I imagined that once I was surrounded
By hills of green felt and descending
Fog, that I would find the words
Settle on my tongue—
My hand would feel sure,
Clenched around a pencil,
And soft atop keys--
But I also knew, that I might
Just sit there, framed by the misted
Windows, limned in condensation,
And stare at the words that would not form.

The illusion of shared smiles
And electrified nights--
Knowing someone basely

On how they were then
without exchanging names.

Even now, I look at those
Who are supposedly
Close friends, and wonder
What makes them more
than acquaintances?

That strain of connection
Appears out of reach,
Poppy seeds on the wind,
Mountains holding hands--
somewhere else entirely.

What is it those around me
Express through pointed looks
And fond gestures
That I cannot seem
to interpret?

She was the villain.
She could feel it
In her heart—
Yet there was nothing,
Not a “sorry”
That could salvage
What she had done.
We are all heroes
And villains in
One and another’s
Lives—
but she still wished
she could be
     only the light

I am a window that is painted shut;
The sides won’t budge
Even with the glass cracked.

Burglars can try all they like,
But their hands become fatigued
And they only leave with a sigh—

But not all of them wear
Black ski caps--and I cannot
Seem to loosen, even for those
With placid requests and
Baby’s breath hands,
Gentle as they try to pry open
All that is against them.

Open my heart, Lord—
You do not need to
Surgically split it,
Or probe the pieces—
You know it inherently,
Without looking,
Every breath’s origin
Lies in you,
And it beats steadily
In your cupped hands—
I have never felt more
Peace in this world
Of broken smiles
And warped intentions,
Than when I trust in your
Image and your plan.