Beats me breathless

You looked at me, with those gentle
eyes,
On the balcony of that cold starry
night.
The hours ticked away, filled with our
laughs.
We hoped for longer but you had to go
back.
Ever since then we've talked, but who
knew,
That even though apart, the closer we
grew.
Your beautiful words of love fuel my
smiles,
And they make this long wait totally
worthwhile.
These 350 miles won't stand in our
way,
For I continue to love you, every single
day.

don't keep quiet.
go, and tell your story.
sing it from the rooftops
and shout it from the mountaintops.
write it in the sky,
tattoo it on your skin
and braid it in your hair;
tell your story.
don't let it go unheard,
because there is wonder
in your story,
there is grace in your
redemption,
because your words
are stepping stones
to freedom.
tell your story.

War kills
not just bodies
but souls
while in its wake
leaving hearts emptied
with holes

The spirit of men
ruined by trauma
it's clear
they look to tomorrow
and tremble
from fear

For what it will bring
these men
never know
often like Jekyll
and Hyde
which one will now show

War
is pure hell
for all that it touches
and there's no hiding it
with a million
airbrushes

I'm in pain because I possess too much.
Others cause pain because they don't possess enough.

I get an itch sometimes, and the keys won’t do.
That muscle memory is more fresh
than the long practiced
pen in hand.
There are times it can be sated with a brush
Or some other act of color.
But the prickle for the pen
Creates appetite
gratified
only by
The scratch of the paper.
The ball rolls and glides
with ease it swirls around sweet letters,
Or flies swift and hard,
digging grooves in the surface.
The paper is my skin
And I tattoo with nostalgia or vengeance.
Like therapy,
Like masochism.