Innocence is the days when
I thought that monsters
lived under the bed rather
than slept right beside me.

It was the times I feared
heights almost as much as
I now fear brooding stares.

Back when I thought
passionate love was the
only kind worth having
— that I now wish for a
lover who loves quietly.

Innocence was thinking
danger was an ill-advised
adventure, not a man.

It was admiring a tornado
heart and not realizing the
damage it would cause.

15 | 31 Poems for August

I’m slowly progressing but progressing nonetheless.
The worst thing I could do is give up on myself.
The worst thing I did this week was give up on myself.
Sometimes dreams delayed feel like dreams denied.
If you asked how I’m holding up and I responded by saying “I’m okay” then chances are I probably just lied.
Everyone’s caught up in their own world, if you don’t see me tomorrow then know that I tried.
I’m sorry I don’t want to bother or burden anyone with my problems.
I know you’ve never seen me cry but I can no longer hide all that I’m feeling inside.
Some people suffer in silence because of self-importance and a little bit of pride.
But that’s not me, I put my heart on paper and I let it all bleed.
But lately I’ve come to realise that not everyone likes to read.
So I ask myself, who am I writing all these resplendent poems to?

Ever more will I weave daisy chains from your laughter.