Boxes became my constant companions,
each house a temporary heartbeat.
I built homes with one hand holding a child,
the other gripping resilience.

At nineteen, I became a mother,
a title that shook the stars—
barely an adult, but now a world-builder,
my dreams reshaped by tiny hands.

This morning, I come to my table once more,
A cup of coffee gently steams,
Warming hands that feel weighted down
Again and again, I type my goodbye,
But I always delete it, hoping there’s still something else I can do.

You, who have filled my days until now,
Like mornings begun with easy conversations,
And afternoons spent lost in tasks, one after another—
Today, it feels different, as the countdown begins.

The longer I sit, the more I realize this chair no longer fits me
I trace the quiet walls, so familiar with laughter, complaints, and tireless effort
Each corner here has its own story.

Though my heart is still full, I know I must leave
Tomorrow, someone else will sit here, bringing even bigger dreams
For now, I leave my memories in this last sip of coffee,
Heading to the door that’s always greeted me each morning,
Now releasing me gently, like a Momiji branch lets go of its leaves around the building in autumn.

i’m alone on new year’s eve,
starved of life,
been living off of fleeing thrills.
i’ve been hungry,
lacking the flavor that lingers
on my tongue.
completely distraught,
all up in my head like i owe myself a debt.
the new year’s eve moon is absent,
but i need her;
she understands the length of my despair,
and she places hope in my palm.
nothing along the horizon,
just the vague glow of the Christmas lights from the passive neighbors.
unsure of what new year dawns,
if this one
will knock me off my feet,
waltz with me until daybreak
touches my cheek,
or leave me astray on a bustling city street
where the largest emptiness isn’t even in my own twisted heart.
and perhaps this year
will taint me,
paint me multicolored,
until my own shade of individuality cannot be seen.
fragile or elusive,
a patient lover,
a reckless ******,
a kiss that stays for longer than thought.
bigger shoes to fill,
new attitudes to convey,
new deals to follow through on,
old ones that have never been finished,
losing the fears of the past ages
that burned
down towns, left them flat.
if the new year unfolds like a film reel
with an unreliable narrator,
i’ll likely fail to look up at the moon,
lose my direction,
start believing the superstitions
with all my soul.
don’t leave me stuck on a bench
at the kitchen table,
writing instead of letting the world handle the anxieties for a while.
leave me alone on the edge of
a new platform
that makes feet sink past their comforts,
ankle deep in something i cannot control or hold with both hands or penetrate.
there may be new avenues to walk down
just to turn back around again in,
kinds of sabotage that
only i know how to bring upon the only thing control can control.
and new year,
don’t leave me alone no more,
i never wanted to be afraid,
watching the moon disappear like
all good friends do,
and have a stapled tongue
so that i cannot speak for those
who wish to
be heard
by someone,
anyone.

Would a rose by any other name be as sweet?
Would a rose gifted by another sweep me off of my feet?
Would the fragrant scent make me so softly weak?

Never have I ever been one for flowers,
Their allure held but for a few hours,
A vibrant life for temporary display,
Before they drop all their petals, wilt away.

A perspective from closed eyes open to see,
Finding sincerity in the twelve before me,
Watching their flirtatious shadows dance
As the petals sway to the breezes romance

Studying their intricate details,
Have I never read the story each rose tells?
Sewn into the earth, cared for, tended to,
Their history of love, unfolding in bloom
Like books unfurling pages, one by one
Each petal a testament to the tenderest love

I imagine his eyes, the warmth of his heart
For a moment their stories and my own were of one part.
Gifted with the purest intentions, a hopeful beginning
From those hands seeking love, never-ending

So would a rose by any other name be as sweet?
If from the hands of the one who gifted them to me.

He's like a fever dream I woke from and can barely remember
On the edge of my memory
The tiniest sliver
It's been a few months
He got lost in the blur
All I can recall are his horrendous last words

'Hey, do me a favor. If you ever feel like reaching out, don't. I'll make you hang yourself on your feelings and have you look stupid.'

That broke something so deep seeded in me
Ripped out all the good I ever thought I seen
Three and a half years deleted from my brain
Everything fading until you've been completely erased.