I'm content
to remain local
I don't aim
to be global

that reach I'll leave
to other people
in ease I'll rest
without stress or struggle

I was born
with questions in my mouth.
Why do wolves howl?
What do bees dream?
Will I ever be held
the way that the ocean's depths
hold secrets?
*
I pressed my hands
into the cool dirt of every mystery,
removed them to find earth under my nails,
ink on my palms,
and a smile I still cannot explain.

They tried to tell me:
not everything needs to be known.
But how could I keep from exploring
when every whisper of the wind,
every caw of the crows,
every daisy's petal,
tells me there is more.

They tried to tell me:
Pandora's jar is just Eden's apple
wearing a new name -
blooming only sorrow,
but can we really know the light
without the dark?

Hope was the last thing breathing.
She was caught in the looking glass,
unable to speak,
and I thought her reflection
looked an awful lot
like me.

A question that’s been cutting through me lately—
“What changed you?”

What changed me?
I’ve walked through hell
just to keep breathing
for people who never once
looked back to see if I made it.

I gave everything
to feel like something,
only to realize
I mean nothing.

And still—
they ask me why I’ve changed.

What changed me
was being let down
by every soul I trusted.
Being the extra body in the room,
never the reason someone stayed.

Invisible.
Unheard.
Unwanted.

My words float in silence.
My actions vanish in plain sight.
And yet, they ask—
“What changed you?”

The nights did.
The ones I spent choking on tears
with no one to come home to.
No arms. No voice.
No one wondering if I made it through.

What changed me
was learning that pain doesn’t echo
when no one cares to hear it.

That numbness comes
when you scream silently
for so long,
you forget
what sound feels like.

They ask me—
“When did you change?”

I changed the day
hope became something others
took from me—
like I didn’t deserve it.
I changed
when people rested peacefully
while I wept
over promises that never meant to stay.

Or maybe—
maybe I changed
when I realized
my leaving
wouldn’t shake anyone’s world
but mine.

He said my name like an oath.

I said his like a war cry.

We met in the ruins of reason,

and built something holier from chaos.


He wore the moon in his eyes;

silver light and tides that pulled me under.

I gave him the sun,

burned my hands just to keep him warm.


We weren't star-crossed,

we were conjured.

Some cruel myth breathed us alive,

then turned its back and laughed.


We stole time from the fates.

Danced in Hades’ garden,

bathed in river Styx,

stuck out our tongues

as the gods crossed their arms.

He held my soul in his teeth

like a prayer too sacred to swallow.


And when the sky cracked,

we didn’t flinch.

We were the storm and the silence,

the prophecy and the curse.


Let the poets argue if it was love.

Let the priests deny it with trembling hands.

Let the world remember -

we are unforgiven

for making the heavens jealous.

She waltzed in wearing lavender -

not the bruised blue hue of dried buds,

but the soft, delicate shade that makes you forget

poison can be pastel

and alive.

The cerulean seas of her eyes

surveyed me with a crocodilian smirk

an undertow ready to clench and drag

for its own amusement

She smiled like silk,

shiny, delicate, costly

as she handed me a cedar latched spice box.

Inside

red cords, scissors

pressed flowers so fragile they'd shatter

with a whisper

and a single letter sprinkled

with cayenne

sealed with red lipstick

too heavy to open.

"Time doesn't belong to you," She whispered

like it was a flirtation

like my hours were hers

to unwrap

to discard

She kissed my questioning forehead

soft, sealing, dismissive,

answered nothing

just reached for my hands

with perfectly manicured cold fingers

I gasped awake

my mouth full of cinnamon

dry and hot

a goodbye I didn't choose caught in my throat

that I prayed I'd never have to speak.

She's reappeared now and again

in the corners of mirrors,

fond of the elevator's reflective surround

and the hammered copper coffee jar

that stays open like a lifeline.

always twirling her ashen ringlets

waiting? warning?

When I glimpse her, I open the lace covered windows

and let the sun reclaim the shadows -

until even her perfume forgets my name.