A  polished,  old  inkwell  sits  spritely  stag,
ready  to  give­  everything  it  knows.
Its  blood  breathes  brilliant  carving­s  of  words,
its  sight  blinded  to  the  next  encounter.

The­  tip  of  a  quill  c h i p s  a w a y  a t  i t s  h e a r t,
but  it  never  b
                           l
                             e
                               e
                                 d
                                    s where  it  shan't,
And  even  though  it's  shattered  before­,
there's  nothing  a  little  mending  won't  fix.
In  bustling  lives  we  often  forget
what we're handed is simply a privilege,
and  where  there's  give,  there's  take,  inevitably­
it's  easy  to  cleverly  take  for  granted.

Consistently  s l o w  from  brim  to  bottom
but  as  long  as  you  keep  dipping ­ your  phrases,
you  must  remember  that
eventually
what's­  e                                                            d.
               m                                                     e
                  p                                        ­       l
                    t                                      ­    l
                      y                                  i
                      will  need  to  be  **f

My iPod serenades me softly,
vibrating into my back,
up to my eardrums,
and around my head,
but I don’t hear it.

The steering wheel strums
the chords of sweet memories
beneath my palms
as though I can stroke them
between my fingertips.

I stare at the road before me,
but it is left unseen.
Point A to point B
is a miracle,
point A too difficult to leave.

Take a piece of my heart with you when you go,
and I’ll put you in its place.
I’ll keep it well protected with this shield
we’ve formed so slowly.
Put down your swords, and dry your tears,
for the best is yet to come.
Take a piece of my heart with you when you go,
and I’ll never leave your side.

Forever, we are full.

At a twisted hill and halt
a twinkle on my wrist
begins,
“Our friendship,
beautifully infinite…”
We’ve yet to write the rest.

If I could touch the glow with the tip of my finger,
If I could wrap my arms around its eminent gaze,
If I could define its home on the edge of the horizon
in bathing puddles of purple-pink haze,
If I could run so fast that I’m sprinkled in mist
of passionate fires of elegant breeze
that spray from gigantic, white marshmallow puffs…
these clunking feet may fall to their knees.

Kiss me with summer,
a sunset tease.
Clothe me in musings,
a sunset pleased.



There’s nothing
quite so exhilarating.

I still wake up
in the middle of the night
from nightmare
after nightmare
of your unbeating heart,
and every time
that I wish I could speak
to the demons
that leave you breathless,
my sweating soul
sinks with gravity,
and fear sews shut
my lips.

Hold my binding,
run fingers through my pages.
Title-less,
author-less,
I'm blank and ominous,
Empty
only because
my ink is invisible.

Did you ever wonder
why you never saw me when the stars were lit,
or when black framed the crescent of an ivory echo,
and nocturnal critters sang to the sky?

Did you ever wonder
if the sparkle in my eye was actually the diamond
I secretly kept to fool those with light
that could reflect from their smile?

Did you ever wonder
why the laugh in my throat reverberated
with fallacy and fear and coercion and confusion
until my mind believed it true?

Did you ever notice
that I wasn’t really around until six months ago or so?
Do you know why?
Do you even notice it
here and there still?

Replace-ability and invisibility:
the top two qualities of an introvert.

Did you know
that I was dead,
and there’s piece I couldn’t revive,
and that piece can eat me alive,
but my power won’t let it?
Did you know
it crawls under my skin,
and the itch can be too much,
so I scratch until I bleed,
and I spill out all of me?

Sometimes,
we’re not “just tired.”
Sometimes,
socialization equals solitude.

So,
we drive home to the beat
of a soft, piano-covered ballad
on repeat
and repeat
and repeat
and repeat,
just to let the musing sink in,
until a single, meaningless, unprovoked tear
comforts our cheek
in a cozy, embracing blanket.
And when we reach home’s quiet hello,
the only solution
is to bathe in the silence,
let its aroma fill each crevice,
let it inject into our veins,
let us breathe its sweet clarity
until the world turns right-side-up.

Only then
have we filled again.
Only then
can you hear us.

When your heart explodes,
and your vessels burst,
and your brain caves in,
and your muscles itch,
when your lips overflow,
and your words under-praise,
and your neurons exhaust,
and your tolerance stops,
and you catch your breath
from your latest sprint,
a failed endeavor between you
and your mind,
you realize arrogance
in every complaint
proves an embarrassing case
of losing yourself.