my soul grows thorns—not roses
yet you rest your head on my lap
like I am something sacred

my fears follow me like shadows
only a step behind
quiet, ever-present
always tethered to my mind

even when night prepares for its slumber
and the light begins to wane,
they dwell beneath my ribs
pounding with relentless pain

they grow in the dark
not through form—but by weight
and not even the rise of morning light
can free me from my haunted state

Carrying my truth.
I stand by my views,
watching through
my weakening gaze.

After a raging storm,
making peace with myself,
I vanish into the air,
my convictions fold with me.

Without simple answers,
wearing the new lens,
I see another world:
not clearer,
not wiser,
not safer,
…
just slightly shifted.

somewhere between these lines

is a place

for a name

I haven't written for

in a while

I wish I could go back in time and shake myself.

“Wake up!”

Wake up, to her freckles like starlight.
Wake up, to her smile like the rising sun.
Wake up, to her eyes like the blue sky.
Wake up, to her joy like the universe.

“Wake up!”

Wake up, to what is right in front of you.
Wake up, so beautifully alive and yours.

“Wake up!”

Wake up, before you break something that cannot be undone.