Like rainfall
On a windowpane,
So crystalline, so clear,
Sliding down
As teardrops
To slowly reappear,
As puddles
In my misery,
To seep away
With time.
But emotively,
Your cloudburst,
Paints these
Fresh teardrops....
As mine.

[email protected]
10 August 2025

I.
Lain down, unconcealed
toward the window
shoulder to hip -- a shadowy cursive
perhaps penumbra

II.
Seated, face in utter profile
standing, sorting laundry
washing dishes, guarding
the radiator

III.
Hair eschewed in
conjugated waters
double-exposed
roots and
foliage -- wisps
of sugarland
in subtext
their dark net
cast over a pearly bright sea
discovery left
to the imagination

do you remember
the pause
between words?

do they remember
the place on spine
where water dropped.

bone.

I am not a poet.

My words were never made for the masses,
Made to pry emotions from your heart.
Rhyme can sometimes leave me at a loss,
And my inkwell is more often empty than not.

I am not a poet.

I can write only what I know and feel,
Each poem I give a little piece of me.
Every line is just a wisp away from existence.
Each poem might just be the last I write.

I am not a poet.

Yet why do you feel like my muse?
Your eyes remind me of a thousand places,
Like sea glass glinting green in the hush of tide.
Your voice has its command over my pulse.

I am not a poet.

But poetry you are.
How else do I describe this feeling,
If not with flowery words and rhyme.
And yet no words can hold it right.

I am not a poet.

I would be lost if I were.
For if I give a piece of me,
It will always be here in this poem,
With You.

I wasn’t made for screens and noise,
For empty days and plastic joys.
There’s something deeper in my chest,
A call to rise, a silent quest.

My hands were shaped to hold a flame,
Not chase applause, not play the game.
I feel the weight of unseen wars,
Fought in silence, behind closed doors.

The dragons now wear modern skin,
Anxiety, the grind, the spin.
They steal our peace, they drain our light,
And yet we smile, too tired to fight.

The princess isn’t locked away,
She’s here in every break of day.
She’s love I guard, the voice I know,
The reason I won’t let life go.

But in this world of ticking time,
Where dreams are shelved and truth’s a mime,
A warrior soul feels out of place,
Still searching for its rightful space.

Yet I endure, I still ignite,
A flicker in the hollow night.
If not to win, then just to try,
To live with heart before I die.