When Morgan died,
you were right.
When Derek passed,
you were steadfast.

As disease assaulted mom,
you never left us alone.
As sickness overtook my brain,
your goodness constantly overcame.

If my waters are muddied with rain,
my soul will still sing your praise,
because when storms cloud my skies,
your love always pierces the nights.

*m.w.

waking up without a care,
flannel unbuttoned in the sun,
freedom's overgrown hair,
barefoot until winter has won.

repainting the streets with my board
when all the cars have gone to sleep
exploring abandoned buildings
with flashlights and reckless fear.

who cares about tomorrow
as long as I make it today?
Forever is living in the moment
and realizing the future will never come.

I miss home
and all that used to be.
I miss those things
which will never return.

*m.w.

Sure, I may have won the war,
but that doesn't mean battles
won't try to pop up.
I will always have to fight.

Even the good days aren't safe.
My mind is a poison,
it won't stop until all the goodness
is infected and dying.

I am my own greatest enemy.

*m.w.

The way she underlines
her favorite parts in this book
says more than words could.

She never draws straight,
but scribbles little lines
that connect the syllables
in the same way
she etches her little things
one by one, piece by piece
into something worth reading.

I want to highlight
each beautiful characteristic,
underline with sharpie
so her imprint is permanent,
write notes in the margin
to ensure I never forget.

*m.w.

The notion that I will be
inherently depressed for the rest
of my personal eternity is
a stupid choice at best.

I can choose to be
morose when the sky is clear
and see sunshine in the clouds.
The depiction of the storm
is mine to envision.

At least carry an umbrella
when it's sure to pour
and take off your coat
as the flowers begin to blossom.

*m.w

This is my first train ride
and I'm absolutely mesmerized.

You meet a special breed of people
living in uniquely passionate ways.
Saying I'm inspired by their kind
is standing in a blizzard naked and saying
"I'm cold."

The thrill they give me is more
powerful than words can capture,
though I'll try to do my best
like photography with distorted aperture.

I want to write vagabond on a name-tag
and slap it mercilessly on my chest
as a gorilla beats his pounding heart
like a drum before the last stand.

I ditched my seat and found an empty car
to escape the commotion and strum my guitar.
Slowly, people followed and joined me,
I felt like Moses dividing the sea.

I can hardly sing and barely play
but as they listened I felt as if
I was singing the sound of the rain,
washing away the mud in their smiles.

Six people are sleeping on the floor.
Beside me, their silent presence is igniting.
I want to dance in their zeal;
let it burn me, in hopes that the scars will never heal.

Maybe I'm over romanticizing this moment
but I can't squelch the raw audaciousness.
It's in their eyes, and in their laughs,
and in the way they form sentences.

It's burrowed itself into my heart.
In this moment, I feel so alive,
this passion cannot die, the traveler's immorality,
I have become the wanderer's infinity.

*m.w

When the road ahead is
clothed in a cloud of fog,
when my pillow is soaked
in tears of agony,

I will worship
against the sting of feelings.
I will kiss
the dust stained upon your feet.

When the world around me
is walking away,
When those whom I adore
are cursing your name,

My lungs will crack
as I cry out endless praise.
My internal darkness will dissipate
as my fingers caress your scarred back.

I will worship
with my stinging feelings.
I will kiss
your now tear-stained feet.

*m.w.