...the thing
                    ...you did it
   ground a mountain out of
a seed
   birthed a dream out of
a death

you are not where you were
10     5     1      year ago
but have you stopped to
                                         appreciate it

it is better to be
   late to the birthday than
early for the funeral

The dots
Walking over to
Until a dot becomes you
Waiting heart
That is love.

before i had
i wanted
before i wanted
i lacked

                                   there is still poverty in achievement
                                   shiny things have pockets of their own
                                   cavities deep with desire
                                   ravenous with dissatisfaction

the island blessed

sandy tracks to wander
in memory

like birds we flew

These words are for me,
For I'm the one who's hurting,
I'm just healing myself.

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

They say to avoid epithets when referring to a person in writing
But you are all adjectives
All honey-eyed,
bright-smiled,
lithe-bodied,
deft-handed,
warm-freckl­ed,
soft-haired,
and most of all,
much-loved.

to save a thread
            or cut it out
     or
           let
                  it
                       dwindle
the     natural      route