but to be known is a different story altogether;
to be known is to be loved.
May 26, 2022
May 26, 2022 at 12:00 AM UTC
my mind a blur, but
that cafe in reykjavík crystal clear. as if
stuck in that moment, doomed and trapped.
it was but a flash of clarity -
brilliance! -
of peace. sun shining(crisp air)
desperately clinging to the memory that is all but
when i close my eyes and surrender to the void.
Oct 23, 2021
Oct 23, 2021 at 1:14 PM UTC
we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections
Sep 16, 2021
Sep 16, 2021 at 3:53 AM UTC
not in riddles but in lyrical ballads.
let us dance under the moonlit sky
cold water beneath our feet
eyes closed, swaying in silence
address unknown.
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 12:30 AM UTC
you said that i was the most exotic flower;
but flowers wilt
and flowers die.
what now?
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 11:00 AM UTC
i miss the sound of your voice echoing around the emptiness of your barren room
you reading your favourite poems in hushed tones as if whispering sweet nothings into my ear
i miss the mellow beat of your heart, the rise and fall of your chest, and your warm breath on my face
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
you were an unfortunate walk in the dark. I clasped ever so tightly to the rope that I thought would lead me to - you -. Instead, it led me to a you - one that was overwhelmingly underwhelming; one that taught me that words mean almost nothing; one that showed me that complete breakdowns fraught with tears, justifications, and empty promises are nothing but a B-grade actor's (one that almost fooled me) attempt at putting on his best show. I was desperately waiting for someone to toss me that lifeline and pull me out of that wreckage. But the sad and undeniable truth is that they probably just thought I was part of the wreck.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 10:47 PM UTC
i will never be enough, but that is okay
because i will just never be enough for you.
i will be more than enough for someone else
and i am most definitely enough for myself.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC