Convalescing Elegance

Healing is an art,

while, simultaneously, a start:

The beginning of renewed function,

An animated life force conduction.

Healing is trial & error,

research, patience, practice.

Healing is steady growth

up lifestyle’s lattice.

Healing is considerate & even-paced,

without the fear of risks faced.

Convalescing elegance

is staying true in place

with the here & now

in realism & grace.

What do you want your life to be?

Why do you want the experience to see?

What’s your essence? What’s your vibe?

What does your presence bring alive?

What is best for you

and is this what you want?

What is the balance

you were never taught?

I want my life to be quality & free.

I want the experience of beauty to see

wholesome essence, dynamic vibe,

the grounding to earth I bring alive.

What’s best is pure, steadfast, & true:

It’s what I want & need to heal new.

What’s best teaches balance & pace,

shows strength & love,

and yields happiness with grace.

Q & A

I’m walking with my shadow

around the block.

She’s taller than me.

Then she fades into a rock.

She reappears around the bend,

only to fall behind

over the pavement’s end.

As I walk forward–

straight down the street,

she resurfaces

to the right of my feet.

Once again, she grows taller.

Then, soon enough,

the night engulfs her.

Now, she’s gone.

No trace of her in sight,

until I converge, again,

with the light.


This is my facade:
A creative distraction from 

the ways I am flawed.

I’m not owning up

to virtues of exchange–

I’m deluded in disarrangement.

I’m estranging while I’m estranged.

My blood, my tears,

my heart’s desire 

were trying for pipedreams

I can never acquire.

It’s a shame not having

the self-love to do

what’s right by others,

yet what’s right by you.

It’s agony to attempt escape

from nobility’s calling–

all wrapped in red tape.


​Nobility’s Calling

There is that character tree,

funky fonts of fabulous…
In drawers, 

I stash imperfect spirals–
sketchy, surreal interpretations

from subconscious soul.
Curvaceous quotations,

detailed extravagance–

   symptoms of my disease.
Splatters, smudges, 

depricating marks I didn’t intend.
Fingerprints that take away my value…
The frustration with potential,

manners, emotional sanctity…
I am the vestige of death.


This is life. 

This is damaged essence still breathing

upon plush paisley couch cocoon–

meshed weakness of drive.

That confused boredom of sentience–

quicksand paralyzer.

Lackluster soul, sore core–

Trying to animate life

under inanimate conditions.

Sighing roots deep

& falling branches to sleep.

From the boredom of sentience


She can be his Heroine.
We can be your Seraphim.
I can be your Heroine.
We can be your love within.

You have the strength
to fight away your Heroin.
You have the strength
to climb closer to Heroine.

There is no love in Heroin.
But there is love in Seraphim.
There is love in his Heroine.
There is Love within.

Then, years later, we find,
he was Heroine’s Heroin
that entire time.
Addicted to an addict,
she let go to make the climb.

the only medicine