Dear Dead Poet,

One day I will be you. I think that’s beautiful to think or maybe it’s a silly human thought conceived to help us justify the inevitable ending we all face, that you already faced. Forgive me if I speak without grace but I have so much to learn from you & I wanted to let you know it. Dead poet, when reading your poem earlier you spoke on love. In death, do you feel it valuable or necessary to life or do we the living yearn for it to veil our misery? Do you have the answer? If there is a way, let your words return to me-though I know they never will.

Sincerely,
Living Poet

I can’t help but think of you
your my inspiration

i don’t think i’m yours

but you don’t even know your mine so
how could i know
if i’m yours

I met you
and not to be dramatic
in the age where people don’t like each other
but I think I like you

in a way that feels comfortable
a knowing feeling

like a deep sigh of relief
like I knew you in a past life
and my soul is ready to reconnect with yours

‘runt’

i’ll never get over it

‘you shouldn’t say that mom..’

‘well she is.’

stings & burns
on my whole heart

my whole heart
shattered to pieces by a few words

‘that really hurts to hear you say that mom.’

she shrugs
& brushes me off like a piece of lint
i look at the lint
feeling like I got punched in the gut

i walk away
to my dark bedroom
slamming my head to into my pillow
crying my eyes out
till I have a migraine for the rest of the night
leaving my self value
in the hands of the woman
who made me

Dear Dead Poet,

I read your poem to my class today.
They didn’t understand it.

I felt bad because they probably won’t ever think about the words that I read them again. Not ever

Maybe they will when the face the challenges you & I have. They’ll think about your words then.

But I wish they would listen now. I wish you were here now.

My classmates don’t understand & I doubt they ever will.

Dear Dead Poet please write me back when you can. I feel like you understand me or you are me.

Yours truly,

Dead Poet

the middle ground
between
war & peace

is reality

She could hide a lot of things but
her fingers

they never lie

she smiled
even laughed
but the short
freshly ripped up nails
exposed her

She got employee of the month
yet the sides of her nails were red
bright red
and raw

She showed up
for everyone in her life
but her fingers constantly twitched
every second of the day
they twitched


Her fingers never lied
She couldn’t put makeup on them
She couldn’t put a filter on them
She couldn’t tell them to be ok

The only thing that could heal her fingers

was her
and time