In the warmth of a Midsummer's day
He found himself shrouded by darkness
No ray of sunshine seemed to pierce
Irony of which he hated to say

His demons were fighting for display
For years he ran, ignoring his brokenness
Breaking points came and went
All of which bore a cost he didn't want to pay

Problems compounded, as did his fierceness decay
All he wanted was empathy and grace
Time would heal he believed
His old wounds rotting, never healing

If only he could come to terms with his own insecurities
He picked the scabs that needed care
In the Midsummer's heat, the cost became clear
No one could decide his path, nor were miracles his key

Should he turn around and face the sun
Would the war be won
No crusade concludes with retreat
Confrontation was his need

Not by knife or gun ablaze
But by actions, acknowledgement, belief
What more could he say?
Would answers come by asking another?

A fool's folly, facetious belief
His upbringing was not his burden
And his reactions were not excuses
As other's actions were their own

It is with hope he comes to terms
Accepting what has come and gone
For then true growth begins
A cautious hope came again

It was on this Midsummer's day
The boy became a man
With acceptance, his demons stayed
What was more was his change

Maybe then a ray of sun
Could evolve into healing heat
Comfortably warming this newborn man
Instead of scorching the neck of the son

I never learned the rules they made —
the apps, the games, the masquerade.
I tried them once, they felt too loud,
like chasing something through a crowd.

I’ve had my nights, I’ve played my part,
but none of it could reach my heart.
I want something that doesn’t fade —
but not the way it’s now portrayed.

I’m not online, I stepped aside.
Not hiding — just not in the tide.
I don’t perform. I don’t compete.
But that’s how people seem to meet.

They match, they text, it moves so fast —
like every moment’s built to pass.
And while I watch it come and go,
I wonder where the slow hearts go.

Where do they cross, where does it start,
when swipes replaced the human part?
I never learned to play the cut —
Which leaves me here. Now what?

the curve of your smile, as it meets the edge of your eyes.
salty shimmer, like that of burning sunshine in the heat.
i grasp at the sparkles, like a child grabbing onto bubbles—
except you never quite leave,
and so the magnificence stays,
claiming its own small place in my very being.

and the locket sticker i've got tattooed on my arm—
i know what name it carries.

you've got a shadow in your vision—
my own, if i were to keep it hidden.
but it resides, like in a cage behind your beauty.
the imperfections, the mess—
all of me in its chaotic glory.

fingers tainted with melted dark chocolate,
the cranberry bits in it painting your lips.

i ask if i can put pinwheels in your hair.
you tell me i could, as i should.

the faint traces of your hand against mine—
would you paint them with my tears as i cried?

i'd like to carry symphonies spoken amongst us,
settled like candy secrets in the pit of my stomach.

the epiphanies that you've brought in between
whisper to me, like you'd beckon my spirit.

walk with me, to a path leading nowhere.
unhindered.