Welcome to the land
Beyond the coastline of the sea
Where we read poetry
Under the light
Of the moon.

Welcome to the world
Where as far as god’s decree
Words are written
Just for flowers
To bloom.

In this inky place
It’s found
All that’s written
Has no place to die,

And as the blotches
Fill the page
We find there’s
No time to cry.

And so we read,
And read,
And read,
Until we fail to see.

All just to write,
And write,
And write,
Until we cease to be.

PRETTY LIES CANNOT DISGUISE
THE EMPTINESS BEHIND YOUR EYES
YOU LOVE TO TALK AND HATE TO THINK
WHY DO I EVEN TRY TO SPEAK?
YOUR EYES ARE CLOSED
YOUR EARS ARE CLOSED
YOUR MIND IS CLOSED
YOUR MOUTH WIDE OPEN
UNLIKE THIS FLOW
OF INK TO NOTE
YOU’LL NEVER KNOW
THE HEARTS YOU’VE BROKEN.

why does this ink look like a bloodstain?
it sings like writing on the wall.
it stings like the mirror i shattered
and the darkness i spilled and i splattered.

why does this page allow its face
to be struck, scarred, mangled, and marked?
these words tear themselves apart at the seams
eviscerate themselves to understand what they mean.

why does this poet stretch her jaw ‘til it breaks
just to show the world what’s inside?
she should hide. she should hide!
but the price of her pride
is to endlessly, manically 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆.

To a writer, a book full of words is a treasure untold,
A tapestry of their art, a story yet to unfold.
With each page turned, their imagination takes flight,
Inspiring them to create, to dream, and to write.

And for a poet, letters of love are like whispers from the heart,
Gulfed with emotions, they ignite a poetic spark.
Each word a brushstroke, painting emotions on the page,
Creating verses that resonate, like an eternal flame.

So, send these gifts to writers and poets near and far,
A book for the writer, a letter for the poet, like shooting stars.
Let them know their words have touched your soul,
And inspire them to continue sharing their art, making it whole.

May these gestures of love and appreciation,
Fuel their creative fire, their endless dedication.
For in their words, we find solace and delight,
A testament to the power of writing, shining bright.

Shades of turquoise fill glassy eyes
Stiff like a mannequin
Emotionally paralyzed

The lights are on
And someone’s home
An infantilized mind
Cased in flesh and bone

Punishment for grief
A cure for anxiety
A husband’s order
For a female lobotomy

I watched my name
emerge from my pen.
It seemed strange
that there was so much ink
left at the end
of my letter.  

I watched my name
emerge from my pen.
So much ink
left at the end.

My name emerged.
So much ink
left at the end.

My name emerged.
So much ink.