maybe some day
we’ll get the courage to tell the people we love
how we feel
but that day is not today
still-
there’s this danger
that tomorrow may never come
that there are too many things
we leave on the side
and save for a rainy day
that we push onto a shelf
and bookmark for later
and the words never come pouring out
but stay quiet and hidden in the dark
and maybe it’s for the best
but then we never realize
that these words could have meant something
to someone
that maybe they could’ve changed one thing
a little thing
that meant a whole lot
that maybe they just needed
a little push
an ounce of support
a single word
to lift the load day by day
and maybe we should have taken the words off the shelf
and given them away day by day
left little bits and pieces
on tabletops and car windows
on seat cushions and blankets
on television screens and corkboards
on billboards on the way to work
and traffic signs on the way home
on arms and hands and cheeks and chests
things that accumulated day by day
and made someone feel a little less heavy
and a whole lot more loved
but the truth is
every day goes from hours till dark
to minutes
to seconds
to moments that drift away and slip off our fingers
and before we know it
the sun has set
the lights have gone out
the birds have gone to sleep
and the moment has past
“there’s always tomorrow”
we say
but what if the load gets too heavy?
what if it breaks their back?
what if everything comes crashing down a little too soon
and it won’t take a little word to fix it?
what if you open up the jar on the shelf
and find that the words you’ve saved up
are no longer enough?
what then?
what then

there are too many thoughts
reserved for 3 AM
piling on and barging in
pounding on doors and tapping on windows
thoughts that spell danger
thoughts that chant
"beware" or thou shall not pass
they tickle your spine
creep into your brain
cross the space between here and there a little too quickly
but stay hushed
for fear of being heard
or found out
or living till the sunrise
no.
these thoughts can't live to see the day
they're a little too outrageous
they don't want to be met with sanity
don't want to realize that they will never last beyond the night
they're meant for a certain hour
a certain time
a certain moment
but these thoughts are the only truths you've ever spoken
in quite a long time
and it scares you that maybe
they're a little too real even for the hour
so you tuck them in
send them to bed
turn out the light
and hope the monsters don't creep in and take them
and lead them some place far away
hope the lightning doesn't strike
doesn't fill their veins with electricity
to send them walking in broad daylight
asking
begging to be noticed
hope that when you wake up
they'll be nothing but thoughts
thoughts that stand watch till midnight
and even after
waiting
for you to return

i tell you it's not a game
how no thoughts are needed
no tricks, no plans
just roll the die, and see where it takes you

i tell you, you belong to the numbers
nothing but chance and percentages
nothing but pieces moving
and coming into play

you tell me we need more games
that involve strategizing,
that involve twists and turns
and less pieces

i tell you the experience is all in the art
it's all about finding out where the end is
it's not always about winning i say
and yet you play on recklessly

you and i, we're nothing but chance friday encounters
nothing but brief walks from here to there
nothing but lingering stares in the lobby
nothing but car rides from houses
where the games are far more complicated
and far more well thought of
than two dice rolling on a playing board

there's nowhere to go from where we began
yet i would be lying to myself if i said
i didn't feel a little flutter in my heart
when i saw you waiting outside the door
for me to step outside

we took one last walk on the day when he was buried
one last march outside
strolling the other way
and you turned to me and said
you felt it too

I have not written poetry in too long. My hands are no longer accustomed
to randomly clicking the Enter bar, and making it
sound as if my words are perfectly divided to suit these confines.
Today, I have made an exception
because your name has too often found its way onto my fingertips-
and I have so little to hold on to yet I find it incredibly difficult
to keep a straight face in your presence.
It's as if I can sense whenever you are near.
I've never believed in signs as much as I do now, and my point is that only now
has it crossed my mind that I have seen you every day this week
and I dread the moment that your face will no longer take a second of this 24 hour cycle.
And when that moment comes,
I will look back to the time when we first met.
I was wearing my old pajama pants, and a tight black t-shirt, and I remember you coming towards me so clearly. You asked me about the kid who had fallen asleep in the back, and I laughed and told you we would never catch the culprit.
I will look back to when your name first popped up on my feed, to the awkward first moments
when I would take 5 minutes between every message I sent to double check whether I sounded as if I did this all the time-
As if I were too preoccupied with my own life to respond right away when in reality my focus had shifted completely to trying to impress you.
I will look back to that first walk outside, my failed attempts at making conversation, but dear god, you made it so easy to ramble on as if my words were waterfalls, and my lungs held the town's reservoir.
I will look back to returning to our empty classroom together.
It looked different than it usually did, with nothing but empty chairs facing the stage-
and when you asked me to dance, I remember how I felt flustered over the way we had just met
And here I was, holding your waist while you rested your hand on my shoulder, and never had I felt as inadequate as I did in that moment.
I do not have much to offer. Yes, she can dance, but I can teach you how to make your fingertips waltz and glide over black and white keys, if only you allow me to hold them once more.
I will look back to the time when you asked me if I loved you,
and I remember avoiding your glance,
I remember hastily fumbling with my fingers, and surprising even myself when my lips curled what should have been a no into a hesitant yes.
I will replay that moment over and over and over again, and tell myself I should have said no.
But my heart knew what my body did not, and honesty hour had come to quickly and left my brain stranded at my doorstep.
I have wasted too much of my time reciting prayers in my head begging you to feel the same way.
But I can feel the end coming a little too fast, and too much time has been burnt out
fantasizing about stories and stolen glances and first dances and funny instruments and random hellos and impromptu sessions with your guitar at the steps next to the tower.
I still don't know why your presence sets off fireworks under my skin, or why your smile has me burying my face beneath strands and strands of hair.
But I do know this-
Next week may be the last time our paths decide to cross, and if that's the case, that's just fine.
I'll see you when I see you.
But for now, thanks for stopping by.

you know sometimes i wonder whether i'm capable of feeling - whether there are moments that strike me as more than just a case of black or white. i'm always on separate sides of the dichotomy - right or left, up or down, happy or sad, good or bad. but it just gets so tiring because i wonder when it'll be my turn to reach my peak - my breaking point. but it never comes. it's always here or there and at the moment, i'm nowhere.

are you there?
how i long to know what rests beneath
your salt and pepper hair.
that behind
those goofy spectacles,
those crinkled eyelids,
those faded irises,
is a vault –
a treasure trove of wisdom.
i have crossed the pacific ocean,
cruised through antarctic waters,
wearing your fingers
around my wrist.
and still,
i lack the tools
to decipher the riddle of your being.
you have built me a sanctuary –
but forgotten to leave the key
under the doormat.
so I wonder who you are.
i fear that your spectacles will shatter,
your eyelids will do what they are meant to-
to cover your irises,
let them
fade
and wither,
and die.
and still,
i will not know you.

and in some moments, i swear - there are not enough exclamation points in the world to give justice to these bursting expletives.