1
2
3
4
5

I count things in 5’s

one cat
two cat
three cat
hula hoop
tote bag

My notes are organized Cornell style
but it can’t fill the void you left.

Light switch
one slipper
two slippers
lotion
candle

I’ve got my life organized down to the the minutes
but you aren’t in any of them.

Long distance.
We’ll see.

As a girl I survived the best way I know how
I would run errands for the neighbor
In exchange for a small change or food

My body frame size, my wild big eyes
Were the sign of malnourished relived childhood?
Hunger and Malnutrition are not the same
But in the eyes of child are hidden meanings

I want to write something about that era in time
But do I want to relive those day with a poem?

We make the Memories, so sad but so relived
That small bowl of corn meal Cou cou meant a lot to me
To my mother it meant shaming the family name

The tall wild pine tree saves me, from revealing the truth
a full stomach  had given me time to think about what not to say
About eating the neighbor’s food:

The internet have gave me this amber jewelry to create
and go back in time..
To a place to make things right
.

Forget me, for I am sinking.
Forget me, like the tides that forgot to recede after they pulled me from my feet. Drowning me beautifully below the surface.
Forget me, as I've forgotten what it feels like to have a pulse. The water in my lungs, a malady I can't escape from.
Forget me, as the currents drag me further from the shore. Leaving me more empty and broken than I've ever been before, but, as the sun sets into the sea, remember me.
Remember me for who I used to be.

The moon sits high above the frosty night, as the cold belts all below. They gaze occasionally, catching glimpses of cryptic stars. Beacons of light dotting endless shades of dark. They gaze occasionally, hand in hand, trotting slowly, but steadily along the paved walk.
     Holiday lights gleam, the air is alive with the scent of chestnuts and pine. Her hair is tangled, like a fishing net castaway. The snow is light, but all the same, chalking the streets, dusting the trees. His gaze is humble, eyes as if they've solved a puzzle.
      Their lips meet in a moment forgotten by the clock. A moment missed by the candid, but forever etched in the hearts of two. The lights twinkle, as the mid-December air regains the space between them. The feeling lives on, as it always will.

I don't believe in love
the same way I don't believe in god
how could I put my faith in something I can't hold in the palm of my hand?
maybe that's why I got so tired of my hands always coming up empty when I tried to grasp the idea of love
I still haven't met God
but I imagine your lips and heaven feel pretty similar
and I still don't know if I put my faith in you
whether I should call it love or religion
but I do know that if love is real
it can be molded into the shape of the devil’s smile
and I've yet to learn the difference between your hands and hell
because even burning love leaves behind oozing blisters
and I've yet to find a saving grace to stick around to mend my wounds