Anything or everything you want

You will never get to know me.

There is something unique about me –

Some people can be anything they want,

But I have gone a step further,

And I became a strange everything.

The me-s that you have met in your life

Are not quite the rings of a tree,

But the changing layers of an agate,

Shredding chameleonic colours every year.

My selves bear little resemblance

To each other at a first glance.

They might be something like cousins,

Obviously raised from the same core,

Similar enough that those close to me

Know they stand in the same family’s house,

Despite the colours and the decorations

Changing with the seasons of life.

But, save the skeletion, so little is alike.

They are cousins who sometimes borrow

Clothes from one another, but in such a way

That one’s skirt is another’s dress,

And one’s casual is another’s fancy,

Their personalities so strong that

They distort reality just a little bit.

My years are like reading a good book

Throughout the stages of your life

And seeing something else every time,

Because the person reading is someone else.

You can’t know me, not because I am hidden,

But because I am still being discovered,

And I refuse to believe it has to do with age.

I hope I’ll be the same at 12 and 92 alike.

There is always something new to discover,

And finding the world always changes you.

You should always strive to be something new.

It’s the only way to try all anythings

Until you become everything you ever want.

Because you deserve it

Hold your hand out and ask for it,

Because you deserve it.

Rise up and demand it,

Because you deserve it.

Jump to your feet and shout for it,

Because you deserve it.

I have no idea what your ‘it’ is,

Nor do I need to.

God doesn’t have the time to tally

Who owes and who deserves

Money. Lunch. A helping hand.

So somebody else needs to decide

Who deserves what.

We’re busy people. We don’t like

Having to take so much into account,

So we look for shortcuts.

And we believe whoever has the guts

To decide themselves deserving first.

You’re your judge, jury and executioner

So go out there and get it.

Because you deserve it.


Every day, we schedule opportunities.
Not in the sense that we plan for them,
But that they knock on our door and we answer,
Tell them to have a seat, open our notebooks,
And schedule them to come back later –
A day, a week, an year from now.
We want to do great things, beautiful things,
But we need to be more knowledgeable first,
We need some time to gather our courage,
We need to find that perfect moment.
So we plan all those wonderful things for later.
We forget that we only have ‘later’ on lease,
And the terms are vague, the owner old and fickle,
His scythe too often cutting it shorter,
Making it more expensive than expected.
I don’t want to spend a lifetime
Worrying about how long I’ll afford the rent,
Wasting my time begging for a little more of it.
Maybe I’ll try a new idea for once,
And use it as I get it instead,
Throw out the notebook and open the door.
I think I’ll start, and gather the knowledge
By screwing things up and fixing them as I go,
I think I’ll run, and hope that courage
Will gather itself and run to catch up with me,
I think I’ll do, and accept that perfect
Is sometimes more about quantity than quality,
More about the fact that I did something,
Rather than if I did it exactly like planned.
I’m poor, and renting out that ‘later’ isn’t cheap.
So I’ll spend all I have on buying some happiness,
And learn, instead of ‘later’, how to use my ‘now’.

Gold veins

Everyone cracks into pieces sometimes –
It’s no wonder I became chipped too
But don’t expect me to hide my damage,
Ashamed and fearful of my past.
The events that shape who I am
Deserve more respect than to be ignored,
Shoved under the mat, erased, denied.
If you want you can see only the defect,
But I see the things I survived,
The things that made me stronger.
So I won’t hide my chips and cracks,
But bind them in shining gold,
Hoping, not dreading to catch your eye,
And show off my beautiful scars.
Maybe I look more fragmented now,
But I know the joints are actually
The places that will hold firmer
The next time I start to crack.
So I’m not afraid of breaking.
If anything, I’m looking forward to
The moment when I’m a crazy mingle
Of veins of cooper and silver and gold,
A work of art in tears and laughter,
The original porcelain in tiny bits,
Fragments within their mount of metal,
Each line a survival lesson in wisdom,
Turning pure china into precious stone.