Jan 10


it's where the treetops grew
thin, allowing us to peak up
at the stars
and where i watched the moon
light your eyes as they
floated across the sky,
counting the stars
(where the hair falls
covering half of your face
and where the ink
smudges on the top of your hand)
and it's where
i fell in love with you
Dec 28


this morning i sit (alone)
watching the sun crawl
up from behind the mountains.
it's astonishing and makes me
wonder why i don't rise
before the sun every morning. and
it makes me think of you,
still sleeping softly (somewhere
too far away). the thought leaves
a sour missing feeling in my chest and throat
forcing me to look away from the sun
(to hide my tears from his watching eyes)

i've decided that we're to
watch the sun rise (together).
sometime soon, i hope. though
i don't mind waiting
as long as it's you
i'm waiting for.
Nov 28

(this is the best way i can think to say)

Nov 15


my head feels full like
         and if i tilt it to one side (or 
the other)
thoughts of you might just spill
                                        out my ​
and fall in puddles(around my feet)
your sunrisesmile hops from
eye           to             eye
and blinds me (to the point of
walking into w
 what i was trying to say
(before i lost my 
              mind on you) is
i love you 
more than i know how to write
Oct 25

follow me home

you asked me why 
i like it so much (spending time
in the trees) and at first 
i was unsure of how to answer.
because ( i started to reply
after a brief pause) in there,
with the trees, we are invincible.
we are kings. 
in there among the leaves
and winding trails
we are home, we are untouchable.
(scrapes and bruises become battle scars
and every sound we utter,
a war cry).

you still seem unsure, so
i will offer you my hand 
and guide you there myself
(assuming you are willing)
and we will climb to the highest branch
of the tallest tree 
and let out our voices (to watch
them echo off the mountain tops)

do you get it now?
Oct 25


Oct 23

when the words run out

i like to imagine the words
live (resting) in a reservoir
(deep in my chest) and with
every poem i dip a bucket
in (to steal some words). but
what happens when the words
run out (when i send the bucket
down and it comes back void
of of words?) will i jump down
myself to scour the corners
for words (or) will i sit back
(put my feet up) and take a
Oct 22

thank you

i look down to my hands
(the ones that tangle
their fingers softly
around yours) and
i don't see my hands.
i see my arms (that
wrap tightly around you
until your eyes rest and
you fall gently to sleep)
but they seem to belong
to someone else.
i catch my reflection
in the water (as i pull
you closer to my side)
and it's not me
looking back (but
someone far better
beside you), a new
and happier someone
(created by you).
Oct 18

what color was the sky?

i missed the sunset last night
i stood in the wind,
perched up high for the perfect view
of the sun's magic disapearing act 
and somehow i didn't see a second of it
if you asked me what color the sun turned 
the clouds i'd have no answer for you.
but, i could tell you, with absolute certainty,
that her nails were painted purple,
and her hair neatly braided
and that i don't regret missing the  sunset
or shivering for an hour.
i do regret not kissing her before she left,
or asking her to stay a little longer.
i'll keep that in mind next time we miss the sun's illusions.
Oct 18

a writer's excuses

well you see
the pen drank too much 
last night, he cant write.
and to type would be a mess,
the computer got robbed,
the thief got away with 
half her keys. and i
can barely move myself.
the coffee maker went on strike
so i got no fuel to pump the blood
into my eyes.
i'd write if i could, i got a lot to say
i swear.