what could have been.

What almost happened.

So close, and yet so far.

Almost is

a missed throw

Burnt toast

A flat note

Bottled tears

a candle blown out before you could pick up any more matches.

She almost lived her dream.

He almost didn’t break the lamp.

They almost had fun today.

He almost missed the train that crashed.

She almost got to the hospital in time.

I almost loved you.

When Joe was five he scraped his knee,

He'd done it as he fell from the climbing tree

He cried to his mommy, and she said he'd be fine

It was his daddy that made him better in time

His daddy sat beside him and handed him the red packet of colourful sweets.

He told Joe that the green ones, would stain all his teeth.

Life is full of colours. He said to his son.

Dont let anything make you only see one.

When Joe was eighteen he had his heart broke.

Constantly visiting their initials carved into the old oak.

He moaned to his friends and they called him a dud

It was his father that stepped up, with a good manly hug

He sat beside him and handed him the red packet of colourful sweets.

He told Joe that the green ones, would stain all his teeth.

Life is full of colours. He said to his son.

Dont let anything make you only see one.

When Joe was 29, he got fired from his current job.

It was the same day his apartment got robbed

His dad was by him, helped him get back on his feet

And there he was, with that same old treat.

He sat beside him and handed him the red packet of colourful sweets.

He told Joe that the green ones, would stain all his teeth.

Life is full of colours. He said to his son.

Dont let anything make you only see one.

Joe fell ill at forty-two, the cancer too big to cure

He lay in the hospital bed, as his dad walked through the door

The pain was evident on his papas face

And he gently pulled him in, for a loving embrace.

Joe looked at his dad and handed him the packet coloured red,

He watched his dad smile, and slowly shake his head.

Life is full of colours, to dad said son.

Dont let anything make you only see one.