i miss writing
the emotions i’ve bottled in.

i guess
when you
frequently pour them out,
nothing’s left for you to spare.

fun and games
and bright lights on strings
stuffed plushies & autumn leaves
and kindness from every
person i see

until
you remove the carnival glass
and im seen for what i am
and the carnival goers
in all their own carnival masks
do not understand

ive spoken my truth
so they pack up the stands
pile bright costumes
into dark vans

and i find myself left
with an empty field
of cold air

icarus, i believe
is heavily overwritten
especially by me

but golden eyes
and golden wings
never melt
from the mind
of a poet;

it's our apollos
that drive our pens
to begin with

Wet and damp
Are the leaves
Beneath the autumn moon
Hanging on
So carelessly
Free of fear
Full of frost.

And just as the waves
Washed over the sand
The wind combed the corn
As she took my hand

Narrowing pupils against
A search of my eyes
For fear she might discover
My soul's sunrise

And yet. And yet.
The want for to say,
The need for to share
The fear she'll away.