I never liked poetry
until I wrote it.

I couldn't understand
why stanza's split up
into three or four or 12
lines.

Why a poet
writes rhymes of sadness as if
it's a better way to show it

I hated that everyone
thought they had the answers
to leading a better life
because they were the ones
who took the road
not taken.

But then, one day
I pressed a
pen to paper

And the words that
were once kept inside
flowed out like those rivers
that the poets kept talking about.

And the stanzas
separated themselves
into groups at parties
that all mingled together

while also standing alone.

My words became physical,
The tears I couldn't press
out of my eyes
were pressed on paper.

And the poem became
a song
and the song became
a new life form

And everyday I look
at what I have created
and

Smile.

I know we are far
apart with a chasm
between us that you
dig deeper each day.

I know that you are not
you anymore but each day
I look at the pictures
where your teeth were
too big and your eyes too wide
and everything was new and
you were innocent.

I look at the innocent
child and look to what
he became and realize
that if I were to wish upon

a star

I would wish that I could
go back in time and tell you
to stay where you are and never
grow up because god you are
going to get so hurt and you are
going to hurt others more
and a fog will follow you
and you will no longer be sweet
and your eyes will turn thin
and you would slice

holes in hearts.

I would let you live in
the memory of playing baseball
in a hat that was too big and
pants that were too wide.

I would make brownies
and have you fight with me
to lick the bowl and most of all
I would never let you grow into
who you were to become.

And at night I understand
that the sky no longer lunges
lies into oblivion and that
the clicking of crickets cannot
hush out the serenity of despair.

At night I allow myself to drift
in and out
in and out
of the lull of little lights
and fluidity of my dreams

drifting between serenity
and sleeplessness as a
cooling wind brushes my
warm back and keeps me from
simply falling.

Take slow
deep breaths
and count
to three

Breathe in
Breathe out
and breathe
for me.

Inhale
the pain
and let
it free

Forget
the war
you lost
at sea.

Remember
the good
and I
guarantee

You'll join the
living under
the sweet
oak tree

I think now I know
that one day I will be okay.
One day the thought of my
teen years will not ultimately
be met with the thought of you.

One day I could hear your name
and not travel back to times of
darkness and fear and black skies.

One day I will not think of my family
as broken and my life as
distraught.

One day I will not get mad at our
mother for giving you what you
do not deserve or at you for
taking all we do not have or at m self
for letting you continually send me back
to places I do not want to go or at the thoughts
that have plagued my brain.

One day I will be okay and no longer
pray that someone will realize that
while my family has
moved on I have not.

And one day I will realize that
One Day is not today and that,
above all else,
is perfectly okay.

Sometimes, I wish
upon every star in the
Moonlit sky that you
were among them.

In the heavens,
you'd rest.
Your soul would not
grow weary as it does on Earth.

You would no longer
drift away from the part
of you that was once loved.
You may not know it yet,

but the ones you would
leave behind were already
left behind the first time
craters broke plaster and

that first time you crushed
the finch.
You have been bereft of
life for a long time now.

But no one has been
able to mourn your passing
for your newly sewn soul
still spills out on Earth.

So yes, sometimes, I wish
upon every star in the
Moonlit sky that you
were among them.

But only because you have long since left.