Love is a thorny rose

Unfolding beauty

Caught in prose

With pinprick words

I suppose

Or else I’ve heard it said

For those that grasp without repose

To tear at hearts

Til mourning grows

With bloodstained hands

So it shows

The pain of those bereft.

Graduation

We’re used to paper changing worlds

The power of ink bound like souls

To uplift or oppress,

To entangle or release.

Hours sink into a daze

Across each page like whispers

Of a long forgotten chorus:

Countless nights

Of recitation and revision

In a past we never knew.

Until that day,

With dawn breaking,

You slipped past dreaming

Past drifting between stars

And found yourself

A little closer

To who you’ve always wanted to be.

One page…

One page composed of hundreds gone

Composed of thousands more to come

One page…

And you’ve turned to a new chapter.

So, keep reading…

Keep writing…

And most of all,

Keep believing.

You have a library in your heart;

It’s time the whole world knew.

Listening For An Echo

We shout into the void–

With scribbles, songs, and pleas–

To hear a voice come back

As all around us flees.

We look into the west

And strain to find a home,

Where all the rivers meet

And no longer need to roam.

We feel with outstretched hands

And fingers pained and broken,

To feel just one reply

Reverb on lips when spoken.

We ache for one desire

To fill our chest, our lungs, with air and fire.

Neutral expression

Will you ever be calming

Or always lightning,

A crash in-waiting,

A moment’s hesitation

Before the world ends?

Will I stop flinching

At a parting of the lips,

The taste of silence,

Where I hear nothing,

But feel each word that could be

As goosebumps within?

Neutral expression,

Without an affirming smile

How can I trust you

When all you have been

Is a pause between the storms,

Safe harbor for none?

Charity Thinketh No Evil

“Charity thinketh no evil”

Repeats and repeats and repeats

No purer love than to trust

And, with arms clasped tight,

Fall without hesitation.

To leap off good intentions

And catch hold of another,

Wrist to wrist,

And wrest away the rest,

To pry from fingers stress

While gasping for relief.

Of such have fragile whispers no part,

Nor dust upon a misplaced photo,

Nor scratches on discarded albums

That skip each pleasant beat

All ashes, all ashes, and embers sweet.

My heart told me you were good,

Even as my mind waged war

And shrapnel pierced chunks

Were scattered across my chest.

My heart told me to trust,

Even as phantoms burrowed into sleep

And held my head tightly

As I struggled for breath.

My heart told me to wait,

Even as fires caressed my tongue

And burned my ears

With the destruction of hesitation.

My heart told me to silence them,

The voices that said you were lying

Lying in wait to catch me

And cut me down.

My heart told me to listen,

But fear overtook me

And now I see she was right…

My very own Desdemona…

How can I forgive myself?

Between my fingers

Space is aching for filling

With more than mere words

i love like a dam breaking
filling every crevice,
drowning
whatever’s left of last year’s poison
except,
between the breaths
shots ring out
and arms are left flailing,
unwilling or unable to swim,
i never can tell.

Women Are People

Women are people,

Not rewards for good behavior.

Women are people,

Not blank walls to project art onto.

Women are people,

Not pockets to fill with leftover lint

And lives you wish you’d spent

With more than halfhearted sentiment.

Women are people,

Not journals to fill with ideas.

Women are people,

Not dreams to wake up from.

Women are people,

Not books to read and discard

At the end of a long day.

Women are people,

Not streets to walk through

On your way to self-discovery.

Women are people,

Not an outlet for your rage and inadequacy.

Women are people,

Not a frame of reference for a better life.

Women are people,

Not an anchor in this storm you’ve created.

Women are people,

Not a mirror for you to style yourself in

And see your ego reflected back

Smiling unceasingly with hands together in praise.

Women are people…

Why is this so hard to grasp?

Do not tiptoe around my heart;

It has seen far too many wars

To give merit to too soft a touch.

It hears sweetness

And flinches-

For so often are knives wrapped in velvet.

Sometimes tasting steel

As it slides between my ribs

Feels more familiar than my name.

And the scent of vanilla

Sours overnight…