i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it

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Wait
Check
Look;

When did relationships
Get defined
By a read receipt?
Will we
Now
Only measure intimacy
By a tweet?

What do we have left,
Why can’t we
Go back
To laughter
In a diner seat

people in their wholeness
can only be understood.

not explained.

Do you ever wonder
if the painter
tires of his colors?

She looked at him like he was the sun,
In that she never looked at him,
Except out of frustration.

She complained when he was gone,
But she never looked.

On days he was stronger, she hid from him
On days he was muted, she complained.

She never looked at him until he was leaving,
And in the beauty of the sunset she wondered how,
She'd never seen him before

Isn’t it funny,
The happiness we pretend to have
Is the very thing
Holding us back from living.

“Falling in love” is a contradiction in itself, because in love there is only the rising, the ascending, not the falling.
You can not fall in love, but rather, rise.