Writing

I was a withered flower,
Whose petals were so dry.
You were a ball of fire,
Whose smile lit up my sky.

If I could find a color that I felt adequately described the bright bulbs outside my window, clinging to the branches of a tree I have never seen bloom, I would not use it

Some words have no place being written —

          We were rising.

Like twin flames,

Dancing in the darkness,

Spreading warmth to the stars.

In my mind,

You were a star,

I drown in my own words

Novels of my bleeding

I bleed in writing

Turning pain into poetry

The sun set long ago

Yet I cling to sunshine

Writing pages upon pages

on november first we said

ohgodit'snovemberalreadywheredidallthetimego taking

up all the time in the world with our breath.

on november fifth we said

ohgodpleaseprotectushavemercyonoursins praying

"Don't wait for permission to do something creative." - Ava DuVernay