This is the Untouched

All the things left unsaid

are harbored in the heart.

The missing and reminiscing

of stolen sunlight in the park.

Those moments of eyes

and Nevermind’s

and soaking in the silence,

are all the things I hold in me

patiently and distantly.


This is the untouched,

the I love you’s and

‘too much.’ The unrequited

investment and lost intention

from the start.

It has abated gently

but never fully left,

an underwater reservoir

of forsaken love and rest.


It stays contently,


washed over by doubt.

But the waves of sadness

mean nothing,

when the heart is whole and pure.

It is safely kept and insured,

waiting, left,

and still.

But oh,

if you only knew the untouched.

If you only knew how much

I wanted to love you.

-September 2017


The words are what happen

when I’m sliced across the middle

and sand falls out of my body.


They swirl and bound

and disperse,

until they settle on the ground,

gentling moving with the wind.


Until then, they jump like memories

that pull apart and come back together–

quick– before they disintegrate in your hands

like sand.


But to write

is to wring out all the words inside you.

They belong on the ground by the sea.

And if you look up, you realize,


you have hollowed out and made room for the stars.

-World Poetry Day 2018