When I say
that you are my Sun,
I don’t mean that you are
Luminous,
Brilliant,
Gilded,
Beautiful,
Bold,
Warm,
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting

Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me

Where is my muse today?
I stare out windows at the grey
Wasteland filled with rain.
Where did the fervor go?
   Did it fly away,
To rain sodden trees,
   To fall and quench clay,
From budding twigs and stunted
    Leaves?
Where is the fire today?
Lifes cold, so dull and plain.
If I pray for warmth, will it stay,
Or be extinguished by the rain?
Where is the vigor,
   That filled my days in youth?
Why won't it manifest in adult figure?
   Was it exhausted by the search for truth?
Truth, what is it?
Is it found in flowers,
Or does each man write his own,
Sitting in a shady bower?
Truth, what is it?
   Will I find it if I pray?
So many questions, and here I sit.
   Where is my muse today?
I stare out windows at the wasteland,
Rain sodden trees, stunted leaves, all
   Grey,
Life made of clay, and will, to
   Undersand,
Questions posed by a spring day.

He tastes like winter and smells like home

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

I can feel rivers running through me, all leading back to you. Your fingertips coming and going like waves. They say you can make a home out of anyone, but if that were true then I would’ve made my place in someone new a long time ago. I would’ve put my heart into someone else’s hands, letting them mold it into whatever they wanted. I would’ve broken down the walls you forced me to build. I would’ve cleaned up the mess you created, making myself seem pristine, when in reality I’m a hurricane nobody wants to get in the path of. But I realized, things that come back to you are things that never truly left. So here we are, standing outside of my car with our feet glued to the gravel, your overgrown hair loosely moving with the wind. The streetlights are glowing on our skin, and there’s stars trapped in the corners of your hazel eyes. I realize I’m okay with drowning in these rivers, as long as they always lead back to you.

Sometimes, helping others sinks you; you lose yourself after it ends
Maybe if I was more selfish, I could have stayed longer.
If I was busier, I wouldn’t be paranoid.
If I knew someone that loved me like I loved them, I wouldn’t be distraught.
My limits weren’t my limits; they were my parents.
Not true. I never stood up to them.
Did I really love you if I never stood up for you?
In the end, the problem was me; I wasn’t careful.
We lost our spark.
I’m too emotional, I still chased you.
I was too comfortable. I was a big shot. I was wrong.
But it doesn’t matter now, I’m moving on.
Everyone I was with, I helped.
Now that I’m with me, I can help myself.
I can love myself the way nobody ever could.
I’m no longer sinking.
I’ve plugged the vessel.
I’m carefree.
I use to be the kid that motivated.
And it’s my goal to become him again.
In the end, the small things will remind.
They remind.
In the end, everything will be fine.