Going With The Tides A Haiku Pair Loneliness sometimes lingers like cold in your bones and damp in your soul, even when the tides that washed it up have long since moved to other shores.
The Inaccuracies of Poetry
The Inaccuracies of Poetry (a Haiku) It wasn’t the whole truth, but half-lies can be more honest anyway.
Letting The Sunshine In
Their makeshift curtains are visible from the path And my windows are stark in comparison Too high to show into my soul Where my bare windows make more sense: That heat pooling in at 4 in the afternoon Falls directly on my sorrows And is the only thing that reminds me of home.
On the Distribution of One’s Heart
On the Distribution of One’s Heart (A Haiku Quintet) I had given my heart to someone who didn’t know how to hold it. Instead, they cradled it like an adolescent with a stranger’s child: awkward and uneasy, with a fear of falling head first and snapping. I gave my heart to someone who didn’t quite want it and was surprised when they gave it back. They said to keep it safe, but their fingers left bruises.
Chennette
I was born like a chennette: My green mother- sliced open down the middle, And me- squeezed out. Pink, sticky, sour.
Drowning
Drowning (A Haiku Pair) I am drowning. You have oversaturated me, but I need it. You overwhelm me. I gasp for air but choking never felt so good.
Going The Distance
Have you ever gone through your personal poetry archives and stumbled upon an old piece that, at the time of writing, you were convinced was absolutely awful, but now that you’ve given it some space, it turns out it wasn’t too bad after all? This piece is one of them. It’s almost a year old and no longer personally relevant, but I hope you like it. Distance pulls heartstrings taut While memory taunts Sighs go unanswered Empty promises fill Where your touch should be. Silence breeds disquiet: I quietly wonder If it’ll be worth it in the end.
The Sea
The waves sang the same siren song that had lulled me to sleep as a child and I swore that this time I fathomed them I tasted the subtle warmth of the salt in the air And I let the openness of the water trick me into thinking I could grasp her But as the grey of dusk fell away into night the dark of the sea stopped revealing the secrets of her depths It was then that I learned the truth We never stop fearing the unknown
Anthology
I would write you everyday. Poems and scribbles and notes, Until you learned The unevenness of my hand The habits of my penmanship The chaos of my scrawl. In a world of dying paper and ink They would save every scrap Torn from the back of notebooks Jotted down on well-folded receipts They would compile anthologies of my sweet nothings Until children who had long forgotten pens and lined paper Would press their fingers into the ink and indentations And know this is what devotion feels like.
For The Moth That Lived and Died In My Bathroom
And his wings, folded shut in death, concealed that he had been beautiful