It's a lot closer than you think
eternity
pick any particle, molecule, atom
my love for you
it's there

Its not a good day
if I havent ripped
a thumbnail on
some jagged metal
or stubbed a toe
Its not a good day
if I havent cut myself
on a kitchen knife
or had my heart broken
Its just the
empty space
between
injuries

The heart of a writer is frail, like that of a flower waiting to be plucked. Life itself, or love, could uproot it, for no rhyme or reason.

I hate to say that my heart has been salted by the woes of man.
This never-ending race has left me wanting for watering.
Hang my heart on your wall with the others to dry out, my love.
I'm tired and weary—I need rest.

I stretched far enough
to hug the moon—
and it didn’t flinch.
It stayed—unbothered,
like it had been waiting.

Like wild trees,
people branch out
fiercely—unconscious.

Some limbs reach
for light,
while others curl
into shadow.

Each one is growing
in their own time.
It’s never about you.

Don’t be bothered
by the thorns they wear.
A tree must grow them—
it’s part of its nature,
like armor,
like a dress.