I know it’ll pass but the lonely is strong when I don’t want to cry into my pillow, filling it with my hurt because I want to be held. When I want to cry into a chest more resilient than mine in the moment. To be pulled in tighter than I can hug myself. The … Continue reading The Lonely Hour
Those arms are reaching north
The phoenix loved from inside of him
Punctuate. Original thought Clauses; Impossible platitudes Avoiding tradition Failing to be more than a poet’s past. Writer, storyteller, history maker: there is nothing more to be done if everything has already been repeated into common places. Pounded into dust, “Gone with the Wind”, drifting through time to pay homage to nothing new. White space … Continue reading Cliché
The moon knows there are stories here.
It waits for them to be told as if history preludes it.
As if the stories will change when spoken again.
As if the stories mattered.