i sat in the forest --
picking up leaves
and ripping them
in different ways,
different shapes
because everyone is different.

and they all break differently.

i picked a once green leaf
that was staring to brown
on the edges.

i ripped it
and it didn't break
slowly
like the others.

it just fell apart
in my hands.

but it made me look up at the
sunbeams
slipping between
the tall forest trees.

realising,
not everyone breaks slowly.

some people crumble and fall apart
all at once.

and that's okay.

i’m tired of writing these poems
tired of chasing the right words
for a feeling that never wanted to be named

tired that nothing i write
comes close to the way it felt
to love you
and lose you
and still carry it all

no stanza, no line,
no late night whisper into the void
has ever been enough

the love i have for you
deserves more than language
and yet
language is all i have

My mother talks about you
a lot
almost worships you like
a god
Heard her talk about you
on calls
Always screams in my face
telling me to be a lot
like you
But listening to her
talk
I don't think I really like
you.

Soft light
Velvet night
Gentle skin
Drawn in

Moon sigh
Hearts high

Flame bloom
Lips swoon
Fever lace
Timeless space