The only thing I have left is the memories.
A sunflower patch still grows in the corner of my mind,
My baby brother’s room is still painted in a bright blue with white fluffy clouds,
That tree in the backyard still gives me the sniffles when I climb up,
I still go outside to sing in private and believe I’m good,
The neighbor still encourages me while unloading the groceries from his car,
That routine surgery hasn’t unexpectedly killed him and his wife hasn’t yet moved on.
My twin siblings are still wrapped safely in my mother’s womb–
She hasn’t gone through the traumatic C-section that almost claimed her life,
And I’m still so excited for the due date.
The playground at the end of the cul de sac is still surrounded by children,
It hasn’t yet taken the life of my seventeen year old neighbor,
Who tied a noose to the steel beams in the misty, early morning hours.
My father hasn’t yet seen his lifeless body silhouetted against the red and blue lights.
My biggest problem is being afraid of the dark in my room,
My family still makes holidays feel magical.
We are still a blissfully hopeful family of four.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 4:41 PM UTC
You're Cayden Smith when you sign the dotted line.
You're Smithy to my brother,
The Smith to my mother,
Just "that boy" to my grandpa,
Who forgot your name.
You were Sayden in high school
When you passed my desk.
You're my baby when we're playful,
Babe when we're serious,
Sweetheart when I hope you made it home.
Cutie when I want you,
Sheepy when you're tired.
Berry when you speak so sweetly.
Walking over to greet me,
Holding my hand unnecessarily discreetly
When at my family's house.
Naturally flushed strawberry cheeks
To match your name.
My closest friend, forever---
My Berry Baby.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 3:02 PM UTC
Newborn foal, legs folded underneath him,
Still slick with afterbirth.
His mother licks him clean
Before he takes his first hesitant, trembling steps
Away from the muddy puddle,
The place of his birth.
But what bears me this witness?
Glowing, high-resolution, interactive, and rewindable—
The birth of a horse.
Fate, to see it this way?
If not for incessant scrolling,
I fear my eyes were never to witness
The birth of a horse.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 4:06 PM UTC
I beseech a God of two minds for hellfire.
When these demons who tread among us retire,
They ne’er receive what they desire.
Deep into the fire they plunge,
Ne’er to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue.
If God does not enact revenge, fine.
Then the devil is the only friend of mine.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 6:56 PM UTC
Love is not carrying a ****** in your wallet.
“Just in case.”
Love is not deceiving her to get your way.
“I promise”
Love is not convincing her to break a boundary.
“It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“We’re going to get married anyways.”
“Why not? Don’t you love me?”
Yes. I loved you,
but your “love” ruined me.
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 12:50 AM UTC
My roommate came back late again
not to sleep,
rather to grab a change of clothes and some money
before heading back into the night.
At first I am annoyed,
but in her absence
she leaves behind a peaceful silence,
and I’ve never felt so grateful
to drift back to sleep
with the sound of rain pattering on my window
instead of pushing though a drunken crowd
at a raging frat party or crowded nightclub.
Sometimes I feel different,
but this time I think that’s okay.
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 12:32 AM UTC
The lobby is never completely silent,
Day and night there are people passing through.
Young couples sit together on couches,
Friend groups laugh and enjoy their time together,
Some people sit alone and work with open laptops,
And someone is always playing peaceful melodies on the black and white keys of the grand piano.
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 10:01 PM UTC
Let’s keep having coffee shop conversations.
Let’s not rush or move too fast.
Let’s stay right here—in this moment,
Having coffee shop conversations.
…
Stay with me.
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 9:58 PM UTC
There is a hint of warmth back in the air,
And the mourning doves are back to mourn me,
Cooing their familiar song
Because every spring they return
They no longer recognize me.
The gray-feathered birds eat seeds in the yard
And perch on rooftops and tree branches
To cry out in sorrow.
They cry because another version of me is dead.
Mar 4, 2024
Mar 4, 2024 at 2:16 PM UTC
The doors of the restaurant squeak open.
Behind the host counter I watch people pour in.
Tired parents with a screaming baby,
An awkward couple on a first date,
Two U.S. marines in full uniform,
An angry mom and her family of five,
A couple accompanied by a service dog,
An older man who asks for a table for one,
A woman who tells me I remind her of her daughter,
A college girl who waits for her friends for an hour,
A family who stay on their phones while they eat,
A food delivery man who is in a rush,
A drunken man who asks to sit in the bar,
Three old women who seat themselves,
Six girls who ask me to take a photo of them,
A woman wearing nurse scrubs,
A little girl who asks for an extra coloring page,
And a family of twenty.
I’m just a poet with a part time job.
Feb 22, 2024
Feb 22, 2024 at 12:47 PM UTC