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Gray Day

She fell in love on a gray day. He was green. Baby leaves against a violet sky A dark evergreen beneath fairy lights A deep moss green, growing where nothing should. He was the green of a jade dress under golden light, A ball gown and winding stairs A perfect night The kind of night you should fall in love but don’t. Instead, she fell in love on a gray day. She was red. Raging inferno of a forest fire The last candle burning under a moonless sky The deep burn of a funeral pyre. She was the red of a ruby pendant against dark skin A shimmering laugh and two glasses of wine Tastes of sin The kind of sin that feels like a blessing. Like a day of gray that you fall in love on.
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Of Beginnings and Endings

Wait . I’m not ready for this. I don't want this. It’s too soon. Come back tomorrow. Leave. You were supposed to be here a year ago. I gave up on you. It’s too late. You should’ve been here yesterday. Stay. I’m not done with you yet. I thought I had more time It’s too soon. You’ll be back tomorrow? Come. I’m ready. There’s food in the fridge, and blankets on the bed. I left space for you on the couch. I’m ready now. But you left yesterday.
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Writer's Block

Fidgeting. Fingers twitch, inspiration strikes, furious typing. Erasing. Couplet about heartbreak Gets morbid, delete . Needs coffee. Remembers quitting coffee, sits back down. Cliched comparison of love to another abstract human construct. Realizing it makes no sense. Erasing. Surfs Tumblr, self-hates, takes a walk. Sits back down again. Thinks about coffee. Looks at the time. 7:05pm Guess we’re starting at 8. Netflix. Hour-long show. It’s 8:05. Too late. More furious typing. Thinks about investing in a new computer. Gets on Amazon. More erasing. Hates self some more. Stares at screen. Calls a friend. Hates self out loud. Goes and gets that coffee.
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The Words I Do Not Say

“I’m not ok.”  “Everything hurts.” “I’m not happy. Not anymore.” I’ve been told I talk too much.  That I have words for all occasions; joy, grief, anger or even apathy. Words for you, words for me. Words that entrance and words to set you free. “I miss you, even though you’re right here.” “I miss me.” I always have a greeting and a smile to share If I don’t like you. If I do, I might ask how you’re doing too, I might listen when you respond. “That wasn’t funny.” “That wasn’t ok.” “You make me uncomfortable.” Maybe we all talk too much, trying to keep the silence from seeping in. Silences don’t lie, you see. And in what isn’t said, maybe we say too much. Or maybe no one’s even listening. “I’m not ok.”
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Growing up

I'm not sure if growing up is a conscious decision, or if it's something we can't really control. I'm not sure if it's a process, a painstakingly long journey, or a single moment of clarity that changes everything. Maybe it's all of these things; maybe it's none. Maybe how we grow up affects who we grow into as much as anything else does. But eventually, the world chews us up and spits us out, and suddenly all we can see are shades of gray. Nothing is black anymore, nothing is white; but what is worst of all, nothing is in color. And as much as we try to bring them in again, there's no unseeing reality; no going back. Just forward, but without colors, direction seems meaningless. And we're stuck, stagnant, a never ending cycle of disillusion that you can't really ever break. So grown ups have their own set of delusions to give their world a semblance of meaning. People are classified and judged to better understand them, senses of purpose are ...
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Rhyme

People tell me I’m not a child anymore, that my poetry isn’t supposed to rhyme You’re supposed to grow with age, and your verse mature with time But the endless thoughts, all those words always rhyme I’m in pain. And it’s in vain, I’ve nothing to gain but I just can’t Switch off my brain. And rhyming was once a talent, but now? I’m ‘insane’ and I can’t stop. Because to sound profound you need a different end to each sentence Each word is different, no two have the same cadence, all your lines are fragments As splintered as your soul, as broken as your heart, each part Darker than the last and I’m cold. So cold. And all these words keep crashing through Each one unannounced, yet invited too And each thought falls together in an imperfect harmony A rhythm of my own design that seems to set me free But I stop. Because I’m not a rapper and I’m not a child anymore, to rhyme So I stop. And my sentences grow short. And it takes effort to sound profound,...
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One of These Days

One of these days, I’m going to say no. Of course, I've said that before, and it's hardly made a difference. Every time I consider it, my head says no, but my heart says yes. And I've always been about following your heart and your dreams. Not that this is a dream. But the way it feels, it could be. I haven't really done anything I'm very much ashamed of. Nothing earth shattering. Nothing I've really regretted. Well, mostly. A cigarette or two now or then. Alright, maybe a pack or two. It's a bit of a vicious cycle, really. I smoke, beat myself up about it, smoke some more to forget the guilt. But I will quit eventually, because you cant afford to forget your life by covering it in a haze of smoke. I'm going to say no, some day. But for now, I'm hooked. One of these days, I'm going to say no. All those talks in the mirror, all those mental monologues and journal entries; I will say them aloud eventually. One day, he'll ask me to help hi...
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