So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough

every morning
she makes coffee

carefully grinding the beans
has become a ritual
time spent in meditation
on a journey she had not expected

when there are no beans left
in the grinder
she sighs
as reality has caught up with her

if I knew I was
going to die
tomorrow
would I spend today
writing more
or
saying goodbye to my loved ones?

hardest choice of my life

maybe I'll write my goodbye
in the form of another poem
to make the best of both worlds

We hate the pills the we're prescribed,
But love the ones that get us high.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.