If that gem lay there before you
the one you never knew you needed
if it shimmered
would you not reach to make it your own

If it sparkled, just enough
to lift your heart from where it sank
if it was there
would you turn away for lack of reason

Would you tell yourself it’s not for you
not meant, not earned, not real
that some hands are made to hold beauty
and yours are not among them

Would you fear it might fade in your grasp
or that you would
break it
smear the shine with doubt
taint the treasure by wanting it too much

Or would you kneel
not with greed but with wonder
fingers trembling, heart split open
and take it gently
like it had been waiting
for you
all along

I don’t worry how my old clothes  
will look on their new owners at Goodwill.  
They have places to be,  
stories to live  
beyond my closet.  

Still, letting go feels strange.  
I hesitated at the donation bin,  
fingers brushing fabric worn soft  
by years of routine.  
Shirts that carried me through long days,  
pants that held their shape  
even when I didn’t,  
sweaters that wrapped me in warmth  
when I needed comfort.  
Familiar, reliable—  
but clothes, like memories,  
aren’t meant to be hoarded.  

And maybe, I realize,  
I am ready to let them go—  
ready to make space  
for the person I am becoming,  
not just the one I have been.  

Now, my shirts might end up  
on a college kid,  
worn soft from late-night study sessions,  
coffee stains mapping out  
their ambitions.  

My pants could find a new home  
with a dad who needs extra pockets  
for snacks, keys, and crumpled receipts  
from weekends spent chasing his kids.  

A Dolphins t-shirt might land  
in the hands of someone  
who doesn’t even watch football,  
but wears it anyway  
because it fits just right—  
or because aqua and orange  
make them feel bold.  

Some pieces will travel far,  
stuffed into suitcases  
heading toward new cities,  
new jobs, new beginnings.  
Others will stay close,  
worn by someone  
who just needed  
a warm sweater on a cold night.  

I won’t know where they go,  
but I like to think they’ll be loved,  
threadbare in all the best ways,  
living new lives  
I’ll never see.  

And as I walk away,  
hands empty, closet lighter,  
I expect to feel loss—  
but instead, I feel space.  
Room for new stories,  
new routines,  
new warmth—  
not just in fabric,  
but in the quiet that remains.  

Maybe I’ll fill it with something new,  
or maybe I’ll leave it open,  
letting the quiet remind me  
that not everything needs replacing.  
That sometimes,  
emptiness is its own kind of comfort,  
a soft place to grow into something new.

I keep pretending that you don’t want me,

Because that would be a reason to stay.

So if I find a reason to leave, I’ll be gone

By golden hour, without a message or note,

Without even any goodbyes.

I think I should say hello
But my brain just blanks  
you know?
Heart says “go” feet say “no”
So I stand here…

Stuck in hello.

Hello........

Ahhhhh

Let it be.

The misery in my chest,
Reeks as if it be,
The shivery shame one feels,
When perched before a class--
Of peers whose keener eyes,
fitter thoughts,
and witter words,
Dowse one in distress,
For my eyes are weary,
My mind unwound,
And my words, but a wheezing sound.

Had I met you in ruin, in madness, in despair—
perhaps then, we would have understood each other.
Had I found you when I was no longer trying to be good,
when I had nothing left to lose,
perhaps then, I could have loved you without fear.

But fate is cruel. It gives too soon or too late,
never when the soul is ready.
I met you when I still believed in hope,
when I still cared for the weight of consequence.
And so, I hesitated. I reasoned. I turned away.

Had I met you in the wreckage of myself,
I would not have thought of tomorrow.
I would not have measured my words,
held back my touch, silenced my longing.
I would have taken you—wholly, recklessly, without restraint.

But I met you at the right time,
when I still feared the cost of love.
And so, I lost you.

Break, my fingers can't stop
the Shake, fight the sandman
that Face, a grin of pure evil
don't Trace, the lines of the devil
he Takes, the girl who smiles
her Brace, the teeth are wild
and Stage, your own undoing
a Mage, a mood is brewing
a Rage, a storm is on
the Waters, he's coming he's coming
don't Flaunt her.
It's you that's running your time, tap tap
bleeding it out like wine and water
a rose he dines alongside, it flows
come gather your manly pride, but you're froze.

Hold your breath. Explode. Put it to the test.
Sleep. Rest. Dive. Go deep.
Must break the sheath. Deny you're weak.
The futures bleak, for those who hide.
Those who wait. Grate your teeth.
They who sleep, buried deep
Them that run, find your fun in
what got you running to begin with, the
Revolutionscaryness
risk of unawaryness
chase the chance to advance
and romance the possibility of fruitful fairy tales.

Up in the sky,
So high does my head fly
Knowing no bound
In your eyes my heart is found.

I lose myself finding you.
An extinguished flame ignites anew.
Obscurity leaves, serenity sheathes
Hard as grinding teeth.

A sense of calm .
My soul sings a psalm.
Eternity awaits, chaos aside,
Yet my heart does not abide.

To sense.
To the distance.
I crave your embrace.
A recoil from grace.