i let him read my poetry
as he flipped through the pages,
i hoped
he wouldn't recognize
the ones i wrote about him

Can you still see me

Standing in this dark room

Talking to the memory of you

Your hand is back in my hair

The love is still there

Just like you never left

But that is not my life

I couldn't sit pretty

To let you create a pretty lie

And now I'm here and for all I know..

You may have died.

The labor’s repayment —
Just weariness deep.
Though much has been done,
You not soundly sleep.

If I could reply,
without the pain.

If I were bold,
to break these chains.

It would be as,
If I could fly,
in heaven sky,
to stop time’s sigh.

I'm still a child,
in most senses.

I would be one to say no child deserves to die.
And so I don't deserve to die.

I want to write honestly.
Speak the truth.
I want to stare in a mirror
and see anyone but you.

I want to love out loud
and speak my feelings, too.
I'm not the kind of brave
that counts, no matter what I do.

I wish it wasn't almost over
that I had more time to spend.
I want to speak words into facts,
to stand tall but only ever bend.
I'm working toward a finish
but only coming to an end.

They said love is a melodious song,
A rhythm felt by two lost souls.
But in a world so materialistic,
Maybe love, too, is an illusion—
Sometimes you're in, sometimes you're not.

They said love is a bird’s soft chirp,
A peaceful echo lingering near.
But when the bird fell silent,
It was just another mirage,
A fleeting sound meant to disappear.

They said it all so true,
But fairytales know it well—
That song is fading,
A tune I wish would never end.

Growing old
is nothing more than
the lengthening
of one's shadow
as it
stretches into
eternity and
is seen no more