i haven’t written poetry
in a while.
it’s like brushing hands with an old friend.
not a stranger, just
unfamiliar.
Category: Grief
Logophile
words.
they invigorate my soul.
fragments that still the restlessness
of my heart.
how many times,
have survivors had to wield
a pen or paintbrush
because they couldn’t
wield a sword.
Orphic
i can’t write
,or right
the wrong that is blanking
,paper white
in between the spaces
,my meek mind
of untouched skin
Philocalist
when i feel lost i look to the stars. i feel home among them. amongst the things that seem the most unknown. transparency. born in delicate layers of hope. the beauty they bleed. farewells whispered in the most majestic ways. blowing themselves out of proportion. trying to feel plausible.
Mizpah
there was a girl made of glass, and boy made of stone.
the girl was always stained with tears or wounds.
the boy admired mountains and the fate of rain he never knew.
she girl liked pinky swears and questions that dared.
he liked books and the color of stability.
both bore emotions too deep.
rivers of pain. fires of closing. valleys of fate.
the boy hated his smile, but now lights up the sky.
the girl way bright, sometimes blinked and faltered.
he once saved her, now he changed her.
she wrote him hundreds of words, all kept unsaid.
she cried a million tears, but
he still stayed lead.
Not So Simple 