First

I lay awake this night
Willing the chaos inside me
To quiet.

I have forced myself
to believe in the
possibility of closing the
wounds left

from a love
reluctantly abandoned.

untitled.

these familiar roads wind
in and out like my contentment,
but tracing them gives me comfort.
you always did that for me.
you still do that for me.

i silently thank you for being
what you were for me.

a hand to hold,
bearer of gentle kisses,
an ear to listen,
an example to follow.

your absences is now more palpable,
 and tonight is the first time
in a long time i feel alone.

yearning for the days
when your voice was easily accessible
hoping this feeling of solitude
escapes me soon.
fearing i cannot
entertain it too much longer.

treasure hunt

I’ve learned in my travels
To pack lightly.
To give my friends souvenirs
Instead of an unwieldy
Trunk full of my
Secrets and fears.

I had once been that
foolish, by entrusting
One with a key.

Now I give gifts,
Small memorabilia.
Just enough to say:

"I like you enough
to show you some
important parts of my journey".

Enough to feel like
They've been there.
But not enough
To get bogged down
With the mundane details
Of my itineraries,


Now I keep a close watch
On my trunk of secrets.
When someone asks
Nicely to take a peak,
I hand them a map
Rather than a key
And wish them luck.

mems.

i remember the dusted couch
And the warm summer air
that brought me the news.

I remember the city lights
we passed that gave me hope.


I'll always remember
these cinderblock walls that
caged in my pain as you built your own.

i'm standing outside of those walls,
and i remember that
i've knocked them down once.
You promptly built them up taller,

so i wait, i break and
I remember

Someday Someone

We were ageless.
I breathe in this memory.
It fuels each vein with life and hope
We laughed our childishness
And skipped along.
We flipped along.
We splashed puddles with those
Long since forgotten
Children within our hearts
We were wonderful.

We tumbled into
Sober and reflective conversation
And I wept.

Someone saw my Achilles.
Someone made me smile
At a point where I believed
Those muscles paralyzed.
For all the hours we spent talking
He had said whatever he could.

He would've said enough
With three words:
You are beautiful.

Someone should have been mine.

I loved you.

I loved you.
Late summer nights thief
Above the city lights we started
Below the mountains we ended.

To you, love shape-shifts to
your latest definition.
With your short lived attention

people are simple.

People are simple.
They love,
Hurt,
Cry,
Blame,
And Hope.

They love and write poetry.
They write their lines through
Their laughter or in their gloom.
They love and write.
They write the happy blissful
Chapters in their story.
They capture those moments
And keep them in a jar
As fireflies to give them
Faith,
Light, and
Direction
When they're walking dark paths

People are simple.
They love,
Hurt,
Cry,
Blame,
And Hope.

They hurt and fall.
They recoil and retract
And they write.
They write their pain in the air
Because paper is
Restricting and doesn't
Express their misery adequately.
As they write their pain in the
Air and it wraps around
Those it’s been written to as
A noose and slowly hangs them.
People damage, and people hurt.
When they make it explicit
They shoot lines like bullets
Quickly killing those that'd
Cared enough to jump in
Front and absorb the impact

People are simple.
They love,
Hurt,
Cry,
Blame,
And Hope.

They cry and break.
They write grief in their tears.
Hoping and praying that the
Salty water will be a panacea
To fix what has been broken.
With conjured theories
Of deceit and malice
They cry harder as their
Brokenness gets broken-er.
Until they decided that it’s beyond mending.
They cry to resolve that
Even a home repair is not sufficient.
They write their brokenness in their tears.

People are simple.
They love,
Hurt,
Cry,
Blame,
And Hope.

They blame and point fingers.
They point them in the mirror
And they point them towards
Those who let their fireflies go.
They write their blame with their fingers.
And with the hands that place
The blame, they build walls.
Walls to keep out those on the
Receiving end of that
Incisive finger.

People are simple.
They love,
Hurt,
Cry,
Blame,
And Hope.

The hope and fantasize.
They hope for sunnier rays to
Shine so much light on their paths
They won’t need to keep that
Inventory of fireflies
To find their direction.
They write their hope
In waiting for light.
They hope to love again,
They hope for the
Storybook love we’re told
Will one day sweep us
Up in a gust of wind so strong
Our head can be in the clouds indefinitely
And never travel those paths again

People are simple.
They love,
Hurt,
Cry,
Blame,
Hope.

People are simple,
They write.