Less Than, More Than

Less than a lover,
More than a friend
Less than a habit
Than something to trend

Less than a base
More than an attraction
Less than a lover,
But not a distraction.

This seems not a cycle
That will ever end.
A circular pattern
That refuses to bend.

Either you try to commit
Or you have to confess
There’s naught but attention
At you I direct

Or that you have feelings
Of them you are scared
It’s less than enough
To help truth ascend.

Your heart is too weak
Reason much too strong
It tells you it’s wrong
It tells you you’re wrong.

In something less than time
You might have regrets
More than sadness you’ll feel
Because I’ve gone and went.

I know that you love me
Not the way I would want
But you’ll know that I loved you
All memories taunt

And I’ll grow to hate you
Less than an enemy
You’ll start to miss me
A bit more than I’d think

Maybe this way’s better.
You’re not ready for love.
In time it’ll come,
By that time I’ll be gone.


Nube (cloud) trans. Ilkaandescente


Sweet Morpheus greeted me
On the grand patch of risen grass.

I lie down for a nap
Feeling vitality seeping through the dew
Which kisses the blades
Every morning and night.

The cirrocumulus and their kind
Casually flocking in the sky
I see the shapes in their crevices-
Reminiscent of something playful.

I put my ear against the earth
Not really listening,
Flecks of soil graze my face
Like a massive comb
Grooming softly
With tickling sensation.

A crackle heard from the distance.

A dynamite? A firework?
A flash of lightening aimed specific?
I do not know.

I do not know.

I throw my hands towards the clouds
Soliciting them to take me away,
Lift me up to join their somnambulism
Above the ground
Like sleep paralysis.

From up here,
Everything seems nice
Because it is not vivid
Nor intimate enough
For concrete judgement.
This makes it easy to romanticise.

Reality is surreal
Surreal is happening,
Set me down in my nest on a plane of human existence
I’ll sleep through the evening
Through the noon
And the screaming
I’ll imagine
It’s something I don’t have the power
To stop.

I’ll pretend
It’s the music
That powers the rain.

I’ll escape with the stratus
I was in a position
To make a difference.


Dulce Morfeo me ha acogido
Sobre el enorme terrazzo de césped naciente
Me tiendo para una siesta
Sintiendo la vida filtrarse a través del rocío
Que besa cada brizna
Mañana y noche.

El cirrocúmulo y sus hermanas
Flotan despreocupados en el cielo
Veo en las sombras en sus lomos
Alegrías infantiles evocadas

Pongo mi oreja contra la tierra
Sin escuchar realmente
El sol adorna mi rostro moteado
Como un extenso cepillo
Que acaricia suave
Con deseo de cosquillas

Un crujido se oye en la distancia

Dinamita? Fuegos de artificios?
Un resplandor de relámpago predestinado?
No lo sé

No lo sé

Lanzo mis manos en pos de las nubes
Pidiéndoles que me lleven
Que me alcen para unirme a su sonambulismo
sin tocar el suelo
Como en una parálisis del sueño

De allí arriba
Cada cosa parece hermosa
Porque no es tan vívida
No lo bastante íntima
Para un juicio concreto
Y es fácil el romanticismo

Es la realidad surrealista
Y lo surreal sucede
Sentada en mi nido sobre la llana existencia humana
Dormiré a través de la mañana
A lo largo del mediodía
Y del grito
Imaginaré algo que no tenga el poder
de parar

Fingiré que
Es la música
Lo que impulsa la lluvia

Escaparé de mi cielo al espacio en el firmamento
Estoy en el lugar
Preciso para marcar la diferencia

We’ll Be Fine

I wrote this at a time of when a lot of my friends were having a rough time. I decided to write a little something to make them feel better…Also discussing how hard some people find it to open up emotionally. 

For those of you who don’t know me
I like to share things
Where others fret about wearing their heart on their sleeve
I wear mine on my chest
Cause emotions are too big to disguise.

Why not wear them with pride?
To those calm and reserved
I feel absurd
Pouring out the contents of my mind out like free tea for no reason
But I suppose the reason lies in the fact that people like my tea
Brewed in authentic sincerity
Envious reverie
For some have told me that they wish they could like this way
BE vulnerable.
I find that unbelievable.

I’ve been raised like a balloon with a leak,
And when the teardrops start to stretch out my tolerance
They burst from the porthole that is my mouth
And I talk and talk enthusiastically,
Until only a small amount is left.

For some people I imagine it’s tricky
To appear cool and distant
They distance themselves from their feelings
Refusing to peel off one by one the layers of resistance that their onion of a heart has grown
Soon enough, I fear something will cut deep down into the core
And someone will cry. That’s when they start to lie.

Lie about all that consumes their frail mind
Separate their insides like dirty laundry.
All the wondrous colourful bits will be stained red and black if you’re not careful.
But they’re full of fear anyways and therefore distracted, their face always a consistent shade of haze too difficult to define. They’ll tell you they’re “fine.” Yet, when it’s so hard to tell, can you read between the lines?

I try to see that the world is divine,
But amongst the symphony of sighs and regrets I can’t forget that there are people suffering.
People waiting for aid like a video buffering in an area where there’s no internet connection.
I can only look towards affection.
For it’s hard to find love when facing so much rejection, looking in the wrong direction,
Constant circumspection.
A reflection.

Dear Diary,
I grow weary of people most of the time and I don’t know why. Nothing ever seems to work out for me and maybe it’s just not meant to be, but how many times do I have to tell myself that before I actually believe it? There are incredible people out there and they seem unhappy. Just like I am.
Just like me.
Why the hell do we all feel so crappy?

For those of you who do know me,
I think I may feel too many things.
How every moment together can inspire some poetry
I hope you adore me.
For I love all of you with a unfiltered passion
And when you feel like crying and being an onion
I’ll be there to catch the rain,
I’ll peel real carefully
Or maybe buy you gum…Because I hear that helps sometimes.

Life is too short to fear.
Say it with me,
And though my chest makes an easy target for arrows that do and don’t belong to Cupid
It’d be stupid to waste it not being yourself
Trying to be somebody else.
You have a WEALTH of unique features that nobody has
And even though you can compare and contrast the details of your life with those of others
You’re still not the same.

And you’re not the blame either.
It’s too easy to put fault on yourself and induce self-loathing
Wear a set of hateful clothing
Spread negativity just to be able to empathise with people who hurt the same in a different way.
But have a little self-respect,
You deserve better sometimes. You really fucking do.

Though sadness often comes of waves of aggressive oceans
Reach out to your friends,
Since they tend to come through for you.
Friends, who’ll throw you a safety net
When you’re falling fast out of your mind.

We’ll be fine.
It gets better, you tell yourself that and we’ll be fine.
If life was a cheesy chick flick, you’re just at the beginning.
When the cool kids are bitchy popular girls and douchey jocks,
Not yet the people who will show you cool music and parts of their world.

For those of you who don’t know me,
Or do know me,
Please know that I love to sigh,
But my sighs are followed with a quick smile with no “why?”
Life is more than just getting by. More than trying to survive. Think not about the goodbyes but rather the highs and the “hi”s.
Because I believe we’ll be fine.

And if you still don’t believe it after that, let me know. If you believe you’ve been ripped apart, I know how to sew.


I dream without dreaming
I sleep without sleeping
For slumber is hindered
By thoughts not worth keeping

Soft breeze in the evening
Leaf blades they are sweeping
I cannot help thinking
I cannot stop blinking

As much there is weeping
No tears from my eyes
Instead words flow out
And I cry and I cry

Hot teardrops are pouring
In the form of sad poetry
They are kind of soothing
The pure misery

I put on a smile
Most people beguiled
In the moonlight however
I’m put on a trial

Deep pockets remain
There below, orbs of sight
They may indicate
The slight state of my plight

The lack of sweet sweetness
May be my demise
In desperate need of sweetness
Please know I’m not fine

Angst is what consumes me
I know not of thee
Whisper sweet nothings to nothing
And futile pleas

Yet consider it thusly
The possibility
Hope will not kill me
At least, hopefully

Faultless you is remaining
Looks at me with such pity
I trick myself wishing
It’s pure sympathy

Wretched woeful wanting
Is simply not healthy
Containing strong urges
Lunging to be stealthy

And when you will see me
And when you arrive
I’ll tell you again
That I’m fine

I am fine.

Busy Pub

Bumping knees with strangers
Wet surfaces of expired ale and lager
Minor eye contact that grows stale
People look far away at something right in front of them
Recognition is lost in awkward moments

Do I acknowledge your existence?
We met that one time at a party
But I remember not your name nor your circumstance
So I’ll ask again
I’ll hold a drink in my hand as a security blanket
Swivel it coolly as I feign false confidence
I look away at something that’s not there
In deep contemplation.

I feel bored and am aware of it
God I need a cigarette
But I don’t need a cigarette
I need the head space that this venue doesn’t allow
I can’t feel my heart beat some how
The loud music drowns it out with funky tunes to amuse the crowd
All it is to me is headache pleas
I’m happy to see people leave
The claustrophobia dies down inside of me
I’m nervous like you wouldn’t believe

I’m lost in a booth of brief acquaintances
Add me to the list of forgotten names you’ve met at social occasions
I’m sure you are all lovely
But this place permits not the kind of interaction that helps me see
What a cool personality you might have

You are beautiful
And I’m afraid to tell you that
Scared you’ll see it as something creepy and out of place
Just like how I feel about my face in this sea of laughter

All I want is to tell you is that maybe we could hit it off
Yet I believe that this instance will stain your memory
Me, that person at that place that one time

As you glaze your eyes over when you see me on the street.
Because it’s too odd to say “hi”
Not intimate enough for a wave
Maybe you’re just shy…
But it’d be nice to make a friend tonight.

Yet I’m not one to fight in density
I feel the numbers add together and join forces to attack
my comfort’s esteem
Claustrophobia is a dear friend
Especially when there’s no one to take me to the panic room.

This is a different realm from mine,
I love to chatter but I’d rather have intimate gathers
and cups of tea to lather our tongues
as we talk into the night about our dreams.

Enjoy a cheeky bit of ice cream
While leaning over our chests watching horrible movies.

So please excuse me if I leave a bit early.
Surely you’ll not heed too much attention
My presence might not have retention in your mind
But that’s ok,

Destiny will define.


The man in the dress
Frolicked fabulously and freely
She is not a man
She is an expression
A representation of the breaking of social norms
She reigns like a storm
Roars in her cheetah print skirt
Her suggestions are curt.
She throws shade like she’s been doing it the day she was born
Which was the day she realised its okay to be a girl
Even when your a boy
Even when you’re not “normal”
But who the fuck wants to be normal?
She, a lioness in a pride of straight edges
Bending gender like a wrinkled straw
Growling with the repressed power of a thousand years of civil rights fights
She is no shade of beige
She explodes a swirl of rebellious colours that cannot be defined
Has a small glass of wine,
On stage she embodies the voluptuousness of divas of funky times past

This is the present

When a man can stand on stage with a wig and be cheered for instead of scorn
We are lucky that we can be this way.
Some people aren’t so lucky
Though plucky some queers are still treated like filth
So we must take the power of being called perverts and violate all things comfortable and thrive
To pave a new path for us.
So that one day parents of the meek won’t shriek at the idea that their child is in love with someone of the same sex
That love is not defined with an M or an F but with passion
Regardless of who you are
But for most of us who belong in that zone still have our scars
Of bullying or fear and self loathing
Too many tears about who we are
Starved of treatment that most take for granted
And she’s had it.

struts on stage with a witty banter that can seduce anyone
She’ll win at the end of the day

Because you can’t look away.
She is a he,
But isn’t it wonderful when it doesn’t really matter?