As I write ifs and elses
& grab some dreams
out of the shelf,

I am struck by
a miracle with beautiful legs.

I am struck again
by a feather with a soft spring song.

And I lose my mind
to these little things that belong
to that time before summer.

The melody that echoes in my humming
and your beautiful uncompromising pace
send my spinning wheel of emotions
to never ending places.

To love you is to write you down,
word for word, until the pen loses its ink,
and another days goes by in dazes
and it could rain deserts for all I care.

All of the sudden,
my poem gets touched by other,
and that’s how poetry is made,
you see?

She lives in all of us,
somewhere, somehow,
waiting to be unfolded.

And the day will come
that the best poem will come bursting
out of an entire life of compilations.

Endless expanses of ice and snow
Getting colder with nowhere to go
A place of terrible vice and sin
Where evil rules all that reside within
No escape from the deadly chill
Or the freezing winds, sure to ****
A place that will rip happiness asunder
A place of horrifying wonders
There is no hope, no sanctuary to find
Forget being rescued if you are left behind
A place that tears my mind apart
This is a frozen wasteland, this is my heart

there was once a love story hidden in
the words " i stay up all night for you "
           " i wait for you to message me "
           " i will wait for you "
           " you "
i think about how ridiculous i must have sounded in those moments, waiting for you, a love that has passed, a love that is no longer mine, no longer ours.
i was stupid to think that you were ever mine.

tea
for the unfinished assignments
for the time of the month
for the boy who douses you with salt
for trying to feel loved

wine
for your tired eyes
for your loneliness, a butterfly
beating its wings on your ribs,
for trying to grasp
what freedom is.

my darling,
don't you love to heal?
don't you love to escape?