I have this idea of who I am
and what I want
with no idea how to get there
my dreams are kept on
the highest shelf
in the darkest room
so meticulously
out of reach
focused on the unattainable,
I’ve forgotten that there's a
step stool to the left,
in the corner—
ambition, they call it
once thought of as a good thing,
I am now drowning under
this incandescent desire
to be special
water rushes into my lungs
and I'm gasping in hopes
to be noticed when
all I really want is sleep
and all I really
need is peace

I had skinned knees,
scraped palms,
and an eagerness
to take over the world.
I was young,
in love with life,
and everything
else that falls
in between.
and you know what
they say: Ignorance is bliss.

Hopeful,
overwhelmed
with the constant
desire to be special;
to be noticed.
I trusted blindly,
gave in to temptation
and so, I ate the apple.

You held me high
above the clouds,
with a weightlessness
that can only be
described as bliss.
I knew that I could
be dropped without
a moment's notice.
But the adrenaline
running through
my veins said
otherwise.

But eventually,
you did drop me.
With a gust of wind,
I was knocked off
your shoulders.
I came plummeting to
the earth and I hit
the surface hard,
soul-shatteringly hard.

I learned a valuable lesson that day.

I realize now that
it never mattered,
you were never
going to stay,
and the rest
is absolute.

I left my world
and all of its small comforts
and headed for the city.
On one end,
the desire to stay.
On the other,
the lust to leave.
Soon enough the air
in my room would run stale,
and I'd watch my dreams
tumble and fall off the shelves.
They'd sit to collect
dust in the corners
like forgotten birthday cards
and last week's paper.
I'm left starving,
ferociously begging
for a different life.

So, here I am.
I've tasted victory and I've tasted defeat.
I think that's the thing about chasing dreams.
No one said this life was easy,
but we're doing the **** out of it anyway.

there aren’t enough words
to describe the way that i feel
when you look at me
i would talk about the stars
and the moon,
but my love for you
surpasses this galaxy
and spans further than
i could ever dream to reach
i’m trapped in this hole
and at times i find myself lost
in this pool of darkness
that we call peace;
searching (yearning)
for the very thing
that keeps these embers
in my heart glowing
and they always point back to you
the truth is, i could never fit you
on these pages (even if i tried)
because how do you begin to write a poem about poetry itself?

i know that you’ve heard it all before
but trust me when i say:
i was never much of a writer,
i’m just in love with you

On a cloudy day,
in the middle of May,
I wrote to you just to say
that I miss you.
I wonder how you are,
what you're up to,
and if you still take
your coffee the same.
I thought about calling,
but the sound of rejection rang
in my ear and lingered long enough
for me to forget what I'd even say.
I'd probably ask for closure knowing
that all I really want is to hear
your voice again;
to be reminded that it's okay.
I know that it sounds weak,
But the truth is I don't hate you,
and I hate myself for saying so.
But what is the point of a day of rain
if you can't hold the one you love most close?

For the first time in a long time,
I can say that I feel free from expectations,
free from limitations,
and myself.
I can feel the seasons changing,
and it's been a while since
I've seen the surface.
Felt the sun kiss my skin
and heard the wind whistle melodies
as it grazed my ears
on the way to the mountains.
The whole world is aching –
I know, but the rain never cared.
It reflects a time
when man was primal;
before he had a right to fear.
The rain whispers to me, 'I love you.'
I love you,
and I am not afraid.

I saw a pink moon
last night
The air was crisp
and it reminded me
of midnight walks back
home from the train
*Always yours, never mine
Past the cemetery
and through the eerily quiet,
yet somewhat comforting
streets of Brooklyn.
I'd argue that we should have
taken an uber and you'd ask
why I wore those shoes again.

I saw a pink moon
last night
It's borders were blurred
and it reminded me of old film
It had deep, cavernous
craters that could
tell thousands of stories.
I wonder if it knows ours