Inside us,
beneath the skin and the noise,
there's a child, eyes wide and open,
heart like fragile ink, waiting.

A child who needs no grand gesture,
no castles of promise or kingdoms of light,
just a sliver of softness, a single thread
to pull them into knowing
they belong.

They dwell in hidden pages,
the ones we often turn past too quickly,
marked by forgotten sighs,
footnotes of wonder, edged in longing.

They don't ask for much, really,
just a place in the margins,
a place in the prose where silence listens
and understanding holds them close.

Each of us,
a story unwinding,
scrawled on the chapters of bone and breath,
our pages turning, child, dreamer, seeker,
hoping someone will see
the ink stains beneath
and understand.

my heart started beating rapidly
not out of Love but out of fear
distanced myself subconsciously
my mind was anything but clear

read old fun conversations
tried to recreate what’s there
but our friendship lost its foundation
yet we weren’t even aware

those arguments made me nauseous
couldn’t fight back couldn’t even speak
just became more cautious
and continued to feel so weak

suffocated in my own pain
trying to stay by your side
ended up with absolutely no gain
because what we had has died

tired of being stuck in a cage
in desperate need to flee
need to stop the constant rage
so leaving in hopes of being free

open your eyes
and you will see it:
face hidden,
lips lifted.
my obvious secret.

you consume:
tapentadol for lost teeth,
refrigerated dreams,
and my cardiac muscle;
unseen by the blazing light
for months, for years.
locked far away,
as all witches should be.

you are
blue like my sky,
blue like my- what?
like my new road?
my black country that is no more?

you thief!
how i see you clearly now.

Wind whispers
Earth beats
Existence rhythm
Endless worth
Leaves rustle
Streams murmur
Vital cadence
Dreams symphony
Child laughs
Age sighs
Echoes life
Story staged
Dance measure
Beat resound
Vital cadence
Purpose found

Meet in the middle
Swirling each other
Two birds earning their wings.
The light somehow always beaming behind
Silhouettes now etched to memory.
Core.

Fingertips trailing my back
From one wrist, across the arms, down the elbow,
I lean in.
Rather than stop, or a crowd pleasing dip
You’ve waltzed away from the two step.
When did the time signature change?

Your left, and mine, we pass and part
Leading, you are no longer
Transition to a solo performance.

Leaving the floor, we exhale focused breath.
Shoulders still back,
Heads high - not subconscious.
Left, right, intertwined;
Now learning that even the steps backward,
Apart,
Are all beauty within the dance.

It's not in your closet
Nor in your bed
If you look deeply in my eye
You'll see it's all in my head