I was five and she was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
She wore black and I wore white
She would always win the fight

Bang bang, she shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my friend shot me down

Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up I tried to forgive
She would always laugh and say
Remember when we used to play

Bang bang, I shot you down
Bang bang, you hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, I used to shoot you down

Music played and people sang
Just for me the church bells rang

Now she’s betrayed me I don't know why
Until this day, sometimes I cry
She didn't even say why
She didn't take the time to lie

Bang bang, she shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my friend shot me crushed my dreams

Because people get tired of me
Be
ing sad.
Because I only write sad;
Talk sad;
Act sad;
I guess we can cliche
And say my parents are mad
Because of the sad
They have to see every day.
I text sad;
My music is sad;
Days start to blur
Because the days that were
Spent happily
Don't come easily
To me.
I'm tired too.
But what else can I do?
I can't really say
That every day's
A bad
Day
But every day
Has its own sad
Thoughts.
It's true for you
Too,
Is it not?

Why write about love when you are still
Healing from
It’s attrocities
Why write about love when you are still
Hurting from the abuse
Why write about love when you are still
Alive
For romantic love makes
Our heart exsanguinate*


* it a medical team for bleed out

"Next patient, please!"  the night nurse says, hair red and teased
she takes one look at me and says "you're barely in one piece... you're right for coming to the Hospital for broken hearts, sweetie- you'll be seen in a minute, fill out these forms and have a seat"

The papers ask for his name and the color of his eyes
it asks when I knew I loved him and if I knew how much he'd lie
it asks me to tell them in detail the first time I touched him and I think about how it was his thigh- it's hard to read the questions when these tears are blurring my eyes- looking at what I've written... I can't believe this is the same guy

The wounds I have are so severe
you would think I got them from falling ten stories swinging from a chandelier
and when the doctors ask me "how exactly did this happen?" with nothing in their eyes but fear
I'll say "I fell in love with a boy, he said he'd make me a wife and a mother and we'd grow old together over the years"
but their eyes will soften, they'll put down the machine that makes them say "clear!" and say "oh sweetheart, you fell for the oldest trick in the book and the smoke in the mirror"

and as I'm being stitched back together
I'll think of how I truly did want to be with you forever
I'll think of all the ways you could've been better and all the times I lost my temper
I'll think of the rising and falling of our chests and all the pleasure
and how it was so hot it smoldered like embers
I'll think of when it was just me and you- or at least try to remember.

solution trickling intravenously like these memories of whispers and fingertips touching my skin in the dark
memories of  how even when given all the answers we'd still miss the mark
wishing I could pick up the phone and call Florida and ask to speak to Kathryn Stark
wishing we could go back to that night in August when we first kissed in the park

The doctor just left, I got my diagnosis
I covered my ears because I wasn't ready to know it
we will never move as two and one again smoothly like osmosis

I was told  I will never recover to ever be strong enough to be your lover, and in a fraction of a second I felt every cell in me start to rupture

There is no ifs or when
now all that's left is thoughts said in pasted tense
all that's left between us is talking about "back then"

I'll disappear into the ether from whence I came
but please don't forget my smile, my laugh, the way my hair smelled or how you kissed me in the rain and also please don't forget the flame that kept us plenty warm for 1,946 days

I write poetry

to have
a conversation with myself
and with God
and you

to log
everything I see
and think
and feel

to expose
the lessons I was forced to teach myself
the prayers I learned for you
the wisdom you learned for me

to give
and less so to take
and therefore not to make
something of or for myself

only inevitability can be birthed--
with all the cries and wails
that arrive in sync with newness and life--
as I traverse the capacious cavern

inside and realize
to have it is
to log it is
to expose it is

To give.

I’ve climbed the peaks of my ambitions,
Gathered medals, built traditions,
Each step forward marked with pride,
Yet something stirs, unfulfilled inside.

The paths I’ve walked, they glimmered gold,
Stories of growth and journeys bold,
But as I stand and take a view,
I wonder—was this path mine to pursue?

The roads ahead stretch vast, unknown,
Some feel foreign, some feel home,
Yet none whisper, This is the way,
They tease the question I ask each day.

Am I the architect of my dreams?
Or just a player in someone’s scheme?
I’ve built, I’ve grown, I’ve reached, I’ve tried,
Yet the spark of purpose hides inside.

Success is hollow when roots aren’t deep,
And growth feels shallow when dreams don’t keep,
But in this fog, a truth unfolds:
The answers lie in the soul I hold.

So I’ll pause the rush, the endless chase,
Sit with myself in this still, quiet space,
Listen to whispers of passion’s fire,
To rediscover what I truly desire.

For purpose isn’t in paths pre-paved,
It’s carved where courage meets hearts unscathed,
And though I wander, uncertain, unclear,
I trust the compass I hold right here.

I may not know which way to steer,
But each step forward conquers fear,
And in the journey, I’ll find my part—
For purpose is born from the seeking heart.