Photo by Sérgio Alves Santos on Unsplash

What a pity

to be

only free

when intoxicated

whichever the vice it may be

bad company

stiff drinks

shedding skin

remembering later the things you said

with knots in your stomach

not out of embarrassment for being too transparent

but for not knowing how to get there again

on your own

like the other empties hanging around without smiles in their eyes

too high you hold yourself above the rest

and all we want to see are your flaws and your conflicts

we can relate in your shame but not in the same ways

we catch a glimpse only by accident

when it’s unknown to you

a bit of you peaks through

you never know who you want to show

it depends on the room



Photo by Sophie Louisnard on Unsplash

Peace or pleasure

or neither

I like that you don’t know

you’re a dream boat

a dream to me

His shirt reads “happiness is a man and his boat”

soon to be mine

past down for safe keeping

to sleep in and dream in

I guess that’s all it takes —

real simplicity

You me and the sea

You pulled us through still water

and into the bay

Creatures of the deep grabbing at our feet

only as real as nightmares

I like to think you’ll continue

guiding me through

what may otherwise choke

my lungs and tear my eyes

I’ve never known you to be there

holding on while I’m gasping for air

At least I’ll keep on trying to survive it

knowing that you did

you tried



Photo by Pau Casals on Unsplash

I argued with myself

like all children do when searching

for what truths we’d like

to delve deeper into.

It didn’t feel like disappointment or rage,

but more like acceptance

with tinges of fear on its tail.

I was looking for protection in the wrong places —

as much as I didn’t want to believe it,

for I grew up with prayers and hand upon my shoulder.

It was hard to swallow —

maybe there wasn’t a grand plan afterall.

And some, like me

would have an unlucky roll of the dice

and there would be no mercy.

Up to you alone

whether you can withstand it on your own.



Spring forward

Photo by seyfettin dincturk on Unsplash

Our stove remains in the past

I wasn’t angry

when the sound of bright keys woke me

from my dreaming

I left nothing important

There’s chirping of birdies in the white blossoms

along Bidwell St.

They’ve all taken to flower before the end of March

I dreaded to look at the time

We stayed still for the hour that we lost



Photo by Umanoide on Unsplash

I haven’t had these growing pains

since I was a kid

And although I’ve learned to keep

better track of my feet

click my heels together

I’ll still be lost

for there’s something

I’ve forgotten

to remember

that I left behind