out of sync

I’d like to think

I am a tree

but I’m not as kind

or resolute.


Strip some bark aside,

look inside,

the heart’s not hard to find.

You’ll see it beating,


squeezing some stress

out through the cracks.


If people aren’t cutting it down

they’re digging it out.

Either way it’s a sick feeling

and a horrible sound.


I’ve been looking for earth

to hold my roots,

a placed called Settle

is where I want to be.

But the more I reach for the soil

the less there is

holding onto me.

are there reasons?

Every tree

is susceptible to rot.

Within us,

cruelty wanders all our hearts.

It runs in veins

like gold.

We try not to follow

but some get greedy.

It’s crackling energy is powerful.


We say things

that mean nothing to us

and everything to somebody else.

And vice versa;

life is all about timing

and most of the time it goes horribly wrong.

We get frustrated we’re out of tune

with the rest of the room.


I wonder if it’s possible

we could ever align,

I think about you, and you,

all the time.

My position has to be a sign,

has to mean something

or am I just grasping?


I write some words.

They mean some things

about all of you.

People like them

and hate them

but I feel them

through every fibre

in the moments I create.

As long as one other person

can relate, I’m okay.

If I’m alone I don’t know what to say.

Either way,

I get on with the day.


I have tried to be the jerk,

can’t do it,

it doesn’t work.


I’ve tried picking fights,

It’s not me,

Doesn’t feel right


I have tried being arrogant

and confident.

It takes so much effort

it makes me sweat.


I have tried to find me,

haven’t dug deep enough yet.


I’ve tried thinking

like others do,

it makes me feel like I am sinking.


When I spend time working

It doesn’t feel like living.

I’d rather be drinking

with a friend

if the only inevitable in life

is an end.


I’ve tried to give money a meaning,

To see it as everyone has envisioned

but we all seem imprisoned.

When life is about balance

the world won’t stop leaning.


It does not stop me believing

Earth is a special place.

If I could see hope

I’d be at ease

but it’s not the case.


Yet I still love those good times,

cracking open joy.

Her smile, her eyes,

his jokes, his energy,

even if it’s just a ploy

to make me sadder

because ultimately

those times are worn thin,

used and gone.


I’ve tried sleeping

but nothing gets done,

it feels like dying.

And in dreams

I am the only one,

reduced and lonely,

wondering what is going on.