if nothing gold can stay this way then nothing dead remains
for every stump or carcass laid will fade into the plains.
so while i walk in solitude as bare paths form behind,
the promises of lush green fields will always come to mind.
but even wildest of lands will require some care,
without, no glimpse of gold or green will e'er dare to appear.
last, one must know that all thriving fields will arrive with time;
all that's past and passed will decompose for meadows sublime.

i clutch a handful of sand in my palm
it feels so soothing when i am without a qualm
when things are slow, every grain stays in place
but it's harder to hold when i quicken my pace
i grip tighter as my panic lingers
but some sand begins to slip through my closed fingers
the more i try, the less i can contain
i am only helpless as i watch the sand drain
if only i could have another hand
but i can do nothing about the running sand

i want to write more poetry but the words refuse to leave
i'm terrified that they might become what used to make me pleased

i believed every scribble i drew on paper in pen was art
"it's my poetry, who cares about verse, form, rhythm, and heart?"

i assigned too much meaning to all the juvenile words
instead of searching for the words that are ones worth working for

i continuously thought that my first drafts were perfection
always finished with each one after being newly written

i labeled meaningless writing as simply ambiguous
to call my work poetry was such a misdiagnosis

isolation's comforting; none here to object

the first time an online boy confessed to me
it scared me
how he read between the banter to find something that wasn't there and i
was blind to it
i thought we could continue like this forever
static
and nothing would change
because change is scary
when this boy told me he liked me
i remembered that he was a person
not just some account mirroring my words, devoid of feeling
free from extracting meaning from nothing
like people so often do

perhaps, while i talked to him, i forgot i was a person too
people are scary
and to remember that i am a person is to remember that i have parts of myself that i am terrified of
talking to this online boy
i wasn't burdened by that
i was everything aspirational
cool, witty, silly but just the right amount to be respected

i've talked to more online people since
and i've had more boys confess to me since
it gets easier but it never gets less sad
i had never learned to lower my expectations and remember that these online people.... are people

at some point, i came to expect it
rip the bandaid off early
i don't care if it hurts

well, i do care if it hurts
but i never remember that until i am hurt

i dig for any information about these people
i'm sorry i am so impulsive but i cannot stand to continue loving myself and loving the people i talk to
knowing that some day, i cannot

so i see it
i see their full name
i see that they're a college student at a state university only a few hours from me
i see that they have lives outside of direct messages
i see that they have a face
they're not bad looking
they look pretty nice, in fact
but i want to forget it

people are scary
when you see a friend's face for the first time
it reminds you that they're a person
and that
is the saddest feeling in the world

i'll always be here
like a sunflower follows the sun

i lost myself trying
to find you when you are gone

i'll never stop caring
even after all that you've done

even though you are a ghost

how am i supposed to forget about you
when the possibility of rekindling what we had still lingers
i’m scared to let go
in case you haven’t yet
and we can salvage what we have left