Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

The Creator Of Divine Revolution

I come crashing down,

just for the feeling,


but I sleep,

a little more stable,

when you grace my dreams with your presence.

They used to call me,

the creator of divine revolution,

I was born under certain stars,

that revealed some shit to me,

that felt feverishly urgent,

and once upon a time,

I thought I’d change the world,

in halternecks and heels,

a flower child,

running up the hills,

of my cage,

until the walls came crashing down,

like I do some days.

I thought I’d change the world.

Maybe I still might.

You told me once I’d probably changed a life,

and I couldn’t tell if you meant yours,

or if it was just a line,

or if you meant somebody else,

and you were just trying to open my eyes.

I isolate myself,

like I’m infectious,

but my stars keep slipping out,

and they’re spreading to places I can’t even pronounce,

is that the sort of thing you’re talking about?

You encourage me.

I have this courage now,

in buckets,


the caps of all my pens,

somewhere deep down in my chest,

where you told me that my heart was,

teaching me how to come back to life,

pressing gently on my skin,

as you stare into my eyes,

and every song I wrote about you,

plays on shuffle in my mind,

because you are my voice.

It used to be so lonely,

so fragile,

but now,

it’s kneeling next to me,

teaching me emergency medical proceedures,

that I absolutely will not remember,

and making my heart scream at full, fulfilling volume,

and fucking hell,

I love you.

Maybe that’s how I change the world.

Just by being a little brighter,

when I walk down the road,

actually making eye contact for once,

like I’m from the North,

or something.

Finding little things to smile about,

so I’m not quite so blue,

creating a revolution,

where I am divinely devoted to happiness.

Does that sound like a plan?

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