Over the past months there have been
so many times where I feel like nothing
more than a remnant, an empty ghost
with no spirit trapped inside the shroud.
So much has been seized from me-
when we walked our separate ways
you took back everything you brought.
Anything that once carried your touch
now feels tainted, a painful reminder
of something that once was and never
will be again. I can’t go to certain cities,
or listen to particular songs, because
the memory I have associated with it
is far too lovely for me to bear right now,
as is any positive thought I have of you.
I can’t even have things that were once
mine that I shared with you. I told you:
everything I have, and everything I am,
is yours. And truly, it is. I am bereft
of all I once had, wandering the halls
of my memories, a beggar, a supplicant.

"I found so many words
after you left

had we stayed together
we may have become silence"

And some days I wonder if
that silence is something that
I would've looked forward to; things
get awfully loud in the world outside
and I think it might have been comforting
to come home from the cacophony
to a deep, warm silence.

But other days, I'm reminded
of how scared I am of silence.
I think of all of my worst fears and
insecurities reverberating within my skull,
growing louder with every bounce-
no one else can hear it though.
This kind of silence is invisible,
stifling, and self-imposed.

This kind of silence yearns for
affirmations and terms of endearment
that aren't here anymore; they've
grown stale in the quiet between us.

And I think that some day,
I might just want to come home
to something loud;

to someone who will proclaim love
from the tops of mountains, and have
the strength of their words drown out
the self-doubt whispering inside my mind.

Maybe silence isn't what I wanted-

maybe I'm glad you left.

I write this not from a lofty place of judgement or from frantic paranoia, but instead I would much rather you learn from any and all of my mistakes before subjecting yourself to future pain.

First and most importantly: you are lovable, you are loved, and you are truly worthy of love and appreciation. This is a resolute fact, an immutable truth that you have absolutely no chance of changing. Remember this in your darkest moments- just because you may feel “less than” your normal self does not mean that you have lost your self worth. If you learn anything from me, please let this one thing be it.

Second, and more lengthy: as well-adjusted as I may come off, know that I have these horrid insecurities and vices about me that I have the hardest time shaking off, even on my best days. I have spent most of my life wondering if I would ever find love, because people keep telling me that you need to first love yourself in order to love someone else; there have been days where I truly don’t love myself. However, I think there’s something to be said about feeling love for someone else amidst all of this wretchedness- I give my love unabashedly, with an earnest conviction that I think comes from knowing what feeling lonely truly means, and never wishing that feeling upon someone else.

Love is something I have fallen into and am currently falling out of, it is something that has kept me up for hours at night but kept me in bed long after the sun has risen; it has brought me to my knees and it once had lifted me up. Love has grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, looked me dead in the eyes, and asked me if I was worth anything- knowing that I would never answer affirmatively. Love has made me sing and scream the loudest my lungs could possibly take, and it has rendered me silent for days at a time. It has fogged my vision and my mind and left me bereft of any sense of clarity. I have lived my longest seconds and my shortest days when in love.

Loving someone can truly be terrifying- you will never be quite so unmade and disassembled as you are when in love. You will have handed someone the pieces of yourself and know that they could very easily unravel the threads of your being you have so tediously strung together; take comfort in the fact that they could very well hold your pieces together when you feel strung out.

Signed without wax,
Someone Whose Heart
Is Learning To Hope Again

P.S. I urge you to be careful, and to be safe. There is not a world in which you can have done something and I will not be there to support you unconditionally. I will be here in your corner, ready to listen to your story, ready to congratulate or to console, ready to remind you of your worth.

I hope you find someone that takes their phone off silent
in the hopes of hearing your calls. I hope they laugh
at all your jokes and can take a couple, as well. I hope they
remind you to eat on your busiest days, and help you
get out of bed on days you feel like you can’t. I hope they listen
to the same music you do and dance with the same fervor you do.
I hope they look for you in a crowded room, at the bottom of a bottle,
at the tops of mountains and in the deepest crevices of their heart.
I hope they kiss you for every second you’ve ever spent doubting
yourself. I hope they memorize your favorite colors and fruits, I hope
they call your mom to check in on her, I hope they get along with
your sisters. I hope they cheer the hardest for your achievements,
and weep the most alongside your sorrows. I hope they remind you
that you are loved, you are lovable, and you deserve to feel loved and
appreciated by those you surround yourself with. I hope they listen to
every story you have to tell, and help you write so many more. I hope
they love your laugh, and revel in how heartfelt and unfiltered it is.

You said that you wanted to explore our newfound
independence and experience the world around you.
We parted ways- you choosing a path that you knew
you’d take, while I was left to shovel my own path out
of the wilderness that now surrounded me. I’ve been
stumbling around for months now, and I have the cuts
and bruises to show for it; I am spent and at the last
reserves of patience and hope. My heart feels like a broken
compass and I’m not sure that I ought to be following it,
but I sure as hell don’t know my way out of this mess.

I have missed you terribly, in a way that I never
thought I would have to endure. There have
been nights where I wished that I could pack
everything around me that reminded me of you,
and that presented me with two main problems:

First, I would be surrounded by emptiness because
I see you in everything and anything around me,
and I would drive myself to the point of collapse
trying to pack the world away and out of sight

Second, I know that I would seek you out
in the space around me, knowing that this void
at least feels better than the silence on your end.

I ache. I hurt in my heart and my mind
and in my body all over. I lay in bed for
hours at a time and sometimes moving
feels like the most daunting thing.
I exercise some days but I’m not sure
if I’m trying to keep my body healthy
or if I’m attempting to punish myself.
I’ll collapse on the floor, muscles ablaze
with the effort of lifting my spirits-
but I think my hands hurt the most because
they keep writing to someone who isn’t here.

I haven’t been playing my guitar as of late
and it’s not because I’ve lost interest- I still
love the same musicians I did before and I’d love
nothing more to be able to play like them.
I’ve picked it up a couple times in the past
three months and I’ve found that even though
I know exactly what chords to play and where
all the notes are that once made me happy,
it ends up sounding off and halfhearted;
that happens when you don’t press down
between the frets hard enough.

I didn’t realize that I was so afraid
of holding onto something since you left

-  I will always be willing to listen to your
stories, and will forever want to hear them.
Your words are as good as music to me.

- There will be days where the sun feels cold to
me and I am made a prisoner to my deepest fears.
There will be nights where I wake up sobbing,
just as much a prisoner as I was during the day.
Be gentle, be patient with me.

- I smile at everyone I make eye contact with on the street.

- I love in an earnest manner that can be
overwhelming. I am not malevolent,
but rather I have spent years being told
that my feelings aren’t worth listening to,
and I just have a lifetime’s worth of love to give.

- If you manage to hold what I can throw at you,
you’ve found someone in your
corner that won’t go without a fight.

- You’ll never see me fighting anyone.

- I’ve worried I’m too vulnerable for far too long;
I am raw and unadulterated and unabashedly so.
I refuse to inhibit what I have to say.

- I will give you all that I have and more;
please don’t take advantage of this.

- I will write about you, I will write about how
I feel, I will write about someone I once loved
and about how I once felt. Words and feelings
are fleeting, but they are also powerful.

- I will ask you questions until I’ve found out
everything there is to know about you-
including things you never thought about.

- I have friends who will call me in the dead of
night; I will answer the phone, I will drive to
their house with their favorite dessert in tow.

- I will pull over on the side of the road if the
clouds are compelling enough. I can sit for hours
watching the sun set or water fall. Either hold my hand
and join me, or let me be overwhelmed by something 
greater than myself in peace.

- No one can or will love you the way that I do;
take that as my most horrid vice, or my most endearing virtue.

I want to take you to an art museum,
but I'll spend the entire time looking
at you because you'll be the most
breathtaking thing in the room.

Once we're there I'll try and memorize
every curve and every line of your face
as if I were a sculptor and I was assigned
the lofty task of immortalizing your beauty.

I'll come home and dream about you-
your profile engrained into my memory,
and the image of your smile soft
and sweet enough to banish my nightmares.

I want to take you to an art museum,
and I want to hold your hand the whole time,
feeling your reaction to each piece before us
and letting it resonate within me.

Pick a painting that intrigues you and
we'll stand in front of it; I want to know
what about this art compels you
so that I may learn to do the same.  

We'll stand quietly, together, side by side,
because this is a space where we can
share our silence- I want to be guided
only by the pull of your hands and eyes.

I want to take you to an art museum
because once we walk outside together,
I'll have fallen in love with you
and what more could I possibly want?

I listen to a lot of music loudly,
and I mean it in exactly what way;
It's not that I always listen to loud,
electric music that blasts your ears
like fireworks and gunshots firing.
I also listen to music quieter than
the stirring of a mouse, with
intimate notes and subtle crescendos.
Normally, when listening to my music,
I can feel the vibrations throughout
the lengths of my person; every
bass line shaking my vertebrae
and every falsetto ringing in my skull.
But today, I felt something different.
I was playing this one song in the car
and my bones didn't shake,
my hands didn’t tremble.
And it’s not that I didn’t feel it,
it’s really a matter of where;
I felt the music resonate
in the hollow chamber of my chest
where my heart should have been.

First, a declaration: I love you. I truly love you with all of my heart and I need you to know that; I mean that in the truest sense of the word.

Second, a disclaimer: I’m writing this in a generic, public manner and I know that makes this seem cold and impersonal. And there’s truth to that- anyone can find their way to this letter and maybe people will. But I’ve sent this to you in particular, and I hope that conveys at least some authenticity.

Third, an apology. I want you to know that I understand the weight of what I’ve shared with you. I know that just because you’re a kind and compassionate person, you understand the exigence of my situation and maybe you’re worried, maybe you’re scared, or just plain confused. And after telling you, I can’t ever un-say it. I can’t take those words back, I’ve pushed this irretrievable, heavy truth upon you and I’m truly sorry. It burns at my own chest sometimes and acts as a void in others.

Fourth, an elaboration: I didn’t tell you with the intention of having you fix me or attend to my problems. I don’t want you to do that, I would never ask that of you. Although I understand where that sentiment comes from, I don’t want you to feel obligated to try and think of solutions. Don’t do that to yourself.

And finally, a request: just due to the nature of what this is, I continually feel like a burden. I feel like I’m a weight on everyone else’s chest that’s holding them back, or a sore subject that people hesitate to acknowledge. Sometimes I go days where my voice feels heavy because I haven’t spoken to anyone. There are days where I long comfort and company and others where I seek out solitude. I won’t always reach out and I often won't ask you to do so because I don’t want it to be a chore- I don’t want to be a calendar reminder in your phone. I just ask that you be patient with me.

Without wax,
Someone Who Told You His Darkest,
Most Worrisome Secret.

P.S. I know how bad things can be and where I am in relation to them; I know what to do in case it becomes too much. I truly don't mean to worry you.

I had this notion of wanting
to be more like oldself–
not more like myself, because myself
has become too sad and too hurt;
I remember oldself being so much more.
But where does one look for one's oldself?
It's not like I just hanged it out to dry
or hung it up on the wall next to a poster.
No, oldself has been scattered and beaten,
tossed along the path of nostalgia.
Bits of oldself linger among
sketchpads and sneakers, SEGA
and Lego sets and Star Wars.
It's back there with s'mores and scouts
and bonfires and books and
the belief that the big, blue world
was a place where dreams came true.
Oldself thinks that optimism
is the only option, myself makes a
note to self: that matter mostly
isn't true, as a matter of fact.
I can't always see oldself, it's buried
beneath six feet of dirt, gossip and rumors;
there's tons of stress and anxiety weighing
on its chest, dressed in a halcyon suit.
Oldself never used to worry
like myself does so often nowadays
but he also couldn't sing like myself can.
He had a wilder imagination than
myself could ever conceptualize,
yet I've exceeded so many of the dreams
that oldself had for my future self.
I often think to myself: what would
Oldself think if Oldself met myself?
And although I may not have turned out
exactly how Oldself envisioned myself,

I've grown and learned from Oldself
and now I'm proud of myself– a place
that my old self never thought I would be.

I am greedy, I am covetous, I am insatiable
in the way I want all there is to have about you,
and I grasp at it with earnest hands.
Yes, I do want to know all your fears and dreams,
and of course I want to know things like
whether or not you like your eggs over-easy.
But I want to know all of the things about you
that have made you the enthralling individual you are:
each of the things that make you cry,
anything and everything that has made you smile,
all of the reasons you have scars and blemishes.
I want to know the hex code for that perfect shade
of blue in the sky that brings you peace, and
tattoo it onto my skin so that I would never forget.
I want to learn everything there is to know about you
and spend the rest of my life trying to memorize it.

I used to be so hesitant about expressing
the extent of my feelings towards people.
There have been too many instances where
I value and appreciate and love someone
much more than they ever would reciprocate,
and to them I would seem overwhelming,
reckless, and desperate with the way I felt.
I’ve learned it’s too risky to pretend not to care.
What comes next is too uncertain, too capricious.
In the next 24 hours, I could get hit by a bus,
move to another country, I could disappear.
I am young and we are fragile and mundane
and we never know when the bus is coming.
We don’t know who won’t be here tomorrow
or in two weeks or in two years from now.
All we know is the unadulterated here and now
of our infinitesimal existence on this planet.
I love being straightforward and honest, I love
telling people how much they mean to me,
I say things like “you are one of my favorite
human beings to ever walk this earth of ours”
and “you are a strong, resilient, beautiful sunflower.”
I love hands in hands and heads in laps and
kisses and hugs and cuddles and caresses.
I love saying "I love you and I appreciate you."
I need you to know now, in this moment
that I care for you to the ends of the earth, and
I cannot believe that I have the privilege
of knowing you and your story and simply
having someone like you in my life.

I love being unapologetically Harsh.

I was driving through Washington yesterday,
we started our trip in Renton and made our way
down to Moses Lake; and in the process,
we had to pass through the Cascades on our way there.
As we drove, I watched as the exits flew past:
Newcastle, Wenatchee, Snoqualmie, Ellensburg,
and as we sped past each of these, Mt. Rainier
loomed in the distance; her snow-capped peak
standing tall and piercing through clouds,
as the winding road passed through hills and valleys.
As I gazed upon the jagged sheetrock
towering all around me, I could not help but feel small.
We've been told our whole lives just how big the world is
and how much bigger the universe is in comparison
But I've always had a hard time conceptualizing
how infinitesimal and insignificant my existence is.
So to be surrounded by thousands upon thousands
of rock and stone that have withstood
floods and storms and winds for millennia
and still stand strong, well into the stratosphere,
is nothing less than humbling.

No matter what you do in this life,
put all of your heart into it.
Invest every fiber of your being
into whatever you work on,
no matter how arbitrary
or even how irrelevant.
The best that comes about
this exhausting way of life
is that you end up with
a job well done, and
all the recognition you deserve.
The worst thing you end up with
(stay with me, trust me on this)
is the raw, unfiltered fact
that you gave it your all.
You tried to the fullest extent
of your capacity and ability.
No one, no matter who they are,
where they come from,
what they look like,
how they got to where they are,
or what their story is,
can ask any more from you
than your absolute best.

Without wax,
Someone Who Should Have Always Tried
But Didn't

* P.S. Because what more can they really ask of you?

Dear Beautiful Sunflower,

Here’s to the ones that remember
what kind of ice cream you like
and bring it to you on those lonely nights
(even though you told them in passing
ages ago in a fleeting moment).
To the ones that nod to you in a group of people
and make eye contact when your
input seems to be overhwhelmed.
To the ones who keep their promises,
no matter how big or small.
To the friends who will put away
their pride and their projects to come help you.
To the ones who love you unapologetically.
Thank you for calling me out
when I'm too ******* myself.
Thank you for spoiling me when I've fallen
and encouraging me when I stand again.

Without wax,
Someone Who Can't
Say "Thank You" Enough*

P.S. One day you'll realize how much you brighten people's day.

Dear Strawberry,

I first met you years ago,
we were in 5th grade together
and I remember always thinking
you had the prettiest smile.
There was this one time
a friend of ours
(I don't remember who)
told a joke that made you laugh.
I remember immediately thinking
"I wish I'd told that story, I wish
I was the one who made you laugh."
It's been 9 years since
those halcyon days
and I'll always wonder
what would've happened
had I told you how I felt.

Sincerely,
The Boy Who Always Sat
In The Corner Seat

P.S. I still remember walking back from school together.

P.P.S. I'm revisiting this years later and now you're engaged- I don't think I'll ever share this with you but in the event that you do come across it, I wish you nothing but the absolute best. You deserve it.

Anyone walking by me
would probably size me up,
give a fleeting glance
over what I had spread out
on the table in front of me
and think to themselves
“Looks like his man is just
eating away his sorrows."
But sometimes, no matter
how much I fit in my stomach,
I still feel empty inside.

There's a certain time
that's subjective to everyone
but remains universal in principle.
It is the point where
you've checked all your emails,
replied to all your messages,
and all your notifications are read.
You've scrolled down your timeline
to a point you've already seen before
and there doesn't seem to be
anything new in the once-infinite
bounds of the Internet.
And then, time stops.
The world around you grows still,
your room is dark, unaccustomed
to the lack of light from your phone.
You can almost hear the quiet
enveloping the room.
Sleep still evades you, and
the very sound of your blankets rustling
wakes you further still.
Your thoughts wander about
as the sky begins to grow brighter,
and your eyelids become heavier.
You drift off to sleep,
and time fast-forwards in your slumber
to make up for the little while
it stopped for you.

I'm not as religious
as my mom thinks I am.
She teaches other kids
about our shared faith
every Sunday, with me in tow.
It's not that I don't believe
in the gods that she does.
God is supposed to
guide you and inspire you,
and teach, protect, and love you.
So I implore you:
find God in the halls of an art gallery
or in the crashing waves at the beach.
Find God at the bottom of a bottle
or on the top of a skyscraper,
the middle of a forest,
in the words of scholars
or in the cells of life itself.
Call it what you want,
but find God
in everyone
and everything.

Dear Distance,

*******.
I'm writing this to you
at 4:30 in the morning
and because of you,
I'm am currently
115 ******* miles away
from the person
I lie awake missing
every ******* night.
Because of you,
when I get lonely
and a hug is all I need
I'm stuck cuddling
a ******* pillow.

But also, thank you.
For teaching me
how to be patient
and showing me that
I can, in fact,
function alone.
Thank you for
making me grateful
and appreciative,
for taking away
what I have
to show me how much
I really do care.
Because of you,
It means much more
whenever I say
"I miss you."

Without wax,
Someone Whose Heart Aches

*P.S. *******.

“Listen honey, I don’t think
you’ll be able to support yourself
with this art stuff.”

“I’m just not sure
how much money you’ll make
if you start your own business.”

"Are you really sure
you’ll be able to provide
on a teacher’s salary?”

“Is that really what
you want to be doing
for the rest of your life?”

Why does everyone want
to be financially wealthy
but emotionally bankrupt?

To whom this may concern,

I forgive you.
Even if you haven’t apologized just yet;
maybe you never will.
But I have held this hurt in my chest for far too long
and I don’t want this rotting away my naive heart.
I’m writing this with cathartic desperation and a patience
that only comes from being angry for so long.

I want you to notice the first sentence I wrote earlier.
“I forgive you.” Note that I did not say “it’s okay,” or “it’s all right."
There’s a distinction between what I did say and what I could have.
I said that I forgive you. When I say that,
I acknowledge that you have wronged.
You have hurt me and we both ought to recognize that.
If I’d said “it’s okay,” I would be subtly telling you that
“whatever you did, it’s okay, it’s all right.”
I didn’t say it’s okay because it’s not.
Whether or not you come to terms with it
is not my business anymore.

I hope you find yourself within these words
and make peace with yourself, and I hope
you don’t make the same mistake with another individual.

Without Wax,
Someone Whose Scabs
Have Only Recently Become Scars

*P.S. I may have forgiven you
but that does not mean that I trust you just yet.

Dear Stranger,

I hate how
these past few years
we've mutually
been reduced
to nothing more than
Facebook likes
and the annual
"Happy Birthday,
I miss you!"
But you still seem
...happy
and that
makes me wonder:
would you still be,
if I were a part
of your life?

Without wax,
Someone
Whose Phone Number
You Once Remembered

*P. S. I may not be important now
but you once told me your highest hopes
and your biggest fears.
I will always have open arms
and an open heart for you,
should you ever need them.

this is just
a small piece
dedicated to
the sweetest stranger
I've ever met online
(not that I make a habit
of making new friends
on the internet).
Thank you for
always giving me
kind words
and warm wishes
and appreciating
the love that
I have to give.

If you thought of

all the little things

that caught your

undivided attention

over the years,

the things you covet

and cherish and protect,

those that you value

and appreciate,

every little thing

that you have ever

come to love,

if you thought of these

and I asked you

to compile a list of them,

how far down

would you have to go

before

you ever

named


*yourself?

The night is always darkest
before the dawn.

It’s always okay to cry.

I have someone with whom I can
share my dreams and my nightmares,
my worries, my muses and inspirations.

It always gets better in the end.
If it’s not better, it’s not the end.

What makes me happy
doesn't have to make others happy.

My opinions matter,
I am worth something,
and I deserve to be loved.

what does (s)he see in me?

my heart feels like lead

all the color in my life is gone,
but all the cones in my eyes are intact.

I never should have woken up

am I that dispensable?

I can't remember what it felt like
before the darkness came.

That just invalidated all my efforts

I’ll only be a burden

They’re just being polite

Why should I even bother?

I wonder if my family sees
the hurt in my eyes
and elects to ignore it

I've moved ten times
within four states
in the first eleven years of my life.
I've said good-bye to
best friends and
influential teachers,
favorite spots to read and
a few great ice cream shops.
Initially I always regretted
having to leave behind comforts
but then I realized
there are so many better things
to say good-bye to.
When you move, when you start anew,
say good-bye to all the ****** things.
Say farewell to all the times
that you felt lost,
leave behind all of the
old bruises and scars
(although it is a good idea
to remember and learn from them,
it's better they stay in the past)
Bid "adieu" to every instance
you felt less than whole.
Rid yourself of these unnecessary
weights on your chest
and move on,
taking a new breath as you go.

I just wanted to say
that I'll always
love you infinitely more
than you could ever hate yourself.
So if you ever need a reminder
of all the reasons you could be loved,
come into my arms and
let my hands dance down your back,
I'll tell you different ways I love you
with every vertebra I touch

Listen.

Let’s just strip down to the skin and warm each other up under these covers. I want to lay down atop you and let my head rest on your waist, snug between those lovely hips of yours, just above your ***. I want my hands to waltz around your thighs and listen to your gentle breathing synchronize with mine. I want to feel you giving in to this moment, I want to feel your body let go and your muscles unclench.

I want it to be completely quiet around us, not the dead kind of silence, the kind that’s comforting and warm. We don’t need words, our touch conveys what our hearts beat for.

Don’t think.

I don’t want you thinking about what’s happening tomorrow, what time the game is on, don’t think about what’s for dinner. Don’t think about that argument we had last week that still sits in your heart. Let it go dear, just for now. Don’t think.

Run your hands through my hair and think of all the memories we’ve made since the last time I cut it. Caress my face and look into my eyes, darling.

Now close yours. Close your eyes and open yourself up to me. I want to take my time in taking you in. I want to spend eternities on your lips, darling. I want to cup your face in these hands of mine and kiss you; I don’t want that kiss to lead to anything, it doesn’t need to. I want it to convince you of my undying love for you. Drink in the right-now of this moment, of me. I want to sit back and admire every inch of you, my dear, from your flowing tresses down to your toes, and everything in between. I want my hands to run down your valleys and hills and let my lips paint your landscape.

I want you to smile at me from under my touch and let out a laugh as I cover your face with happy kisses. Not the kind of laugh you’d give someone telling a joke, not the kind of laugh you force when someone says something mean. This is my laugh, you’ve saved it just for me, it’s sweet and soft and vulnerable and that’s okay because that’s how we feel right now.

I want to roll you over and let your body lay atop mine and simply hold you, caressing your every curve and warming your heart and your soul.

And then I want to do it again the next day, and every day afterwards until our bones are brittle and our days are at an end.

First of all, congratulations.
You are alive and able
to read these words of mine
and that in itself is no small feat.
I feel as if people these days
do not recognize
that life is a great accomplishment.
So to you I acknowledge your due credit
and I celebrate you. Cheers.
I write this at 4 am
with a tall glass of cold coffee
and the intent of convincing you
that you are not insignificant.
Think back to the history
of our own terra firma:
there have been countless species
that once roamed here,
empires have come and gone,
inventions have been made obsolete,
attacks and raids and mutinies
have littered our history.
You have survived all of it.
Think about it.
If everything in the universe didn’t happen
exactly like it already has,
then everything would be different
and maybe you wouldn’t be reading this
but you are.
You are the perfect result
of all your ancestors
surviving through the horrors
of Earth’s past.
You are an arrangement
of old stardust and new hope
and with every sunrise you see,
or every breath you take
you’ve set a new record
and I challenge you
to always
break it again.

I don't understand why
people hesitate
to compliment others.

Have we all not had those days
where we really felt like
all we needed was some appreciation?
Those days where our efforts
were nothing but invalidated and dismissed?

The universe has presented itself to you
in an ethereal way that is unique to you and solely you.
Let the cosmos influence and inspire you
and let your words and your work elate and embolden others.
Admit your awe and affection and maybe
you can be that one piece of inspiration
that someone else needs that day.

We’ve always
learned in school
that if you were found
to have written
something that
someone else wrote
(even unintentionally)
you would be
reprimanded.
But even then
I've always wondered;
out of the billions
how could I
possibly
be so unique?

Come as you are,
              not how you ought to be

My eyes are strained against an LCD,
my fingers mindlessly tapping away.

                                                          ­        [My eyes are on the road,]
                                                          ­        [my fingers intertwined with yours.]

I look up at the clock,
the entire day is behind me now.

                                                           ­       [I look up at my rearview,]
                                                      ­            [the entire city is behind me now]

I lean back in my office seat
and let out a sigh of exasperation.

                                                  ­                [I lean back in the driver's seat]
                                                           ­       [and let out a sigh of content]

The droning sound of the printer
drags with my monotonous heart.

                                                         ­         [The melodic sound of your laughter]
                                                       ­           [lifts my symphonic heart]

I work until the sun drops

                                                               ­   [We drive until the sun rises]

                                                  and then
We drive.
                                                          ­        [I work.]

I roar with a bravado
that echoes throughout
the deepest caverns
of brave souls

yet with every time
there lies a risk
of my own reverberations
shattering my heart

I am fragile glass
fashioned into
the fearsome form
of a lion

I have been chiseled at by
Father Time and Mother Earth,
carved away by my pains
and my worries.

I am no façade;
there is nothing ornate
about me designed to
hide something heinous

I can shatter
just as easily
as my mother’s
prized china set

But I roar on
even as I chip away;
my joints creaking
and my body scorched.

Do not mistake my
scratches and cracks
for weakness,
I have demons of my own.

I walk this ground
with the hope
that my roars,
in spite of my fragility,

will instill a sense of hope
into all of you
with glass hearts
such as mine.

My mind is a cøffer øf cømført,  
  take what yøu will at yøur lesiure.
    Wørry nøt øf replenishing the reserves.
      My arms are an øpen ørphanage–
        shøuld løve and høpe have passed away,
          find refuge frøm the cøld
            biting winds øf apathy in my arms.
              Sip frøm my pøøls øf patience
                and extinguish the flames øf frustratiøn
                  that grøw deep within yøu.
                    If yøu have guns før hands
                      then secure the safety              
                        and always pøint at my perseverance,
                          never at yøur persøn.
                            When yøu are weak,
                              knøw that my knees will knøck
                                 but I will cøntinually carry yøu
                                   till the end øf yøur days.

I tell people that there are two kinds of days.

There will be days where you wake before the sun and roar out into the untouched day, pawing at the ground with a fierce conviction to take your day as you like it. These days, your very footsteps will shake the ground beneath you while your enemies run haphazardly, tripping over their own feet in order to avoid your fearsome self.

There will be days where your ears twitch at the slightest suggestion of confrontation and conflict, and you scurry about your day through the shadows. These days, your frantic heart can't take much of anything, and the vastness of the faraway horizon makes your limbs shudder and quake.

When your day falls into the former category, remember that even as you strut around with your lion-heart, there are timid mice who move hurriedly about your feet. Remember to watch your steps and mind your roars.

When your day is one of the latter, remember that lions aren't necessarily monsters, and know that their claws can be sheathed and their velveted paws can also comfort. They know nothing of soft steps and whispers.

Find comfort in the cacophony of roars and in the solemn silence of tail-twitches.

Remember, dear;
There will always be who I am tonight.

Provided that my demons keep their peace within the cage of my ribs,
and our pools of patience endure their droughts and despair,
I’ll hold you when our bones are brittle and our hair is silver.

And when those days come, and for the thousands of days in between, there will always exist a man inside me who was (at least once) everything and anything you’d wanted him to be.

You will always be the lovely lady of my life, and no matter how fate decides to shape our time together, I will always be ready to hold you in my arms, however weak they may be. I will always listen to whatever may harrow your soul, however hard of hearing I might be at that point. And even when I am blinded by cataracts and carcinogens, I'll always appreciate how you smile with your eyes and how your nose crinkles a little when you laugh, I'll always be able to tell you how lovely you look.

We may be torn apart or we may grow together but regardless of our proximity, I will always be who you once fell in love with, I will always be everything you once needed. And as I have been for you, I will be once again.