The clock Each hand making another round Counting down each hour we waste Metronome A hollow attempt to keep pace with The minutes we can never replace They say Our time is borrowed But to whom do we owe? The keeper Of an arbitrary construct, social by design Pays no mind to how we spend it These seconds The ones we take for granted until they have passed Are gifts until they are weapons Once taken We can not reimburse another For the time we have stolen

After all this time, I could not have guessed It would be my courage to take me by surprise It was so good to see you well And it’s so good to see me, now An unfamiliar identity Newly stitched up and soothed by Tender hands and merciful empathy So sweet is the…

Inhale Hope, Exhale Grief: Moving Forward in The New Year If you’re not feeling an abundance of excitement and joy to bring in a new year, know that you aren’t alone. Even if you hold the slightest glimmer of hope for better days, Even if you know that you’re ready to move on from the shitstorms of the past, Even…

Harsh reality is that I never really was living Just longing for warm memories of the past and wishing That I had a chance to shake things up Right the wrongs, adjust my projection And reach for a star-studded upcoming But that dream was never going to materialize As long as I continued to act as pillars Supporting glass ceilings that were built for me and now I’m tired of peering through the window That I’ve been fogging up over heartbreak after heartbreak Each time I watched that glass become reinforced

My favorite kind of person Is the one who Listens to the song all the way through A pause. A breath. No questions, no comments Unresponsive to incoming texts Someone who will sit in the calm while The music walks the talk My favorite kind of person chooses their words Slowly and carefully Imagining the curve of each vowel With every rounding of the lips A pause. A breath. Instead of a desperate attempt to fill Space with meaningless chatter, They reach only for space To offer each period more weight

I’ve made a career out of abandonment Trying to connect to the idealized versions of those who I’ve lost touch with, all the while I’ve been losing sight of her… She was a rose-colored child Daydreamer Butterfly chaser Stargazer Quiet observer Saw the beauty in lightness, through dark She didn’t seek out a god for there…

Recently, my partner caught me off guard when he asked: “Do you still have the same drive for music?” I suddenly felt the lump in my throat and while I couldn’t recall exactly what I responded with, I know no matter what I said wasn’t exactly how I felt. …

A poem about her unruly — Keep her wild Pump wind beneath her wings Watch her work as she coils the world in her web Collecting beauty at her feet Leave her untamed Give her Space for her branches to reach Open sky to feel the sun and the moon Oxygen to breathe life into her green Water to quench the thirst of her root Yield to her unruly Allow the threads of her essence to unravel Witness how the radiance of her spirit Eclipses the moon and you will be reminded That life is for the living

To Whom This May Concern It’s only at 6 am that you can hear the dead Quiet, blanketing your feet and inching it’s way Down into the drum of Your ears In those moments, The soft thumping and dull roar of running appliances Are mistaken for Last night’s thoughts I should be sleeping, in fact, There is no point to heavy eyelids With nothing in your schedule on a Monday morning But perhaps this restlessness is keeping me awake If only to pause the cramping of my stomach And finally release the venom to say: