You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.

Your truth

Crept out from under your rock,
eyes penetrate the depth of my soul
Blood runs on empty streets
and fears claim another life
Drama tastes of bitter swallows
escaping from guillotine’s wrath
Staining my Sunday best,
pressed and altered
to fit within your diary

The previous page
sings of the living…
the final chapter dying
As another book is begun,
blank pages reach,
grasping for each helpless breath
beyond every ordained happiness
spewing only the lies
you claim to be your truth