Today

I wrote something new

but then ripped it in half,

tried writing again

but I couldn’t go back

to the feeling that lied

on the black and white lies,

the feeling that lied

on my ribcage inside.

 

I wrote something new

but realized it old,

the same words from past years

of rhythm and coldness

and nonsense of

missing and reminiscing

and limbo and fishing

for something new to write.

 

I wrote circles around this,

tried to get past this,

found it awful to carve it down,

carve it outside me.

like dragging old bones

and expecting them to walk,

waiting for time to work

and light to search–

 

And so I stopped writing.

 

To pull away for a moment,

to stop digging and picking

and to let the light grow

was needed.

there was the winter and rest,

the killing snow and rain

for replenishing, healing,

and washing away.

 

So no more empty words,

no more torture of ruminating to

illuminate something in darkness.

there is just today,

with a clean page

and a fresh start

to write with boldness

concerning the truth.

A Secret Bond

It was a little gift

bashfully put together

inside a tiny cardboard box

and sweetly tied

with a white ribbon.

 

It wasn’t much by sight,

but if you looked

inside the shared heart

of the giver and recipient

it was everything.

Florida

Thank you for teaching me

that the best part of living,

of pushing through trials and errors

and breaking down barriers,

of having valleys and mountains

and moments of pure laughter,

 

the best part of living through blissful days

after rainy days

and the sleepless nights and the beach sunrises,

or the starlit drives

and the evenings of family dinners

with the hard goodbyes,

 

the best part about all of this

is I get to keep all of myself

and all of you.