Sunday morning monologues
Front row fixtures
Dreamy papercup dialogues
And cracked tile constellations.

It's safe inside these walls
Safe, they scream, safe
And behind my smiles and uplifted hands is
My never ending unease.

Sunday morning monologues
Front row fakes
Sunshine maple tree jogs
And stained tile motivations.

I could stand up
Leave those lyrics running
Walk out
And never come back.

Or take to the mic
And scream every last
One of my insecurities
To the whole dang world.

But I'll never
Do either.

Sunday morning monologues
And front row blanks.

We had the ability to
create sparks just by touching and
we could have lit the whole city
By just looking into each other's eyes
you could have been the street light
And I could have been the shadow
Instead I am a city fountain of
what ifs
People toss their wishes at me
As if it is my job to grant them happiness
From within the depths of
my sorrow
I just wanted to be your light however,
Everyone knows water and electricity
are disastrous lovers

Poetry held your hand
led you gently

away from the crowd
and when alone

kissed your lips
passionately

and ran through the forest
merrily laughing.