i’m searching for words that do not exist
grasping for something in the matterless air
they call it writer’s block
but i feel much more disconnected than blocked
as if overnight someone had unplugged
all the cords to my creativity
my mind feels dim and dissolved
a damp empty space
having no mass but seeping into my heart
the nothingness fills me up
and i stare hopelessly
at the blank page in front of me

the boy with scars and pain rubbed in his palms
the boy who fought for years and years and struggled inside
the boy who was offbeat and out of touch with his classmates
the boy who just wasn't strong enough to make it
he was there for months and i never noticed
my teacher said his name and i was zoned out and heard nothing
he got up and left the classroom and i saw nothing
he sat two seats away and i never realized
until it was too late.
maybe there were no words i could have said to fix him
maybe there was nothing i could do to change the outcome
but now i sit and that seat two to the left is empty
and i can't help but feel responsible
for my ignorance, my blank face that looked past him
could have been just another knife in his chest
i can picture him walking and seeing me and me not seeing him
and how he must have felt invisible
and i know how i feel that way sometimes
i never wanted to worsen anyone's conditions
but now it is too late.

The moon was a cold body that lived in the empty night
The sun was a warm ray that filled the world with light
They both lived in solitude, the sun sending her warmth and the moon existing in nothing
All they know is their own orbit and comfort
And on the rare days that they meet, they collide and fall in love
They fill the other with what they've been missing
And watching them burst and make love is spectacular
The passion is short lived and when they separate they fall apart
Forgetting what they're meant to live for
The sun keeps on burning and the moon keeps on glowing
Slowly the moon forgets about the sun and the gleam of her face
For every night there is only darkness and pale reflections to keep him company
And the sun forgets what it is to be calm and still
The void and longing for each other keeps them pulling until they meet again
They beat on, lonely and eager and searching for the one thing that brings them solace
The soft embrace of love, the thing that pulls the tides in and out on the shore
The thing that fills the streets and mountains and valleys with golden radiance
It is love that carries blood through fragile veins and it is love that guides two hearts together
It is love that drags the moon from its perch above earth and aligns it with the sun
It is love that tears them apart with a cruel and swift hand
The sweetest pain and the hardest goodbyes amount from love
When nothing good lasts and nothing bad ever fully goes away
The love that flows between two opposite entities is enough

there is a place that i can call home.
it's cold and broken but it is home.
i find comfort in the trees and cracked paint.
in the cloudless skies and muggy summer nights.
the harsh season changes and fast blowing breezes.
sometimes i beg to leave and start anew.
sometimes i dream of the day i can escape.
i know that it holds my family and my friends.
i may run but i will never truly let go.
i will always come back to empty suburban towns.
where children play all night and parents count their blessings.
teenagers are drunk and trying to find themselves.
it's a right of passage to run away.
when we get lost we come running back.
being reckless just isn't enough.
our home is calm and safe.
at times unexciting and mundane.
but it is home; it always will be.

sweetheart, your hands are shaking.
where did your courage go?
you used to be so strong.
how did you lose your fire?
won't you please put down the bottle.
please pick up your pencil and draw.
draw me a cloud that i can sit upon,
and watch you grow.
your art means something to me.
oh honey, when did you let the world change you?
you promised you could do it.
why did you stop trying to find beauty?
it is there, under the blankets.
please look inside because there is more.
it hurts me to see you so desolate.
i wanted more for you,
i wanted you to see the world and to paint it.
don't let your talent go to waste.
i love you.

I think the reason writers are so important
is because they put pain into words
they make simple sentences into art
and they fill hearts with a sense of belonging
when you read a poem or a story or a book
and you can recognize the feelings within
that is when you know you are not alone
that is when you know you can survive
writers can separate reality from fantasy
or they can blend them together
they take the world
and they make it a little less cold and scary
that is what is most important
that is what makes them great
makes us great.