Talked over and
Ignored,
One word answers
With days in between

Asked for favors
Taken advantage of
My generosity
A flaw, it seems

Again and again,
A quick apology
I'm quick to forgive
But the fuse is burning

Breaking down my walls
But eroding my patience
I dismiss and defend
Because it's the role I play

Over and over,
I say it's okay.

It's okay because
I didn't need you anyway.

Life is made delightful by its paradoxes
And infuriating in its contradictions.

Those who find their identity in sacrifice
Treasure the moments when others offer their own.

Those who take and take
Are forever left searching for something useful to give.

Those who think of themselves as small
Play such a large part in the lives around them.

Those who are so self-important
Often have an audience full of sneaky glances towards the clock.

Those who love company
Crave for their time alone to be respected.

Those who want to be alone
Want genuine human connection.

Those who talk too little
Have so much left to say.

Those who talk too much
Often keep what is most important to themselves.

Those who take pictures
Want to truly be seen.

Those in the spotlight
Desire unbroken privacy.

Those who are trusting
Are too often trapped.

Those who seek tripwires
Spurn the unlocked doors within their grasp.

For those who give love
It is not always returned.

But those who love themselves
Untwist both halves
To find a heart left pure.

The words in my head
Sometimes aren't my own
Angels and devils, I hear them both
Mostly late at night or when I'm all alone
Holding onto something
Waves crashing in an ocean
Trees falling, no one around them
To hear the screams.

Sometimes all you have to live for
Is what you have to hope for.
And what you once held on to
Leaves you stranded in a moment

But you have to trust that life comes in seasons
And the love you once had
Just may, just might, someday
Come find you again.

Silence is either the most devastating or the most comforting:

When you scream into the void,
Afraid to hear your own echo,
Comfort is found in the grasp of anonymity.

Yet when you listen for a voice,
None will sound familiar,
For who can respond to ghosts but their own kind?

I am angry.

It takes a while for me to get there,
But that doesn't mean I won't.

It took some time for me to learn to read it
The subtext between the lines,
The looks, the fake smiles
But now I can see it.

I see you for who you are
And who you were,
And I can see now
Behind your smiles
The way you see me.

I am angry
Because you lied to me.
Because you still pretend we're friends
Like you'd die for me
When you prefer my absence to my company
But didn't decide to let me know.

Instead
You found a fault you could exploit
A guilty, shameful moment, a moment I slipped
You could have forgiven
And instead you let every little thing that remained
Pour out onto me.

All of the lies got too much
The uncomfortable lack of love
So you said it was the last straw
And you will blame the desolation
On my mistakes.

But I see it now
Rereading the chapters of our history,
The moments I felt a minor mystery
Speedbumps I painted over, glittering
Because I thought that's all they were.

Now I see the signs on those old highway roads,
And that this was one exit ramp of many we've passed before
I'm glad we finally went our own ways
I'm glad I see it now, that it was you standing in the way.

It wasn't my fault.
It isn't my fault, the way that you felt, when you didn't tell me.

It wasn't my fault.
It isn't my fault, the way I was hurt by the guilt you pushed onto me.

******* for making me think it was.

Thank you for the times you built me up.

And ******* for ripping it all apart,
And for making me do it with my own hands.

To my Younger Self,

I'm glad you are so happy. Remember to enjoy it, and not just in passing, but every second of it.

You should go by your first name. Not everything has to be related to work. Make friends with anyone you can, because friendships last longer than duty stations and billets.

Remember that you are bigger than what you do. You are more than who your friends are, where you live, or what you score. Souls cannot be measured.

Dream big. Dream wild. Dream with ambition and love and unrestrained hope, for "only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be."

Set your boundaries, but not your limits. Believe yourself to be free to pursue your passions, to define yourself by your highest hopes in the morning and your fears alone at night. Do not be afraid of obstacles or fights, but only of your own doubt - and then, do it anyway, and prove yourself wrong every single day.

You will lose a lot. You will feel as though you have lost everything you have ever gained, anything you've ever managed to work for, and then even more. Know you will come out the other side. Know that when you do, you will not be alone.

Rely on your own eyes to find your way, but know that when it really is too dark, those still standing at your shoulder will be there to guide you any day.

Stay forgiving. Stay kind. Stay generous. Stay hopeful. Do not let these things go, even as they leave doors open for others to hurt you.

It is worth it to get hurt to stay true to who you are. The only question is: Who do you want to be?

I'm still looking for an answer. And I'm starting to think that the searching is part of it.

I trust you.

Lazy Sundays
after sleepless nights,

in a slump, though
nothing's done

the list is long, yet
we pause and slow,

letting the urgency flow
to return to our ways of comfort,

if only for a while
and let ourselves dream

just one night longer.

I feel like I have a superpower
when I descend into this empire of words
like a descent into a crypt of bones
yet it opens, like a flower, to my touch
to a world, hidden, a wonderland
of beauty, of passionate lust for
creation itself

I expect the lights to flicker
as the language tilts from my tongue
like lilting spells cast in ancient dreams
did they have power after all?
it flows over my fingertips
like honey, thick and sweet
nourishing, an ambrosia of life
and the purest of expression

vulnerability
cloaked in daggers of sharp curses
and disguised by images of broken glass
yet soft, underneath my feet, once I tread beyond the trees
I walk into the forest
and it welcomes me
it beckons me
further into the glade, I sink and
it's like slipping deeper underwater
yet I feel like I'm only breathing more air.

I was not built to be made so, so numb.
I was not built to withstand
the devastation of this apathy:

Apathy belongs to those who have cut off their ears
blinded their eyes
who speak their own molten dreams,
believing only the truths they have found in their shadows

they yell the loudest so they may hear themselves,
they draw attention so others may see
the spectacle they themselves cannot

I beg you,
do not become numb.
Do not cut off your ears or blind your eyes.
Take in all of this world, as much as you can
before it is too dark for you to see.

Apathy to death brings apathy to life.
Please, open your eyes:
Find your love
and feel your grief.
And know everyone else can feel it, too.

The opposite of fear, of death, of apathy -
the only thing we can do to heal our wounds
is to relentlessly share more love.

Finding love in life is like a spinning top,
your own world revolving, uninterrupted
balanced, perfect, quiet, clean.

If you introduce but a drop of water on the surface,
it may flow, it may stick, it may be flung off the edge:
and you, your life, will wobble and slow.

With some time, in some turns
maybe the top will crash as all hope burns
or maybe it will only spin faster, still
with the small stain from that single drop
marking each lesson learned.

You must have your own balance,
win your own battles,
build your own momentum
if you're moving too slow, but a single breath can
break it all down.

Once you are ready,
only once you are ready:
you can accept someone new
who will take on adventures with you
spin faster, burn brighter,
someone there to keep you balanced
as life sends storms your way.

What is said in the unspoken?
In shared glances
In messages deleted
In letters left in the bedside tables and
Notes left in the backs of drawers

Pens with ink that haven't been bled
And pages empty, wishing they could say
The message you think but won't put down
Or say aloud

But I can hear in the spoken pauses
The extra breath between sentences
The stutter in your words

Can you read between the lines
See behind the camera lens
Hear the chord missing from the harmony?
Are these audible pauses
Or am I the fool, listening to silence
As it speaks volumes?

Weighing the scales of
time and regret:
it wouldn’t be balanced if we had
one without the other,
now would it?

You cannot escape regret
trying to flee has steep costs;
you will drown in the time you’ve lost-
but
keeping the balance
between your hopes and your loss,
once the scale rusts
you may find yourself pleased, after all.

At first, it feels devastating to understand
how easily you yourself can be devastated

but don't we find the flower
all the more beautiful
for its fragility?

The oak who weathers the storm
may be battered and bruised, stripped, with its broken branches
but in its resilience
it has become an inspiration.

You can be beautiful both for the strength you've built
and even more so for the gentleness you've preserved.

You can be beautiful
for both, and for all
that you are.

There is such beauty in a blank page
Waiting to be decorated,
Or marred

Black streaks dashed hurriedly
Dark and bold upon its face,

Putting shape to the emptiness
Light in the darkness,

The breaking of silence

Like running out into an open field of snow-
The vastness of the front lawn so huge
To little toddler feet
Plowing forward into the crystalline stillness
Shattering it, with sudden life
Joyful cries, wind, movement
Loud and wild life
Out of nothing, out of silence.
There is beauty, in the waiting
Of a blank page.

To see the space where it used to be
is like watching a surgeon's knife slip cleanly
through whole, unbroken skin
so sharp it appeared to split of its own volition,
as if it already knew what was coming
and split into its pieces even before the blade fell.

To see what had been,
and be burdened by the knowledge of
what it was, what it could have been, what it was going to be -
it is like
staring into the deepest darkness
after being overcome by the sun
after seeing the great vastness of the world
and having its image reprinted on the burned backs of eyelids
blinding completely in its disappearance.

To see the shards on the floor
and remember how smooth and cold it felt,
like death
the ceramic slipping through the kindest,
gentlest fingers
who truly did not mean any harm
and yet, with not even time for a cry
she was shattered before anyone could
remember her name.

What’s the point?
The point is that
I’m here, I’m alive
to do the work
even if I never finish.

The point is
the doing
the being
and that this, in itself, can be enough.
It is enough.

Stopping a run to talk to the neighbor,
Ninety years old and still saying she wants to
just be alive, every day-
petting the dog
smelling the barbecue
(and trying a bite)
feeling the velvet smoothness of those flower petals, oh so gently
wishing upon a star
falling into a romance, written on pages that fit in my hands yet hold a world so large it becomes a novel
laughing at the comedy
crying with a stranger
comforting a mother
being proud of a father
waving at a child, as he giggles-

The point is
that there is no point to be defined,
no finish line to be reached.
The point is
to be alive, every day.

Being true of heart,
and pure in intention
will get you hurt,
and teach you lessons.

You must make room to accept
the freedom offered to you,
not by following fake rules
but only believing in its truth.

Sometimes I look back upon the wreckage
The boards are warping already from the salt seeping in,
The unrelenting heat of the sun
Those that are still above the surface, anyway.

There are some pieces of color -
A scrap of fabric, rope, plastic, remnants of a life
Which has been so wholly dismantled
I don't know how many times over
By the storms that came back, again and again
To make sure it hadn't missed a thing.

I am surprised I am here
Though I don't recognize where 'here' is
I continue to float, and watch, and wait
Until there is something new on the horizon

We will survive.
Shipwreck after shipwreck
Of anger, of pain, of grief, unrelenting
Unbearable
Until the waves part,
And breaths lengthen,
And you realize the sirens' call has quieted

You are safe enough, and all at once,
You can begin to swim again,
And reach out into the sea.

I dream of a neighbor waving when I pull in the driveway
We talk **** and sip wine or whiskey late into the evening
We do this every day, and every day we both need it
But their face keeps on changing, in my review
In the morning

I look in my phone for a number that's not there
The one I always call when I'm tearing out my hair
But every time I find the slip of paper, it disappears
The numbers keep deleting from my phone if I don't stare

I can't help but think it's because of the mistakes I made
Maybe that's because it's what they said to my face
Old ones I never knew until they got dragged out of the dark
The dust blown off so you could stack them on the new shelves that you built

I look in the backseat, 600 miles from town
Searching for the faces who at one time I had found
But the seats are empty, only my packed bag
And I still remember when this car was loud
Used to feel like a family even if you weren't around

But as time goes on
I'm told to think of gratitude
For where I'm at now,
For the memories I can diffuse
Maybe make them last, like a hard candy you refuse to chew
Keep the flavors in my mouth
From when I used to know you

And the road looks the same, though the wind screams twice as loud
As before, when I was alone, driving through these empty towns
But I thought when I came back here, I'd bring a village packed in my car
We'd take turns driving, instead I'm sleeping on the shoulder

So when I wake, and when I sleep
I turn the radio up loud
To drown out my silent phone and the unspoken words in my mouth
I wonder at the scenery
The beauty means a lot to me
I know you would've liked to see it too.

They say to not let things bottle up
But how do I release it with no one to listen?
Screaming into the void does nothing
When the words need somewhere to land.

Alone, it builds up
And it leaks from my heart
In comments and glances and that deep aching pain
You can't, or refuse, to see
You never ask about me.

Now that I look back, you never did.
Even when I asked about you.

So now I scream into the void
But the noise takes shape
As words on paper
And sometimes, someone listens
But even if no one does
I can pretend you'll see it.
And in my imagination
Maybe I can pretend
It helps me heal.

It's all around me, yet I couldn't point it out to you
It's too dark to see it surrounding me
I can see the shapes, but I know to you they're only shadows
Tell me, is it the dark or the light that is the illusion -
Are these merely shadows in the sun
Or moonlight cutting through the dark?
Can you see it?
Nothing here is clear to me.

Decide who you are, every day
Shaping your life like clay
Moldable, resilient
So even a dip or a crack
Can be smoothed over,
Just with some time.

A vase, a sculpture
Anything your heart desires,
The world is your oyster
To fill with platitudes, or cynicisms
To each their own.

But you should know,
It may bring some comfort
That there is paint in the back closet, and
The tools are cleaned in the cupboard
For when you want to repaint,
Reset, retry, rebuild.

It takes time to build habits
Character,
Heart.
But these towers, once built
Will reach the stars
And never fall.

By candlelight, I write to you
my Dearest
pens the hands of so many
ancient, yet still living, loves
from times
now only of memory.

Wives, and husbands
and lovers, to daughters
to friends
turned heartbreakers
how such drama unraveled over months
of ship travels!

What a slow, painful
falling apart, or coming to life:
oh, what could have grown from such
a meaningful spark

started by one letter.
A mere penstroke
sent with love,
on faithful winds.

There is art
In this catharsis

Making beauty
It's cathartic

Words and paints and splatters and strokes
Giving shape to the unknown

We hang our pieces in this vast gallery
With new halls waiting around every corner

Not to be admired, but simply to be
Here we all have our own space to believe

Change isn't some grand, sweeping gesture,
like being love-bombed to mask objectification
Change will not hide underneath layers of success
rows of green lights and red ribbons
Change is found instead
in the dirt.

In the grime of self-doubt
when fear and shame builds up underneath your fingernails
and anger feels like the hot sun beating on the back of your neck -
guilt that fuels the fire in your gut
that you are even standing in this
stupid, deep, endless, hopelessly endless
pit in the first place.

Change starts with a discovery:
that the marks in the walls are from the shovel at your feet.

But the shovel is still there.
So what will you do next?

Even if every move feels like the wrong one,
it is better than staying where you are
and waiting for the water seeping in to rise when it rains.

After so many times
The cold is what feels normal
The open air, uncomfortable
The shock is lulled into a
Coming home,
A settling into normal.

Water overhead,
Pressure in my head
I feel like I'm dead
When I can feel anything

Ice in my veins
It feels the same as
The times when I'm
Breathing.

Cold shock
Isn't so shocking
When after all the
Tries, the lies
It's the baseline
Without it, the heart rate
Skyrockets

A body in space doesn't know
What to do without the pressure
Holding it together

Somewhere in between sky, and sorrow
I keep coming back to gratitude
that I can still feel anything at all
to let me know I’m alive
and there’s more to come.

Both the good and the bad is temporary
it flows with the currents of the rising moon,
and with every sunrise
a complete, new day, is born
for me to unravel, and relish, and
Love.

Betrayal
when you are convinced it is you who is
the betrayer
feels inescapable,
like a jail sentence
where the jury was your own mind
the door locked by
those who came to free you
little do you know, oh powerful one
you have the key in your hand all along.

Change
Jangling in my pocket
Causing such a racket
Coins are such a nuisance.

I pull a few out
With a clang, my soda drops down
I open it
It fizzes
I drink.

It's hot in the sun
But cold in the shade, when the breeze blows
I feel the air sting my lungs
In my memory, it's always fall, here.

The leaves don't crunch on the ground
It rained last night, though I didn't hear it
Not because my head was too loud
But because I turned my comedies up
So I could finish washing the dishes
As I listened.

We crave to quiet the cessations of the mind
desperate to hear the voices of the blessed, the voices of the ******
yet in the silence
it is our own we hear, crying out
for the cloth to be torn from our eyes
so we may see clearly every second
all we can.

Why do I convince myself
I'm not alone anymore
When as soon as I believe it
I'm left behind?

I step on your feet
I'm clumsy on the dance floor
Though I love it, I never had a chance
At least not before

In my dreams I'd sweep you off your feet
Or you'd lift me off mine
But here, it is awkward
For this time, it's just fine

I try to glance to your eyes
Your hands on my waist
I don't notice your gaze
Over my shoulder, looking at her

Is it meant for me
Is this meant to be
Or do you wish
I was someone else?

I lost my dance card
I don't know if I'm just a name on yours, in a list
With her name at the bottom
Instead of mine.

I hate how I can never know the truth:
every time I trust, it is broken
every time I am found, I am lost
every bridge I cross has been burned

I don't know where to step
when all that follows my footsteps
is my own decomposition

As I pass, the flowers that bloomed
they wilt, they are contaminated
by some part of me that I can't recognize

it peers back at me when I look in the mirror

Is this wasteland following me
or am I walking further into an already broken place?

Taking pride in

My clean room
My folded laundry
My books, bursting with sticky notes
My calendar, color-coded
(Though I don't update it, it's still nice to look at)
My vase filled with flowers, even if they're plastic
The candles on the shelf, one lit, always burning...

Shiny mirrors and scrapbook photos
Strung up fairy lights and a made up bed
Clean floors with supplies tucked away
Dishes in cabinets, spices filling the rack

A grocery list on the fridge,
A book of recipes I've handwritten
Poems in the living room, a guitar by my bed
Running shoes by the door, for early mornings ahead

All the things that make up me:
My dreams, my goals
The work I do every day

A none of it has anything to do with you.

I am dissolving like sea foam
on the surface of the universe
an unfolding flower
vast in an ocean of space
and time? it must be passing, and yet
it doesn't touch my skin
it whispers past, like the brush of death
a chaste kiss on the cheek
before stepping swiftly out the
already open door
into a world of swirling stars and galaxies
and here I sit, observing
all the world spinning around me
to the tempo of my beating and
still beating heart
and to this sound
time
comes to rest.

I know I am capable of something great
If I can let myself believe it.

My biggest enemy is my own mind,
And without you, I can free it.

I am enough on my own
Without your validation.
I don't need your accolades
Or your labels,
I don't need someone to orbit

I am enough on my own
I'll put the work in by myself.
Long days and long nights,
With just my own company

And all of you can go to hell.

She remembers how the coffee smelled in the morning,
and the hugs her father gave her.
Little things
like the pitter-pattering of dog paws
on linoleum floor.
It is perfect in the memory, in its simplicity
the repetition part of its beauty
and she misses it
though she knows it is a place
she cannot return to again.

All I want is to be held, be loved - to be seen
Is that too much to ask?

Is some part of me so bright? Anyone who looks
turns away with closed eyes.

Like an eclipse, I am as lonely as the moon
never loved as I love.

I reach out with empty palms, grasping, waiting, and
find an emptier heart.

I am a living ellipsis
In waiting
Mourning
A transient period
Temporary
A traincar station
A layover
So many hours disappearing
Unaccounted for
Unmemorable, yet endured
In their brevity, in their nothingness
Time that doesn’t exist
Yet it can be measured in its passing
Unseen, and
Slipping
Sand between fingers
Waiting for
Something to come from
The waiting, the silent breath
Holding the air still,
Motionless lungs
Before the next rise and fall
Seeming, every pause, there will be no more
Until it comes
Until it stops again
Alive, and yet not, and yet somehow still
Waiting…

"Enjoy your own company"
Is easy advice
When it isn't the only option.

"Learn to love yourself"
Is a lot easier
When you aren't the only source.

We are social creatures
But maybe there's a reason
The most successful say they're lonely.
Maybe coming to believe
Evolution has finally grown beyond
The measly confines of needing others
Is our inevitable future.

Or maybe,
Now is just a season
To be in your own company
So the next will be so much more appreciated.

Even if you don't speak to me
I will still stand listening.
Even if you refuse to hear me
I will still sing.
Even as you close your eyes to every word I write
I will keep writing.
Just because you wish to erase the memory of me
I will keep my own space
If for no one else
But myself.

Readers, writers
Are a company who finds comfort
In the worlds we build for ourselves
And for others
Seeking solace when we have no comfort left
In the world around us.

It's where I work
Where I play
Where I go to bed, where I wake up
Those extra five, ten pounds
I can't seem to shake, to find the strap to release
To drop it from my shoulders

I can carry it here, I can wait to get home
Where I can let the strain show in my face
When I get a chance, a moment, to be alone
But I wonder
When home is no longer a place to hide
If I'll embrace comfort over sacrifice
So I can put down the weight
And focus on my own life

What are you willing to sacrifice?
What do you want to prioritize?
It will take and take and take
And you must decide
Is this greater good worth the weight you carry?

How will it feel to reach the top of the hill
How many times will you fall, and climb back up
Before the summit was a sacrifice
Of too much?

But if you enjoy the downhill
Convince yourself into contentment
Would it be a lie? And would you wish
You had given just one day more
Because maybe, it would have been enough?

It is exhausting, isn't it?
To keep walking,
To keep trying.

But there is nothing left to do but try, anyway -
Whether you stay or rise,
It won't change
How much time has passed,
How fast time is passing,
So I might as well get up.

If I could speak to my younger self
I'd be the friend I've never had
The one I thought I did, the facade I believed

So the pain of ripping that mural off the wall
Shattered painted shards of tile all around my feet
Fingernails digging into the mortar
Bleeding jagged edges

In my mind
I'd be able to comfort myself
The way I wished you had.

I crave the days
when frost kisses my toes through my boots
and the few leaves left on trees
flutter down to
crunch, deliciously,
under my feet.

I miss the memories of
leaning into the wind,
letting it fill the gaps in my coat and
thinking, just maybe, I could fly.

Hot sips of drinks
between my lips,
filling my throat and lungs
with a warmth irreplaceable.

A season of change, but of calming
of settling into ones skin
metamorphosis and yet
simple enjoyment
of all the little things.

May you blaze and
scorch the earth
of all that you do not need

so what is left
becomes more
that what you had ever dared to dream.

Wisdom is in lacking,
in the empty space that you can look into
without flinching

In the understanding that
you can't understand,
you won't be able to reach the top shelf
you can never calculate the answer
and finding that, really,
that's okay.

Being "wise"
it has become such a cliche,
it's strung across the street of life we run down
like a grand, neon finish line
when it instead lies between the cracks in the cobblestones
on which we step,
if only we look closely enough.

Learning how to find inside yourself
what you have carried all along:
see the whites in your own eyes,
feel the pauses between your own breaths
and understand, this is what cannot be found anywhere else.

How lucky you must be
Without even realizing
To have enjoyed the fruits of my labor
As I fooled myself into thinking
You really cared for me.

How lucky I thought I was
To be appreciated
As I was ignored
To be respected
As you talked behind my back
To be trusted
As you hid from me
Until the curtain finally fell
And I realized you didn't know me at all.

How many times will I fool myself
Into thinking someone cares
When they never ask.

How many times must I be judged
Without being allowed to plead my case
Until I see the jury is rigged.

How many friends must I make
How many lives will I build
On a foundation I pour
Alone.
Only to realize after the house collapsed
That I was the only one who lived there.

I don’t know when I stopped
Seeking destruction
Or at least,
Stopped pursuing struggle
For the sake of overcoming
And instead
Sought destruction
Within myself.

Where did the spark go
That inner steel
That piece that searched for fire
In which to be forged?

I used to burn and chip away at my flaws
Working to expel all of my impurities
But I think I got carried away
And somehow too much of myself has gone.

When did I see joy
In what now gives only
Pain
When it overwhelms
I am primed to fly
Flight before fight
As my younger self would have done

Where did she go?
I must call her back
Maybe the clanging steel will ignite a fire
She can be persuaded to warm herself beside.