my poetry is
about nothing
for years it took the misery from
my bleeding heart and made it pray
it cried rhyming rivulets to the skies then
put my tears away
my poetry wears black -
not because it mourns or
because its going through a phase
all my ink dried up in drought
the year the rain came
and now it
spends its extra time inside
just writhing in its grave

If there is one thing I have learned on my travels,
it is that
the currency of eternity is the fingerprints you leave on the fabric.

The slow imprint of a million miles walked. Set free your timid heart and
leave behind an outline of an essence.

An amorphous mold that denies the shape of the world around it.
Be a surprise.
Let them label you a miracle or a sickness.

In time they will come to realize
the edge of the world is a place to dance.
Reach forward, and gift sound to silence.

you say you love rain, but you use an umbrella to walk under it.
you say you love the sun, but you seek shelter when it is shining.
you say you love the wind, but when it comes you close the windows.

so that's why I’m scared when you say you love me.