It would be better
if I never
thought of it ever
again.

I've
got to
focus on
the happiness
that I've got

Are her words,
not mine.

A paper wasp
Is stuck on my bus.
She is whisked away from her nest,
Miles and miles away.
I watch her,
Pensively,
As she crawls across my hand.
She will never make the trip back,
I think,
We have gone too far.
I look at her,
And in pity,
I dab a bit of juice on my finger
For her to drink.

The flower blooms
Without thought of whom
Is watching.
She will continue to exist
With or
Without me.

In my brief life
I have amassed more years
Than moments
Where I felt
Alive.

I had
Adored
The plum tree
In my backyard.

I often think
What if I were
A plum.

I could be at peace
And rot away
Knowing
I had just been a plum.

I am caught between
Two types of wills.
A will
To live
And a will
To be read
After death.