...but instead, we chose to be lovers,
and that
was the beginning of our end.
Laughter
turned to bitter tears
and cruel words.
The comradery so quickly
became incompatibility.
What was once so fruitful
became barren.
Desolate.
And so we both went our own ways,
lonely and hurt.
Searching.
What fools to attempt such a thing
when
we could have just been
friends.

I want to live the kind of life
that looks gorgeous
in a rear view mirror.
A life riddled regretless--
full of curves and edgy paths
that I chose to leave behind.
If by chance I miss my turn
while reliving what's passed,
let them canonize me
the patron saint
of the wanderlust--
spelling out blessings
for the bored and anchored
with every speck
of my kicked up dust.

I want to live the kind of life
that looks gorgeous
in a rear view mirror.
A life riddled regretless--
full of curves and edgy paths
that I chose to leave behind.
If by chance I miss my turn
while reliving what's passed,
let them canonize me
the patron saint
of the wanderlust--
spelling out blessings
for the bored and anchored
with every speck
of my kicked up dust.

i killed myself.
my old self.
sometimes she likes to sneak back into the cracks in my bones,
but she's never there for long.
she knows she is not welcome there.

i killed myself.
my old self.
then i bloomed like a dandelion,
fierce and ready to conquer all.
sometimes people like to pluck me
because i'm a ****.
but weeds can be flowers too if you get to know them.

m.a.l.

i killed myself.
my old self.
sometimes she likes to sneak back into the cracks in my bones,
but she's never there for long.
she knows she is not welcome there.

i killed myself.
my old self.
then i bloomed like a dandelion,
fierce and ready to conquer all.
sometimes people like to pluck me
because i'm a ****.
but weeds can be flowers too if you get to know them.

m.a.l.

again,
i don't really know.
its just that,
sunsets have brighter colours now,
and its easier to get up in the morning.
blankets are softer,
and water tastes better.
music has more rhythm,
and the wind doesn't ******* over anymore.

please don't stop being you.

a.h.d.

again,
i don't really know.
its just that,
sunsets have brighter colours now,
and its easier to get up in the morning.
blankets are softer,
and water tastes better.
music has more rhythm,
and the wind doesn't ******* over anymore.

please don't stop being you.

a.h.d.

the world is your oyster
take the pearl
and I’ll just lie here in the sand
an empty shell
once again

he was navy blue
                                 and heavy rocks
        
            he laughed the way you nervously scuff your feet
he was October
                                                    and raisins

                    he walked the way a bird picks at worms
        he looked like a well traveled gravel road

he was rust
       he was silver

a.h.d.

I still can't bring myself to open the gate. my own secret garden, hidden from the world. with more than one gardener the weeding would be easier, but a good gardener is hard to come by. so I keep my gate closed with a sign saying no trespassing. no one dares move that creaky gate. little do outsiders know how deeply the flowers yearn for someone else's fingers to stroke them. no one will hear the cries let out by the forget-me-nots as they are easily forgotten. no one will know the beauty behind the walls of my garden.