her tears form words
and her cries form
poetry

I'm having writer's block
I feel like there is so much to say
but I cannot get it out

There is no way to put it

I would try to make something more interesting
But I can't think of it right now..

Booming voices, and broken glass
Tuesday at 2am, Thursday at 4pm
Hysteric laughter, backwards ball caps
Scribbled writing that doesn’t even make sense
Birds trying to fly but falling instead
Headlights piercing through the foggy darkness of dawn
The realization that entropy is unavoidable
Ash grey, lavender, forest green, misty rose pink
I am struggling and haven’t yet found my kitchen sink
A piano slightly out of tune, papers falling to the floor
Glazed over eyes, cracks in the sidewalk, all of this what for?
Steaming cups of black coffee, met with desiring needs
Full moons and unanswered questions
All of these, I happen to be.
The power of silence, the power of identity
Thunderstorms, moments of chaos perfectly intertwined with the silence,
Unmade beds, messy hair that falls into your eyes.
The ever-moving cold gray skies and beauty of the sunrise
Out of place tiles on bitterly cold linoleum floors
I am not perfection, in any way, shape, or form.
I fall from grace routinely, my bones ache and tremble
And when I fall apart, it takes me a while to reassemble.
Like gunshots muffled by the noise of the city blocks
I am not perfect, nothing special ever happens.
I am broken, I am misplaced and unwanted passion.
I am the raw energy that shoots from my fingertips
The tumbling words that constantly fall from my lips
That I cannot, nor would I want to control.
Galaxies and constellations grow in my soul.
I am, nothing more, than all that I have listed.
I am mistakes, dark times, unnoticed and forgotten moments.
But I am also a smile after a long cry, (don’t worry) your identity has not been stolen.

rocks held my troubles
& got tossed in the ocean
where they sank deeply
in the depths of the roaring cage
that couldn’t arrest my soul.
i thanked the moon
& watched as her body glowed
and waned to a milky curve –
crescent, like the smile of a satisfied lover.
the waves met me at the shore
longing to embrace
but instead whispering
in between tender crashes,
you are hallowed, not hollow
you are hallowed, not hollow.
i understood.

i write because paper
always listens