I was proposed to once,
in an unfinished treehouse,
in his backyard.
The silence that fell between us,
only reminded me that:
we were just a thought.
An idea that tasted sweet
on the tip of my tongue;
but grew sour when I laughed.
And you kicked the leaves in defeat,
knowing that this was a passing phase.
And that saying "yes" wouldn't change
the way a clock ticks.
*The very clock that would be our end.

If I a wayward traveler
were to rest my weary bones,
I fear I’d quickly find my name
in a garden full of stones.

So I continue trudging onward,
without regard for my direction.
Eyes forever pointed downward
by the fear of my detection.

Carrying the bags of follow travelers
despite their ever growing weight.
My steps harried ever onward
by the fear I might be late.

I can’t see my destination
but I have faith to keep me strong.
I can’t let my pace be slowed
by the fear that I am wrong.

I can’t say I quite recall
even the way this journey started
but I must have held some purpose
on that day I first departed.

So I continue trudging onward
without regard for my confusion.
This journey is about so much more
than my self-involved delusions.

If I a wayward traveler
were to rest my weary bones,
I fear I’d quickly find my name
in a garden full of stones.

Why are weeds considered ugly plants?
They are but the most beautiful anomaly in this cruel and unfair world.
Despite the lack of water and necessary care,
they still manage to find a way through the tightest and inhospitable of cracks,
chasing the warm kiss of the sun,
and to be showered by the cleansing rain.
But when they do overcome their hardships,
greedy, unrelenting hands reach down,
and strip them from the earth,
pulling out their roots,
and throwing them away.
Then the place that they worked so hard to exist in,
is taken over by some eye-pleasing blossom.
Real beauty is not found in those that are given everything,
but rather in that of striving to simply be,
to overcome obstacles,
and rise above,
no matter the circumstance.
There is something beautiful about that fight and determination,
and nothing profound about a flower that is nourished with constant love and affection,
because they will only grow to be weak and fragile.