all that pain
and belittlement
you served me
day and night
when no one
was looking
made the little
man within you
feel much, much,
much bigger
but now you
stand before me
weeping
with no teeth
and the big man
within me
has forgiven you.

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.

A thread of wonder weaves through my mind,
As I ponder the what-ifs, the paths left uncharted
What if this life had unfolded elsewhere?
Would love have found me, or would hate have been there?

Would peace have been my companion, or would it have fled?
The questions swirl, like autumn leaves on a windy thread.
Yet, in this moment, I am here, not there.

Why Don’t I Know What I Know Now, Then?

Why don’t I know what I know now then?
If I had known it, what would have changed?
What would have turned?

Would the wind have shifted,
or the earth beneath me cracked open sooner?
Would my steps have faltered,
or found firmer ground?

If I had known,
would I have walked straighter,
or would the knowing
have bent me differently?

Would I have spoken,
or swallowed the words all the same?
Would I have reached for the flame,
or let the fire fade?

But I did not know,
and so I moved as I did,
stood as I stood,
broke where I broke ..
and somehow, still,
I am here.

Now knowing.

Would it have mattered then?
Or only now,
when the knowing is too late to change,
but just in time to understand?

what must i do,
to break free,
from the suffocating shackles of this mind.
To truly live,
to silence all doubt,
and end this lingering worry.
What must i do?

It's 3am

I'm on the phone
No one's awake and I'm alone

It's 3am

The radio's on
Songs are played on lonely station

It's 3am

I'm in my bed
My eyes are open and sleep has fled

It's 3am

I'm on the balcony
The sky is dark and just quite scary

It's 3am

Some windows have lights
Could they also not sleep tonight

It's 3am

I'm still awake
When will life ever give me a break

because I want someone
to hear my thoughts,
not my words
and I want someone to see my soul
not me
filled with shame
to myself

as the bullet pierces through
the love for you spills out too
thoughts unsaid
prays unheard
what drips from my writ once was love.