A thousand opportunities like pine,
Manifest themselves in the form of trees.
Neatly in a row,
unlike my current circumstances.
How I wish to be engulfed in the green.
full of hope.



The hands that once held my face,
Now haunt me.
When I turn to face you, there’s a trace of dust.
I could’ve sworn you reached out for me;
how gravely mistaken I was.
A chill sneaks up my spine as I inhale fear and exhale disappointment.
Ghosts often come about when the hope for reality is much too daft.

wind to me.

The wind is reminiscent of when you’d breathe that you loved me in my ear.
It’s a reminder of the echo that fills your painful void.
Weather is nothing more than feelings expressed.
For how can they perfectly depict emotions, experiences, and memories shared?
Oh, I wish that you could be the wind to me again;
Sweep me off my feet like you did when you were next to me.


These thoughts will soon be dreams.
As I fall asleep, I remember you.
I remember the way you used to hold me in your arms with such care.
It was there that I felt peace;
it was there that I felt safe.
You are missed,
and as I lie in this lonely bed my thoughts go back to you.
I’ll always go back to you.
How I wish you’d come back to me.
Dreams of you have never been sweeter.
However, they’re rudely interrupted by the impatient eyes that sit upon this face.
I’m still alone.

you’re alone.

I could be accompanied by you,
tipsy and spinning to the sound of your voice.
But for now, it’s just me and the music,
eagerly awaiting your arrival.
Oh, how different a world I’ll exist in,
eyes glistening in your presence;
as if they could do anything else.
You’re captivating and I’m left helpless,
to your voice, to your touch.
Your eyes hold me in their grips with no promise of letting go.
My mind cannot fathom you in your entirety,
for you are everything.
The most complex yet, the most simple & kind man.
I can’t wait to sing to you, to play to you, to dance with you.
But who are you? And how will I know if you exist?
Perhaps you exist and you’re alone,
and thinking of me.
Or perhaps you’re not alone.
I suppose I’ll find out if we ever meet.

September 26, 2018

mourning gardens.

My heart longs to sing like the birds in the breeze.
Pale blue hydrangeas shiver in the wind.
How can they continue to chirp when the sky is dark?
My heart is distressed.
How can a monarch butterfly flit by without a care?
I want to be there,
but I’m here.
I need to try.
The daisies shine like the radiance of the sun.
I am the sun, hidden in the disgraced clouds.
I remember fondly when I think back to when I was a rose.
Pink and mystical
full of dreams, aspirations, wonder.
Where did I go?