I get defensive
when my poems
are attacked by reality

I write from left to... write
I also "right" what's left from wrong
but when I write from right to left
I change the rites
of you

Poets dream, they always do
about the impossible made possible
within stanzas and words
they think they weave magic into routine
and move hearts like the mellifluous motion of honey
dense sweet and sticky
connecting one chest to another

Poets claw through the mundane
to find the shimmering light of drama
the stirring stick, with the tumultuous traits

They cannot settle for the norm
they find it deformed
for when that happens
they reach for toxins
to remedy
the normality

...and then ****
one skipped heart beat
skipped a whole chapter
then it skipped again
and skipped all the way
to the end

Lessen Lessons & Listen

What intrigues me
is how every woman
wears her "woman"
beautifully

Someone took away his toy
the one left at the bottom of the pile
unattended

When things
started falling apart
I felt the debris
scarring me and scaring me

If I had one thing to say
as I pen
the (.)
at the end of this book
it would be
"Thank you for
teaching my heart
a new language"

I knew nothing
till my knowing
fell short
the moment
I got to know
you

(You)
are the
rhym(e) (t)o all my (re)asons

The sun came out & burnt my old skin
left me naked & confused
scared & alive

It's a change of words
that leads to a change of worlds

Eye Know

This plot twist
hurt

Why do I compare myself
to a love you'll always love?

When you clearly whisper
her name, in my presence
when I'm asleep

Come to me with a heavy heart
and I'll show you
how fast
the fall
is

I have loved many times over
and yes differently
passionately, deeply,
hatefully, and drunkly
as F. Scott Fitzgerald said
but the toughest to love
was the person
in the mirror

(MELT x LOCK) DOWN

For a person who lets go
with every line
the hardest part is to let go
of your idea

The most selfish entity of all
is time
it doesn't stop for anyone

I miss headphones
with wires
I really felt
connected



























to my music

Hello, I am
"whatever I feel when I am with you"

I used to write daily
now I write dailies

I got a taste of what being loved felt
it was all nice
until he spoke
and broke the rose-colored glasses
that covered days
with
him

I wonder
if I surprised life
with the things I've done
or if it's vice versa

Maybe it's the thrill
of instability
that makes me hungry
for life,
hungry for you

One hell
of a hell

Love,
is that
you?