When I force frozen
meat apart before
it’s had time to thaw
it injures and tears
where the ice clings
too tightly.
  The meat no longer
whole, scatters into
broken bones and
bleeding fragments.
  Your absence undoes
me like this not all at
once, but with a quiet
rip, where we once
held each other too
close to separate
  without breaking.

No one
drowns
in their
own
waters.
Fish
don’t.
How
could
you?

The sky was
cloaked
in gray.
the clouds
were weeping.
As I walked today,
tears began to
fall on me—
and they made
me fertile.
I saw golden leaves
lying crushed,
flattened
by footsteps
that never paused.
Nature often
held me,
gently even when
she grieves,
And I wondered—
If God had told us
That fallen things
were sacred,
Would we
have loved
them better?
Would we
have tread
more lightly?
Seen beauty in
their break?
Found grace
In letting go?
Would we
have stopped
Before the
bruised things—
Not out of pity,
But reverence?
On sharp stones
Lay orange
flowers,
Their sleep
just ending—
As if they were
still dreaming
Of the sun.
And in their quiet,
Something
inside me
softened, too—
A stillness,
A small bloom,
A reminder
That even
broken things
wake beautifully.

🌸🍁

Last night,
 meant to
loosen
the bulb
I wrapped
my hands
in woven
cloth, and
coaxed the
moon down
instead
It creaked,
blushed,
and fainted
slipped into
my palm,
like a lover.

She's under
Cinderella's
spellbound night.
The reality will
seep in soon.

We can't know the sea's
depth without the swim,
Nor gauge tomorrow's
progress until it's lived.

Everything reveals
itself—in motion.

Sometimes, it feels like
words have become
extinct dinosaurs,
Like the earth has
already sunk them
deep.

i fear
that folded
slip with my
father’s stages
chronicled
in fading
script and
quiet list
of my
mother’s
final
condiments,
whatever
might make
death taste
less bitter
i don’t
want grief
to tear
anything
our parting
should be
like clouds
drifting in
shear
soft and
undramatic.

My heart
is another
miracle
you could
spot from
the quietest
parts of the
world.

Breath finds its
way to the ribs.
How do we draw
love near?

If I were a bird, I'd have flown
To your grave each day
Sharing grains of life.

When I was a kid,
emotions were
monotonous.
A candy was
just a candy.
Happiness came
fast and full.
I didn’t wonder
who gave it,
or why.
I just smiled
and ate.
Now,
I think too much
about hearts,
about hands,
about faces,
about the things
people want
when they give.
Now, a candy feels
like a trap.
Love feels like a deal.
And the world?
Too heavy
for joy to be simple.

Her wounds were stitched
with threads of patience,
And from the hurt,
a moon emerged,
A glowing orb of light.

Love reveals our
bare selves—like
the full moon, clear
and veritable.

We lose our true selves—
no longer misted like a morning bud—
the thickened, tangled relationships
bury seeds inside our faith,
turning it dark.

—this is the quiet inheritance of womanhood.

In a womb of time, we grow,
and heal,
where blood filled vessels
provide foresight into what's,
destined for us.

You don't know
where the kite goes.
You just have to
let it ride.

Its skin streaked
with rain and soil,
bows beneath
just a few drops
of water
grateful for even
that small sip.
Its stem,
a little bent,
its face
still golden.
And in that
gesture,
I saw the
grace of
needing little
   but receiving fully.

I survived your Judas kiss.
It was a bee sting, a torrent of pain.
You shoved me off like a lovable pet,
unleashed in a squall.

I yearn for a lotus leaf
drifting and merging
with waters that gently
flow into a sacred grove,
where paths route
to heaven.

The sky convulses,
a star plummets, plunges
into the earth, and is gobbled
up by the soil— leaving
no signs of vitality
or decay.

Love and hatred descend
in a hierarchy, unraveling
from above—where sun
and moon once kissed,
and love began.

  The sky wrote love—
before we could name it

Your soul keeps returning,
even in death—like sea
remnants brought back
by restless waves...

    Grief comes like the
   sea—never done,
never dry.

Sometimes
out of purpose,
Sometimes
out of love,
Sometimes
out of necessity,
Sometimes
for a reason,
Sometimes
accidentally,
We make
someone happy.
And in those
quiet moments,
we feel
most human.

The scars on her body seem
to leech the dopamine from
her veins― She felt that pain
is the residue of joy.

What’s the
use of
knowing
life deeply
when it
  leaves before
dawn?

Pearls are born in turmoil
within oysters—so is love.

The womb creates the
bones so does the grave.

The flesh — is only
borrowed.

In my
deepest
slumber
i do
   prohibited
things
crawl
through
the soft
dark,
a thud
inside
your
organs
they
  begin to
squirm
i leave
no
language
just
presence
upon
awakening
a twitch
in the
thigh,
salt
on the
tongue,
heat
trapped
between
joints
somewhere,
you shift.
somewhere,
i remain.

Altruism
has
become
an old
film reel,
where grief
looked noble
and death
had meaning.
Now people
water
relationships
for their
own springs.

Love demands
openings,
tender ruptures—
And I’m too raw
to receive them.
I hover myself
to keep
from falling—
Like blocks,
stacked in silence,
each part of me
resting on the next.
One wrong shift,
and I could unravel.
So my body
learned
not to split open
for want.

An infantile urge to
stretch a bedsheet
and pull to reach a
toy just out of grasp
—a manifestation
of adult anxiety.