a poem a day keeps the doctor away
and helps you write
like maggie, molly, and mae
and use more complex words when extending the rhyme
but still keep it sparse and succinct and sublime
so the reader will smile
and hold on for the ride
and realize the connection you’re feeling inside
so withering willows and pestilent pines
and the dark in the back of the light of their mind
will be rupt and distorted like sun through the blinds

and then they will find
thru your stanzas and lines
that nothing is over
if you learn to make time

Love is merely walking around
and feeling good about everything
and everywhere that you happen on.
The rest is façade and embellishment,
meant to blush the cheeks of young children.
If you’ve found one to sit with you
on the park benches, silent and smiling,
then there is love there. If you have found
it then there is love in the branches
and the grass and the sun and the
quiet looks you share as you
experience it all in your togetherness.

I sit on park benches late at night,
under streetlights,
seeing ghosts of that love,
passing about through the
branches and the trees and
between the legs of the young couple
striding past me,
walking their dog back home.

It is OK to hurt over things lost,
or things time has changed and
separated from what it was
you once knew.
In fact, it is productive to do so.
It is wrong– detrimental, even,
to believe one must run from
hurt such as this.
Memory and mistake often come
one wrapped within the other,
thus to grow and learn
one must take them both in hand
and embrace them as old friends.

Throughout life, the list of memories
and the list of mistakes grow.
Acquaint yourself with them.
Look backwards and wave fondly
at each as you strive further and
further up the path
away from them.

It was goodbye.
From beginning to end.
Whether we liked it,
or not.
It was a long goodbye,
several years,
stretched out over time,
so that in the end,
there was no pain.
Just memories.
It had its happy moments,
and its sad ones.
Most of those sad moments didn't occur till the end,
when in fact,
I knew it was over.
You see,
most goodbye's,
are short,
bitter,
and are usually full of unbridled rage.
We knew we didn't want that.
We wanted to be able to look back,
and say things ended,
on a good note.
Not an ugly one.
So we began saying goodbye from the beginning,
from the day we met,
we already knew it was over.
We knew someday,
it was gonna end.
One of us,
or maybe both of us,
wouldn't want to be with the other anymore.
Turns out,
it would be her who didn't want to be with me.
The day came,
the dreadful day,
where she said it,
goodbye.
I was okay,
or was I?
We had prepared for this,
for several years,
we built a tower,
a tower of love,
on happy memories.
But one word,
made me forget all of those memories.
Later that night,
I found my gun.
I sat in my room,
with my finger on the trigger,
for hours.
I never pulled that trigger.
I remembered,
the whole time I was with her,
I was saying goodbye.
We were saying goodbye.
We knew it was one big charade,
and that someday,
one of us wouldn't want to play anymore.
But like a fair sport,
the other would have to accept it,
and remember the fun they had playing their game.
So it was okay.
I was alright.
Who thought a goodbye,
could save your life.

There is a vague
sense of clarity in
the feeling that
one can be sad at the
passing of something
while simultaneously
sighing in relief
for the silence that
comes in it's absence.

Your voice isn't like a song
Or a prayer.
It's more like a secret.
I am selfish and don't want to share it.
I wan't to catch it in a jar with fresh air and the scent of pine trees
A bottle to mix it with carbonated bubbles
An envelope filled with letters never written.
I want you shrunken down and curled up in the curved shell of my ear.
Whisper, scream, sing, laugh, mutter.
I have a seven-track mind and I'd like you to narrate them all for me.
Read me your homework, your favourite book, your shopping lists, the ingredients of your shampoo.
The breaths and lilts and stutters
Keep it raw and new and open
And I'm honoured.
Share the secret with me.

Stuck in a rut
On the notion of what
I thought true love was
So unclear and uncut

I know how I feel
Not misguided nor surreal
Instead my heart resembles
Exposed film on a reel

If only we would
Just post produce what we could
Cut out all the bad parts
And keep only the good

But that's not realistic
You need methods to fix it
Since ours weren't working
We were destined to split

Not crying this time
Officially in my prime
But still struggling to accept
You will never be mine

Now all the memories tucked away in my brain
Being played on repeat, driving me insane
Still feeling that heartbreak
Pumping strong through my veins
And knowing I won't have
What we had ever again.

Stuck inside a dark room
I'm dying for a breath of air
I'm not letting myself out

I want everyone to know my secrets
yet I can't open my mouth

when they look inside my eyes i want them to feel my pain
yet I avert my gaze to the ground

I want to stand up to all my demons
yet I don't have the strength to get out of this haze