I am not a winner,
Nor a failure,
I am neither a hypocrite,
Or a believer,
I am not a follower,
Nor a leader,
I am not a visionary,
Nor a prodigy,
I am neither normal,
Nor weird,
I am not a victim,
Nor a survivor,
I am not you,
And you certainly aren't i.
I am always,
In between,
Simply looking in,
From an exterior view,
With an analog mind,
In an automated world.

he called me pathetic for loving him.
for caring about him.
he said that i should be over it.
he said that i should've moved on a long
long
long
long
time ago.
but i didn't stop caring.
i can't stop caring.

i called him pathetic for not learning to forgive
for not learning to forget.
i told him that he should be over it.
that he should've moved on a long
long
long
long
time ago.
but he didn't forget
he can't forget.

You don't need to write
me poetry
for you've already
engraved yourself
into my skin
your very being
is salvation enough
and with you
words don't even
need to exist
because your eyes
say it all
and the rhythm
of your hands
on my bones
and the fresh
beat of your heart
are my poetry

There is a memory to make so let's not waste this time
as it will never come again

Take my hand and let me feel your complexity
Slip into my arms like the most comfortable
blanket on a brisk winters night

I ask not for a kiss for its fleeting for sure
but let me truly know you and feel your heart

That is forever!

I'm your vault, I'm your net,  I'm the safety you seek

I am here now
I'm present, I'm listening, I'm yours!

They always placed me here:
In the outfield,
With the dandelions
And the cartwheels.

Spinning round and round,
Until Rachel shouted,
"Hannah, kick it! Kick it!"

The ball was huge,
Ginormous—
A little Pluto.
I kicked it with all my might
Straight towards the grey city
With the tall skyscrapers
And pins and needles
Shooting towards the sky.

I promise you,
I didn't mean to.
But little Pluto came crashing down
On your city
And with the weight,
I killed you.

A little dandelion kick
And you were gone.

In your will,
You bought me a ticket to Paris
And $1,000 to spend on cheese.

But I couldn't leave.

I tried to confess
How much I forgive you
For using your words
When you were alive,
To exploit me.
But the sounds are caught in my throat
Clenched by my unruly fists,
Unable to unravel themselves
Into spoken word.
My lips mutter,
“I’M SO SORRY”
In big letters—
But the sound does not escape.


I crushed you with a dandelion kick,
And after all of this—
You still remembered my dream
And held onto me,
Placed me in your will.

Then I awoke—
Not in Paris,
Not shoving Brie in my face
Not wearing the heels I packed.

a cold monsoon is a daily dose of wet
thin fragile skin covered flesh shivers
a rain dance around the garden naked
everything shrivels all pimpled purple
running rivulets pour out soaking hair
then the Sun comes out taking a peek
leaving rainbows for all the world to see.

All the experiences
from life's coffers
I'm willing to take

To commit into text
with deliberate romanticism

My brand of unspoken poetry
with sense
only I can make

To rebut
my mind's
skeptic cynicism

Maybe You're A Little
Sad Because No One
Understands
What You Want Them
To Understand
And We're All Just
Lost In The Precession
Of Trying To Understand
What We Can't.

And So We Look
Up To You Just So
We Can Find Understanding.

The Understanding Of
Nothingness, I Guess.

Life, Is Nothingness.
Life, Is Sad.