We’re twins, you and I.
Matching lines and hurting hearts,
the overwhelming waves that crash down on me,
thundering in my ears and making white noise.
My lines are black, just like my words
scribbled, forceful, and raw.
Yours are red,
vibrant and striking against your pale skin.
Your thoughts are just as red, just as intense,
vulnerable.
Our hearts are one piece, fitted together,
we are twins now,
You and I.

I write as if my heart still lies heavy within;
the words pour as the music flows and I fall
into the sense of calm it brings me. The fresh
way I see the world after; the beauty of each
moment, the murmuring of my fellow souls,
as our words rise up to the stars above,
safe in this world of anonymity.

I write as if my heart still lies heavy within;
but I have not held it for some time.
It’s been ripped and shared. Each little letter
a piece of my heart and soul.

I write as if my heart still lies heavy within;
it’s too scattered now for me to see,
But you,
    you hold the largest piece of all.

My heart seems so shiny and new,
in tip top shape, I get it inspected every year, thank you very much.
Underneath the paint job is a rusted mess,
peeling off in huge strips and trailing behind.
It seems so sturdy and infallible,
unyielding and unflinching in the eyes of chaos.
But if you were to push, to drive too far inward,
it would collapse, crunching, to half the size.
Scars exposed, shoddy repairs unveiled,
at the mercy of the outside world,
cold and cruel, gripping the worn metal tight,
leaving frosted fingers in its wake,
a chill to shake me to the core.


My heart seems so shiny and new,
but underneath it’s fragile,
just like you.

33 guns
thousands of bullets rain
58 fall
thousands of bullets fly
500 more wounded
thousands of bullets spent,
one man,
thousands of bullets.
Guns roll out,
family treasures, sport, food, keepsakes
Power and destruction,
life and death.
Thousands of guns out,
now people are out.
Hundreds have fallen:
schools, theaters, clubs, concerts,
malls, stadiums, streets– but don’t take away our rights…
Thousands of bullets, stinging farewell kisses

The familiar whirlwind of emotion rises up again,
a never-ending cycle of heavy, dark clothes,
a few light delicates throw in, barely visible  
and fading
     fast.
This weekly ritual, the pauses, the tone,
memorized down to the digit.
I grow weary, carrying out the motions and
Dreaming of the end, hanging it all out to dry
to be embraced by the ever-welcoming sun and its
loving, warm rays.

It started with a hint upon the air,
the telltale heaviness of anticipation.
A few brave drops fall,
testing their reception on this earth.
Then the drops fall in earnest,
surging down on she who is uncloaked,
embracing the coolness on her skin,
each drop a sweet lingering kiss.
The thunder roars, both terrifying and exhilarating.
The lighting flashes, the wind picks up,
tangling her hair with earnest.
Yet still she stands, embolden by the chaos,
finding peace and comfort in it all.
Your love is a summer storm,
earth-shattering,
deafening,
irresistibly beautiful.