the poets are up late at night
we love to see the stars
something is hidden in them we believe
and we spend forever looking upward
trying to find what we are missing
trying to find the last puzzle piece
trying to find
something
amid the velvet expanse of the night

i can see it now
you'll pick me up at the corner
just like you used to
and we'll drive down the coast
heading nowhere with no cares
and the salty pacific wind
will weave through our hair
and make you laugh the way you do
from the bottom of your chest to my smile
you'll play me songs you found
and stowed away for this moment
like tiny treasure boxes of gold
with "i love you" inscribed on the side

this is what i dream about
this is what gives me peace

i never thought i would miss it so much.

it's past midnight now
the house is silent except for the creaking wind
groaning softly through the rusted vent in my floor
the window is cracked open
i can never sleep with it closed
even though the frost bites at my toes
but i like to hear the sighing of the trees
and the cold reminds me that i exist
my headphones buzz the harmonies of strings
the sound will soon leak into my ears
and drown out my incessant overthinking
or so i wish
i close my eyes and hope that sleep will take me

i walk my dog alone at night
so i can see the sky better
i walk with him and he doesn't much mind
in that serene dark of december

i looked up synonyms for self-love today
and apparently someone who loves themself
is narcissistic,
                          self-absorbed,
            ­                            ­                conceited . . .

how saddened i am
that this is how we perceive those
who live without doubt

Dear me,
Don't just sit
Rise, and pursue greatness.

Don't just watch
Go after what you want.

Don't just exist
Strive and start living.

Don't just dream
Work hard and aim for success.

Don't get tired
Keep hiking until you get to the peak.

he opened another beer
and sat on
the couch
but turned off the TV

He watched the kid

The kid was on his knees
before the coffee table
busy with
an orange pencil and a
piece of paper

Tongue poked
to one side and held
firmly between
the lips,
he was writing letters to
the pet dog
he’ll never see
again

And he did that
all day long

Dad sipped at his beer. The
years of action
were far beyond him now
but by all the gods
he swore
tonight will be the
night
he sneaks into his ex-wife’s
home and kidnaps
the dog

He even rented
a van
for it

welcome to suburbia
where numb is the new norm
stay awhile and realize
it's the quiet and never the storm
oh i'm not complaining
i'm just stuck here waiting . . .