Try as we might
things never seem to go as
planned,
and what I've come to realize
is
the universe
has its own plans.
See, things have a funny way of
working themselves out,
if you let them.

You took a sip of me
and spit me out saying
you didn't like the taste,
but maybe if you'd have swallowed,
let me slip into you're stomach and
absorbed me,
all of me,
and felt me running through your veins
you would've liked the way I'd
make you feel.

And suddenly it was
spring
and it would only rain
at night when you were tucked
into bed with a kiss
from your mother
and a whisper
that everything would be
ok.
But  the whisper
got lost in the sound
of thunder,
and I was afraid that
it wouldn't stop raining
but when I forced myself awake there
shone the sun
through the blinds
of my only window
and suddenly it was spring

Slip through

delicate fingers like

running water

running

away

from everything

that you know.

We’re told we’re made of stardust,
and maybe it’s true,
but I’ve looked under my skin
and seen nothing there
that’s inexplicable.

We are, undeniably,
human.

And yet we have an insatiable desire
to be so much
more.
More than blood, and bone,
and the imprints of our mothers and
fathers,
but in wanting this we become
something more.

We are like art
the way our hearts pump blood through our veins
without anyone showing them how.
The way we turn our thoughts into songs, poems,
creating a smile, or bringing forth tears,
just by the words that
dance off our tongues.
The way we love, uncontrollably and
unconditionally
and it’s intricate and simple
all at the same time
and we don’t need to be
made of stardust
for
we are, undeniably, remarkably,
human.