I firmly believe that all the struggles we face
Help in building who we are today
The pain residing in previous versions of ourselves isn’t easy to erase
But I truly think that it’s better to acknowledge the past’s ache
Instead of letting it eat you alive
You shouldn’t live for anyone but yourself
Don’t just live in order to survive
Live on so you can realize that the old versions of you
Don’t erase the possibility of new, happier ones


-Currently listening to “Mr. Forgettable” by David Kushner.

A snowman stood tall in the yard,
His scarf and his hat were both starred,
The children would play,
On that cold, festive day,
As Christmas arrived unbarred

The carolers sang with delight,
Their voices rang out through the night,
With joy in the air,
And warmth everywhere,
It was truly a magical sight.

The trees sparkled under the glow,
The world wrapped in winter’s soft snow,
The kids ran and cheered,
The season appeared,
And the fire in the hearth burned low.

But the sun rose more sharply each day,
The cold slowly started to sway,
He felt in his frame,
A loss he could name,
As the chill slipped away with the gray.

He knew his time was nearly through,
As the world changed from white to blue,
With a soft, final sigh,
He whispered, “Goodbye,”
And accepted the warm winds that grew.

I was told frowning caused wrinkles
When you were sad
Your childhood was wasting away

But now I know all emotions have a cause
That crying is only natural
Sadness isn't what makes our world turn gray

I write tonight beneath the wheeling stars
Their frostfire whispers brushing silent scars
The kind that never broke the skin
But carved their longing deep within.

The sky is vast, unending, far too wide
For feet like mine that never learned to stride
Beyond the fence, beyond the hill
Beyond the echoing ache of still.

I’ve loved the night since I was young
Its velvet hush, its silver tongue
While others chased the warmth of day
I let the midnight strands guide my way.

Each star a spark, a breath, a tale
An invitation drawn in elder flame
And I, naive, with ink and dream
Would write to them with love unseen.

“Wait” I beg “please wait for me
Let me reach your beauty ever changing
Allow me to walk your jewelled clouds
Your endless tales, under sol born breeze.”

But time is cruel to dreamers late
To those who dance with idle fate
I’ve grown too old, or time too swift
My wings have grown weak, heavy, still.

I’ve never touched the Martian dust
Or kissed Europa's frozen crust
The moons I mapped inside my mind
Remain unsailed, untouched, yet kind.

And so every night I step outside
And drink in the starlit heavens with open pride.
They are not mine, and never shall they be
And still they light my life and make me free.

Amidst them is my love, a beautiful star
Who burned too brightly, and too far
She heard my dreams and kissed my head
And she said, “You’ll get there. You just… won’t land.”

She is gone now, lost to time’s own sea
Just another ghost that stays with me
Her light, a comet’s fleeting tail
Her image, the breeze beyond the pale.

Oh love, oh night, oh my loving endless sky
I promise to keep the dream, even if I cannot to you fly
And though my body may die on the ground
My soul still orbits, and flies unbound.

Let the void echo with my laugh
Let my love be carved on my epitaph
Let me live with the memory of what it can be
To write to stars that will never write to me

So here’s my letter, here’s my breath
Penned at last, as I lay so close to death
Let my whisper join countless in the cosmic tide
Of our souls that longed, that loved, that tried.

Keep it, stars, for when we go
Mere particles drifting in Sol's glow
And one day when upon us you gleam
Know you were always much more than a dream.

When the world grows
too loud or too fast,
it’s a good idea
to take a step back
and huddle away
into an empty space
where neither sound
nor time
can hurt you,

let silence envelop
your soul—not your self.

Eventually
the grass will grow
and the wind will settle,
all will slow
like in a lush meadow,

and far away
will the struggle drift.

The sky will grow white
with clouds that never rain,
gardens will grow green
without a single ****,

the sun will beat down
not bullets but care,
that nurtures the grass blades
through growth
and lifts the vapour into
the air.

Dimensions and galaxies will
pause,
for the universe cannot
feed.

And all will be.

my bus draws in a shudder down the chine
of tarmac dusk; the heavens not quite mine,
  sole slick of oil beneath a slant of bane.
we pass late souls, their windows’ chasmal wounds,
mongrels lie limp in lawns that no one prunes,
       and gardens taint in hiding, piled in vain.

the mounds give way behind their sunken name,
worn to bone, yet stripped of earned acclaim,
  they bend like oaths soon shattered by the dawn.
their bark was not quite mine, though flesh i’d come to know;
but woods are nonsense wrapped in autumn’s glow,
  lone pyrrhic den that holds no lasting mourn.

my face bursts into shards without a frame,
my eyes and veins are ichor’s vile flame,
  the fire not quite mine; it climbs a colder spire.
once saccharine and syrup tight as lace,
i kissed the charm, then drifted into space,
  and yet rue looped itself around a wire.

she spoke in sore orts of scripture that night,
her verses saintly writhen out of the light,
    wry sultry keen she wore beneath her skin.
she faded soon, as fever always goes;
i kept her spikes in jars, where sorrow grows,
     bittersweet ire, not quite mine, burning in.

the driver hums beneath a simmering pall,
a woman knits her rosary’s funeral call,
  the beads tightening a hoop around her breath.
a child bleeds cherry from a sinful shed,
blasphemy clings close, like blood to the head,
  a carcass, not quite mine, trails close to death.

i glean spent hours from dusk’s malicious shrine,
seek vestiges where aching seasons twine,
  and in their still, catch breathlessly, a rhyme.
what breaks behind remains in salt and brine,
   all not quite mine, yet wholly mine, this time.