they come from all the words
left unsaid in our heads
blood from all the swords
bleach the paper red

they come from all the songs
left unsung in/at our wakes
from all our deathbed wrongs
till death do us part (for our sake?)

they come from all the paintings
left undone, hung upside down
stabbed into the wall, only waiting
for us to make our rounds

where do poems come from?
they come from us, to you
from you, to us,
from you, to you.

you wipe your tears
and tell me you're sorry
and that you're the one at fault,
that they were your mistakes,
and that you're sorry again and again
and you should've known better.

you don't see that your mistake is "you".

So much you, it's sickening.

I'm leaving before I become
your mistake.

I can't understand
how some people can stand
other people, till the end,
that really don't understand.

it's almost as if I'm underwater
glassy eyes, haunted stare
I can't breathe, but I haven't ever
if I could, I wouldn't care

tension and suspension
fear, silence in contention
like atmospheric death
not a single breath

spoken thoughts are now
unspoken words, a bow

what I once felt is gone
that's it. this time you've won.

and i thought i could hold out long enough
to keep you alive

but you're burning me out
and so I will, you

when you're up there
standing, proud
they'll be there too

oh, they'll hear you alright
they'll see you
they'll know you

but in the glare of the spotlight,
remember this:

Make sure they listen.
Make sure they look.
Make them understand.

how vast the ocean
how miniscule a drop
in the endless, rocking
throes of dawns and dusks

how wide the skies
how tiny a bird
wings grabbing nothing
going nowhere

how immense the earth
how silent a tree
swaying, yet rooted
cry their teardrop leaves

how tiny we are,
in the infinite universe

yet how unfathomable
how unending
how beautiful
the depths of our hearts,
limitless as the skies, seas and earth.