my sadness is evanescent
soon I will forget how it made me feel
I used to feel empty everyday
now I feel joy and contentment
my sadness is evanescent
drifting away
out of my memory
the feeling of sadness
will be a foreign emotion

How could I shield myself from the words
that lift me into the highest lowness?
Dearly beloved, raw openness,
the source of my grace and imperfection.

I feel strangely weightless
when my precognition
whispers to me about my possible future.
I hush all my names,
they’re not statues carved
by the thoughts of others.

I watch people drift in and out,
I touch the tree leaves in the cold wind.
Looking tenderly into the eyes of black ravens
I just try to see what they see.

I don’t fear the dark,
the primal womb that gives light
and birth to worlds spread across space.
Losing someone I love is my only fear.
Death comes uninvited, in its own time.

Love is my helpless, naked truth.
My moral compass still works
in my body.
At night, I find sleep and rest.
In light, the warmth,
and the souls of others.

I see the tired hearts
I find solace, looking into the light.
The body brings fleeting fullness.
I gather the crumbs of mystery,
expecting nothing,
just enough to find my dignity
and make peace with the unreachable.

Lying in a field, of tulips so red                                                              ­                    
                                            ­                                                              
Endlessly staring, into nothingness                                                      ­                                      
                                                                ­                                                        
Is anyone caring? Am I being missed?                                                          ­                                        
                        ­                                                                 ­                       
Frozen in time, left in this place                                                            ­                    
                                            ­                                                                 ­         
The days go by, slow as a snail's pace                                                            
­                                                                 ­                                               
Winter blows in, I'm chilled to the bone                                                             ­     
                                                           ­                                                   
When summer comes, I'm still not home

I held my tongue when you walked away,
Told myself it hurt less not to say.
But silence only made it burn—
Some lessons, you don’t choose to learn.

I rarely cry, I play things cool,
But you broke through that guarded rule.
A bed, a hand, a whispered truth—
Then nothing. Like you’d just cut loose.

You gave me hope, then took it back,
Left me questioning what I lack.
I wasn’t some girl passing through—
I was a friend who cared for you.

No closure came, no words to mend,
Just quiet from someone I called a friend.
So here it is, my final line:
You hurt me—deep. But I’ll be fine.

Today the weather mirrored me—
gray thoughts hung low, heavy and wide.
I lay in bed, heard leaves brush secrets,
heard the wind howl what I hide.

I peeked through blinds, saw flooded walks,
rain pouring like it never ends.
A world soaked through in quiet grief,
no rush to break, no need to mend.

I stepped outside—my shoes went dark,
each step a soft and sinking sigh.
My hair, once dried from morning’s rinse,
now clung like truths I brushed aside.

Cold traced fingers down my neck,
the air was sharp, the silence loud.
But somehow, soaked and shivering,
it felt like standing in a crowd.

It hasn’t rained in far too long—
just like I haven’t cried for days.
But now the sky and I agree:
we flood in our own sacred ways.

I crave the hush of a world asleep,
Where shadows stretch and secrets keep.
To melt into the void so wide,
No ticking clocks, no tides to bide.

Beneath the moon’s cold silver eye,
I’d let the noisy moments die.
The breeze would kiss my weary skin,
And stir the stillness deep within.

A pen, a page, a heart laid bare—
Each thought a whisper in the air.
No roles to play, no masks to wear,
Just me, the night, the quiet stare.

Oh, to pause this spinning sphere,
To breathe in peace, to disappear.
Not forever—just a breath,
A stillness sweet enough to death.

How I crave that gentle cease—
A fleeting second carved from peace.

My ex used to say I was his little bird
I thought maybe because I was so small
And every morning I would sing sweet songs
As the sun peaked high through our window

In the evenings we'd sit beside the emptied bath
He'd say I was as cute as a baby white dove
Without knowing I instead began to mourn the life
I had before I held his disconnected love

An endless yearning had grown in my heart
To soar above the rooftops and tall trees
I had evidently become his effortless prey
Falling in love that young is so naïve

I believed I was that measly little bird
A hollow ***** victim crying over clipped wings
Another sacrifice to romanced circumstance
So I built a nest around regret and lost dignity

I used to hate being called his little baby bird
But he had convinced me that we were equal
Until I realized he was the frail white-winged dove
And he caged me because I was an eagle