'Who am I' she asks : A creative explosion of paradoxical remarks the student replied.



Reasons to


I hadn’t thought to ask
Forgotten really, the reason
“Where have we been all along?”
It seemed silly
When we had all the reasons to



We said we would
Keep in touch
And not let the distance beat us.
“Talk to you tomorrow,” was meant
To be sincere, against the odds
Our last message expired
Since then,
And outlived our promises


Asylum: Inside the Closed World of State Mental Hospitals

I realize I am laughing aloud, turning
around to see the room in the background
of my peripherals, you still exist
In conversation, even as I know better
than to stop believing.
None of this is real I realize, and I think of how
true it is that we can live infinitely against the world,
safely inside the asylum of our imaginations.



When there’s too much to say at hand,
Laden with intentions left  unsaid,
“We can meet for coffee sometime,” is
A better proposition to say
In lieu of goodbyes,
So that I could only concede,

The Words


“I feel I have so much to say, that I
Can’t speak
At all. Is there such a thing as
The right words?”
“Only when you start
Having conversations
Outside of yourself, you’ll find
The words will come
To accept

A Gift

I want to ask but quite sure nobody knows,
What the silver lining is between beguiled oblivion and the odd sentiment
of love.
Is it between kindness?
Between the sheets of our conscience or even
The braided steel of our pride that makes it so
Compelling to reject ourselves from what we know
Is best; the question is, why
Do we all agree on a universal sage of unabridged pacifism
Yet the simple gift to be hurt
In honest truth, is felt
With no less integrity of our most sincere reflections
To show our jarring insecurities, is a bravery
Shunned for bravado,
Better coined for low key insanity, you named it
Only better known for what most placates me
And that was to give you the best
As a gift


Hold Still

“Do you believe in kindness?”
It’s hard to say when you’re trying to protect,
Kindness, “It’s not worth it,” they tell you, you say so too
“Maybe so,” yet you secretly hold still
To the margin of being kind, what is it worth
Winning for the sake of appearances, we must win
With negligence and ignorance and fearful reproach
For whom and what we had believed in, do you still hold to
What may be a blind man’s patch
Do you believe in kindness?


Image result for hand touching lips

In words I can no longer repeat, she had said to me,
“Your hands are so rough to hold.” and proceeded to laugh,
So I didn’t take it too hard.
Did she say she liked it in fact? Or commented that it was rather
Odd; I can’t recall, hardly telling apart
This language folded into my memory, since then
Translated by lane-way dreams into another tongue, foreign escapism that bespoke
A single feeling, fleeting now




What is it that you see in older men
The quench of insatiable want, I find
For wanting the better half of a wise conscience
Better known for to humor you, my love
Redefine yourself through the security, between encased struggle
Drawn from the richness of their rudimentary reserves you’re to measure by
Burgeoning rouse towards your mature peak appearing small
You can’t help it, dearest, to not rush past
The comfort in your young
Swollen with compliments
To your smart pride, considering the swift current hidden behind
Cherub cheeks, the often unseen attribute given hindsight
Hopeless bandwidth of one’s age urging reach at most, to
Know what you only don’t know, granted enough wit to seek settlement
In kind,
Not yet enough to precede the draws of the earth, still
Too much so to be still
And we haven’t been made still at all

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celeste lee cloud

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