The floodgates have been opened,
Love runs out of every pore,
But, without a destination,
It distorts itself to grief
And slowly seeps into the floor.

- p. winter

why we do this to ourselves
remains a mystery

our conversations all wear
the same clean livery
the words fall into line
as if they've been rehearsed
it's like we're both too scared to improvise
it's a curse

why is either too afraid
to be the first to speak a phrase
overwhelmed with what the other
could think or do or say

why do we look into
each other's eyes
and tell ourselves
the same old lies
believing

that this feeling

will one day
go away

- p. winter

The world continued
To force my tears
And beat me while
I was already down
But I heard your voice
And I saw your smile
And the world
Is nothing now.

- p. winter

A lonely loon cry echoes through the morning mist as it crouches over the lake.
The trees rustle quietly as the breeze performs its awakening dance through the branches.
Each icy breath leaves a temporary imprint in the brisk air, before fading away into the forest fog.
And though I'm free from all distractions,
In the stillness of the woods,
I think of you.

- p. winter

a sadness so sudden
the singer is silent
the poet is speechless
the dancer is still

- p. winter

I apologize in advance,
For none of my love songs will have melodies.

I will laugh in euphony and cry in cacophany, I will bleed with every typo and breathe with every verse. I will think in metaphors and speak in rhyme.

I will tell you I love you
Not by using those three words
But by writing my own; pages at a time.

I will compare your eyes to lighthouses in the mist
And your laughter to a lark's opera.
You won't just hear me say "you're beautiful" (though you are), but go on for chapters about every little freckle.

You won't understand why I think so dramatically. Or why I take so long to choose my words (because I always know I can find better ones). You will become angry when I sit down and write because I just can't say what I want to with my voice.

But, most of all, I apologize for the way your face will fall when you read my poems and discover who I am. You will awe at how I can hide so much in those little notebooks. You will hear stories about me that will never escape my lips. You will tremble at the exhausted self that remains after I pour all that I am into the pen strokes on the paper.

For these things, I am sorry.
So please excuse me for being a poet.
And please excuse yourself for loving one.

- p. winter

How easily you say the words,
Exposing what is true:
I was too busy falling,
To be sure it was for you.

- p. winter

affection is the wooden horse
naïve gates open for,
but sunset comes eventually
and love breaks into war.

- p. winter

The perfect excuse
To ask everyone you know
If you can shoot them

I am a bird
With wings to carry me to faraway places
And a song to share with the world.
But my foot is caught
In the pin of a grenade.
And I know
That if I try to fly
My freedom will only result
In the death of all my
Beloved.

- p. winter

Summer, take the rain away.
Summer, take the pain away.
Winter froze my flowering heart,
Teach it how to bloom today.

- p. winter

My heart be weary,
My cheeks be teary,
My shoulders sagged,
Mine eyelids bleary.
Perchance 'twill be
What dispatches me:
Destroying mine own self
For thee.

- p. winter

i used to write in the third person
the girl in my poems
a foreign character

but now i live what i write
and i write what i live
and i make sure the world knows
who i truly
have become

- p. winter

A colour bringing memories of days long passed.
Of blushes, brushes of skin, smiles and laughs.
Of almosts, could-have-beens, should-have-beens and would-have-beens,
Of staring from across the room and yearning a stare back.
A colour, warm, with flashes of scenes
That repeat themselves in dreams alone.
A colour, beautiful, though bland before
That was thought to forever be despised.
This colour, hazel, a calming storm.
This colour of your eyes.

- p. winter

They ask me what I want to be when I grow up.
I whisper
"I don't".

- p. winter

Few can do as you
And smile though meanwhile
The world has got you curled
As you weep yourself to sleep.
You say that you're not brave,
You swear that you don't care,
But in your eyes I see the child
Who still fights through every night.

- p. winter

There's a lesson to be learned
In crying at 3:00 am
Missing the one
You never got along with.

I can’t explain, my dear,
Why some days I feel like an albatross with wingspan wider than the Pacific ocean.
Feathers reflecting the hues of forget-me-not blues and tiger lily oranges as the breeze carries me through the ever hypnotizing sunset.
And yet,
Some days I am but a turtle facing skyward. An anxious bundle of awkward kicks and pathetic wobbles as my feet try to ground themselves once more. The very shell protecting me from danger having betrayed me as it holds safety in front of me on a fishing rod, like a carrot tempting a mule.
I can’t explain, my love,
Why every evening I pump myself with capsules of chemicals to dissolve into my bloodstream like sugar into iced tea: It’s sole purpose to sweeten my taste and leave everyone begging for more of the refreshing treasure that is my happiness. Knowing very well that without my sugar, I would be nothing other than a glass of bitter herbs in tainted water. My ice cubes melting as I sit in the sun, unwanted.
I can’t explain, my darling,
How your eyes are flames that pull me out of every darkness except that that leaves me rocking under the dining room table. Not because they don’t have the power to, but because I have grown too tired to let them. Too tired of the pity you hide so well in the colour of your irises. Too tired to let you bring the laughter you once found in me back to the surface. It has been drowned one too many times.
I can’t explain, my treasure,
Why, after years of fighting, I have yet to win this battle against myself. This war, within these bone walls, that I have slowly been losing… praying for the relief of a white flag… no longer caring which side wins.
Why my blood stained thoughts — cognitive gun shots — dye my snow-white mind a furious shade of scarlet; poppies on a cross grave.
I can’t explain, my everything,
Why bridges start to look like trampolines
And razors feel like skipping stones.
Why God no longer sounds so mighty
And families make you feel even more alone.
I can’t explain why,
Some days I can soar

And some days I’m stuck on my shell.
But to love once again,
To see beauty in life,
For that
I am fighting like hell.

- p. winter

Kneeling o’er your lap,
Along my neck, your shaky breath,
I almost can ignore
Our love’s inevitable death.

- p. winter

We know not all endings are meant to be happy
We’ve seen not all fairytales are meant to come true
But tell me „forever“
Tell me „I do“
I will too, and gladly
For our story’s unwritten
And I’ll take a chance
On filling the pages
With you

- p. winter

Whether I live or die
Has become decided by
A game of
"how many meals is one too few?"

- p. winter

The words in the answer
"I'm fine"
From the lips of one who's not
Are as much of a lie
As those in the the question
"How are you?"
From the lips of one
Who couldn't care less.

- p. winter

I think my greatest weakness
Was that I never knew when to give up.

I fought to the death
I pushed too far
If I knew I was right
I made sure you knew too.

And I think your greatest weakness
Was that you gave up too easily.

You never screamed back,
Let me win when I shouldn't have,
Watched me defend arguments
You knew made no sense.

But one day,
Our roles changed.
You fought and I
Surrendered.

When we played "who can walk away first"
And I let you win.

- p. winter

i had a type
you didn't fit
so i moulded it
to you

- p. winter

Good little Catholic girl.
Say your prayers,
Love your neighbours.

But not that one.

Ignore the luscious fruit.
The slithering whispers in your ear.
The juice, inches from your lips.

The temptation.

Eyes that entrance you.
Little touches.
Hidden blushes.

Keep it secret.

No one can know
That he isn't a
Good little Catholic boy.

- p. winter

surrounded by others
surrounded by love
yet always
always
alone
- p. winter

we kiss yesterday goodbye
but love’s what i’ll remember
even now you’re gone

think of me tomorrow
as you travel on

- p. winter

I fear nothing more
Than feeling my love start to
Slip 'tween your fingers.

- p. winter

there was a time in my life
when sadness was a habit.
an inevitable spiral.
it was never not there.
until it wasn’t,
and healing came
like sunlight through
a crack in the clouds.
but every now and then
i get flashbacks
and feel myself falling back
into my inevitable spiral.
and it feels oh so good.
and it feels oh so natural.
old habits die hard.
old sadness lives on.

- p. winter

walk on, my dear
left foot then right
for i am cursed
with lover’s blight

amid the tears
i’ll smile for you
you won’t look back
i’ll mourn for two

walk on, my dear
right foot then left
you’ll love again
i’ll die bereft

- p. winter

when the silence of death
is louder than the noise of living
i ponder for a moment
which to choose

- p. winter

You were the calming moonlight
Through skies of moonshine and loneliness
Surrounded by the fog and the thunder
And yet seen only as an omen of hope
A kaleidoscope of memories
But now they're just engulfed
In a cloud of powdered emery
I know the words you spoke
Were not spoken accidentally
I know the way you felt for me was not coincidentally
The same way I did
So tell me why, sentimentally,
I look at our photos and cry
(Physcially and mentally).
I know the day you left
Was not just incidentally
The same day that I told you:
(Regretfully)
I love you.

And you know that I know,
You loved me too.
Unforgettably.

- p. winter

when you feel the watermelon juice
skiing down your chin
when you hear the hum of the lawnmower
singing its backyard ballad
when you smell the smoke of the bonfire
seeping slowly into your skin
you will know
you will sense
that summer
has arrived

- p. winter

They sewed my lips together
And told me I sang beautifully.
But when I tore out the stitches
They said my voice
Was background noise.

- p. winter

thump
thump
the rhythm of your heart
thump
i can feel it even when we're miles apart
rise
rise
the tide inside your chest
fall
as my resting head is lulled by every breath
tick
tick
the hours soaring by
tock
they feel like seconds, tell me, where did all our time fly?
thump
thump
the rhythm of my heart
thump
do you hear it beat for you when we're apart?

- p. winter

I lowered my standards for you.
Not because you were anything less than wonderful,
But because I used my fear of imperfection
As an excuse to protect my heart.
But you, and your imperfections,
Are perfect to me.
- p. winter

I wrote him a poem
And kept it well hid
Til' the day that I thought
He should hear what I'd writ'.
So I sat by his side,
And watched his eyes perk
As I told him I'd let him,
Just once, read my work.
I don't think he realized
I wrote it for him
But I saw on his face
As it suddenly sank in.
He looked in my eyes,
His as wide as the moon,
And said I expected
Too much
Too soon.
He got up to leave,
Threw my book to the ground,
I begged and I pleaded
But he heard no sound.
He turned on his heel
As I drowned in regret.
Guess that's what the vulnerable
Poets get.

- p. winter

I once was a bird
I once could fly
Over ****** dam creeks
Through the blessēd sky

I once had wings
As strong as the Sun
A chant never boring
And never outsung

But winter was always
A season away
As the trees would fade
And the birds migrate

Their v formation
A hopeful glow
Of the freedom I never knew
I’d never know.

Each year with the snow
And the cardinal’s arrival
The Zhaunagush came
As we ran for survival

Lungs on fire
Our only chance
To escape such hellish
Circumstance

Not all of us
Could run so fast
Some fell into
The white man’s grasp

We kicked and screamed
But made no sound
Were silenced ‘til buried
Unnamed, in the ground

I once was a bird
I once could fly
Now caged I sit
Missing the sky

Eggshell walls
Glisten from outside
But within, you learn
What closed doors can hide

Those eyes, oh those eyes.
I've written too many lines
For those hazel eyes.

Those eyes that wander,
That see everything, but mine.
These eyes that wonder.

Those eyes, oh those eyes.
Looking into those eyes, I'll
Write lines 'til I die.

- p. winter

finger in my throat
my reflection watches me
flush my weight away

- p. winter

In strength I think I’m ready,
I can laugh and start anew,
But in illness I’m reminded,
At my weakest
I want nothing more
Than you.

- p. winter

I promise that I'm healthy.
That I've never felt better.
Even though you don't know
That I keep finding myself
Back in this position.
Rocking myself to sanity.
Chained to the ground.
Blank eyes
With blank intentions
Looking for explanations
On blank walls
And blank ceilings.
Waiting for the day
It all goes blank.

- p. winter

Whether on good days,
Or on bad, either way just
Take me as I am.

- p. winter

One in the morning.
My "home away from home" is
Not home without you.

Two in the morning.
Our time zones are parallel.
My dusk is your dawn.

Three in the morning.
Jet lag induced writer's block.
Yet poetry flows.

Four in the morning.
I still hear your heart beating.
My dear, I miss you.

Five in the morning.
I should sleep but, instead, I
Pour out love letters.

Six in the morning.
So close yet so far, only
An ocean away.

- p. winter

S oaring over cotton clouds, so close you can feel them
E levation rising, even the peaceful feel butterflies
V ery little leg room, time to pace the aisles
E astward we fly, the Atlantic waves wave from below
N othing compares to watching the Sun rise from a front row seat in heaven

H ow magical, and powerful, to glide with the wings of an industrial bluebird
O ver mountains and skylines, even skyscrapers become building blocks, leaving nothing left to be awed
U ltraviolet rays weave by on their way to scorch soft skins
R estless temper tantrums of rebellious winds cause turbulence

F lying with my head in the clouds
L iterally
I think of how many miles each passing minute puts between us
G ently but surely this machine pulls me away from your embrace
H ow long these next few weeks will last
T il I see you, back home, again

- p. winter