If you return,
do not knock,
the door has memorized your hands.

If you leave,
do not turn back,
the wind carries only forward.

The mind replays what the heart can't delete.

Everything happens just so we can feel
And when we lose that
We lose everything
Because that is what humans are made of
Emotion
When we are deprived of that
we are nothing.
We are nothing but melancholic spirits
Translating our own sorrow into poetry
Our own pain into art.

Thoughts hidden in bark,
the light spills through branches—
the rain left behind.

Elder Trees
Their trunks bend and creak,
never do they collapse—
strength is in silence.

Dear seven year old,
Yes, there is a monster
But it’s not under your bed

The monster is in your head
But maybe it’s not even a monster
Maybe it’s just buried pain
Because they told you not to cry

Dear seven year old,
Yes, you should keep crying
Otherwise the tears will build up and flood your insides

The tears do not care for being stuck
They need to be released
Into the stars

Dear seven year old,
Yes, your plea for better times are being heard by the stars
They always will
Keep wishing on them

Wish on 11:11 too
Because to wish is to know what you want
And knowing what you want
Telling it
Makes it so much more likely to happen

Dear seven year old,
Yes, you still feel like the kid sitting under the slide and just observing life
And you’ve come to appreciate it

Observing, looking, watching
Make all the difference
Almost as much as writing

Dear seven year old,
Write.