It takes a strange courage to submit to stasis
a gentle acceptance to admit to accordance
a small release to move with grace.

It takes a surprising effort to allow joy to enter
to reveal my belly with trust for all the world,
to allow my hangdog face to return to the kennel.

I watch many move in cool hues, violets and blues,
the slow step of broken people, crushed by crushes, worn with work
as the common connecting thread, the rope bright red held by toddlers at daycamp so no one gets lost.

Sadness has become a language, a lingo so powerful that crowded rooms have little else to say. Whomever heralds the heaviest woe wins. Misery begets fine company. I've watched friends form from frayed souls that fate has patched together, I have watched lovers born from mourning.

I'm so tired of weeping. I'm not sad anymore.

I want to throw open every pair of crossed arms I see like shutters on locked windows. I seek the bravery to tell the world how happy I truly am and accept it as something other than a defeat- I want to laugh even though it will set me apart.

If I can light up a single room it will be enough. A tiny sun may feel lonely, but if it burns bright the rest will orbit.

Never will I permit the easy current of melancholy to drown me.

No more will I hide from the beauty of my life.

just another poem
describing my low mood
with an irreverent metaphor
comparing my low mood to
the drastic change of temperature
in summer and winter

What do you do
When writing becomes a coping mechanism,
But you can't put your feelings into words?

How do you write when there's nothing to write about?
When there are so many things to say,
And so many things to think,
But you just can't put it into words.

Writer's block is like an enemy.
The inability to phrase your emotions,
Or describe the citrus-y, vibrant taste of the orange you're eating.
The inability to write about your day,
Or express your concerns through the beauty of words.

How am I supposed to cope,
When this block is in my way?
How am I supposed to cope,
And get through every day?

I don't know what to write,
because my mind is white.
A walk would be in order,
to get thoughts out of disorder.
As I'm trekking through the forest,
I get an idea! A florist
who goes to Vegas
and...encounters writer's block.

Sometimes
The words pour out
A beautiful symphony
Letters entwine my skull
Choke me with their simple
Elegance
Some see it as writing
I see it as
A beautiful death
A necessary one.

But other times
The emptiness is what
Overwhelms me
The profound absence
Of ink on paper
The maddening sensation
Of paralysis
Grips me
As my gentle fingers
Shake
Helpless and
Longing.

She kissed him
And I cried
They fell
and I died
He loved her
More than he ever loved me
She loved him
More than ever could be

How could I be okay, when you're so far away.
How could I smile, when you're not there to help me through the day.
You are my light..
That once shined so bright.
But now you're dimming out,
The farther you grow away from me.
I thought I could hold you tight,
But how could I?
When you don't want to be by my side.

How could I be okay, when you're so far away.
How could I smile, when you're not there to help me through the day.
All I see is darkness, surrounding me.
I need my light, to shine over me.
Take me in your arms,
Tell me everything will be okay.
I reach for your hand,
But you pull away.
Watch me as I slowly drown,
I scream for you,
But you don't hear a sound.