I find it funny how I got here.

By here I mean this life, this body and got stuck with these thoughts and feelings, which are many times so unfamiliar to me that I start to wonder, are they even mine? who gave them to me? are they gifted, bought, borrowed? can I return them? can I exchange them?

What about the color of my eyes or the sound of my voice? my thirst for knowledge or the drive to fight injustice? can I love less? care less? can I become someone else?

what if I took someone else place, what if there is someone out there who could have done a better job at being me than I am? shouldn't they get a chance?

Some people glide through life—
clean suits,
straight spines,
their hands untouched by the dirt
we call home.

And then there’s us.
We shuffle, we stumble,
we laugh too hard at bad jokes
and spend too long staring at walls
that don’t answer back.

Our lives are broken bottles
held together with tape—
still sharp, still dangerous,
but ours.

And if we ever make it—
if we ever find a way to rise,
we’ll leave claw marks on the edge
to remind them
we were here.

It all fell apart,
To fall in place

Many days have passed since I wrote something good
Maybe that's a sign of my inner world quieting down
Maybe in silence poetry has no place
When the wounds stop hurting and the heart stops weeping
There is nothing left to write about
Or at least not with the same urgency
No words that boil to be written
No feelings eating you alive
Just life filling your cup
Significant small things
Meaningful acts
Deep conversations
Home cooked meals
And cozy blankets
Have given me more peace
Than you ever could

I can’t finish a thought
but my thoughts will be the end of me..

day after day
time passing through,

thought after thought
they're all about you.

Mr. permanent resident
inside my head

I built you a castle,
made you a bed
and each night
I watch you
laying your head
on or memories and you cover yourself
with my love