The pith or softness can't be seen,
The layer as a veil keeping it unseen.
By seeing shiny face can't predict the fruitfulness,
When slit down shows the truthfulness.
Can't be left open, otherwise becomes a dark hue,
But tasted in time becomes alive and true.
A trace of flavour and bittersweet,
Turns an ephemeral life to moments sweet.

loving you
has always felt like muscle memory.
like something my body
already knew how to do.

some mornings,
i find you in the kitchen,
barefoot,
your hair falling soft down your back
that streak of silver catching light
like it has a story of its own.

your lips move
the way i imagine
god meant lips to move,
and you smile
like you know
something about peace
that no one else does.

you don’t try to be beautiful.
you just are
in the way your eyes crinkle
when you laugh,
in the way you tuck your hair
behind your ear
without thinking twice.

some days,
i watch you move through the room
like it was built
to hold you gently,
and i swear
my chest remembers how to beat
because you’re near.

i’m sorry,
but loving you
is still so easy.

Of yourself first,
But keep a big slice of that care,
For your parents too,
Without whom your existence is incom0lete.
1/8/2025

I wrote myself letters,
And there they sit -
Behind the pink wax canvas,
Forever locked alongside
The skeletons in my closet.

Shame imbued in every word,
My soul spilled onto the pages
I ripped from notebooks,
To be added to the mess
Of my growing misery.

Eight separate letters,
Written over the years
And in every single one,
You can feel the desperation building -
Festering, like all my open scars.

I reread the letters,
Tears streaming down my face,
Leaving a wake of fire behind,
My heart stopped every at word,
I choked with every breath.

All the passive comments,
And the insults slung like bullets,
I was my own judge, jury and executioner,
How can someone become
Their own firing squad?

But what hurt the most,
Was the mantra of apologies,
Chanted like a sinner's prayer.
A hundred "I'm sorry"s,
Each one cutting deeper than a blade.

I wrote myself letters,
And there they sit -
As a reminder of who I was,
And of the place, I've sworn,
I will never go again.