To live a good life,
to stay fulfilled and alive
is to keep you in this heart
at all times.

I may not believe in soulmates
but I do believe that there's someone
out there waiting for you-
whose face you will wake up to
for the rest of your life.
Sure, you may not believe me now-
you can't get over them today-
you probably won't tomorrow-
but just remember that
the silence is okay.
These grey periods in life
are finite and do not need
words to colour them in.

How can we
love someone who
will never reciprocate,
or more so,
love someone who
is not good for us?
The human heart is
a funny thing,
isn't it?

Some hummingbirds
Must dream of sugar
And I remember your lips
Sweeter than sugar
Some hummingbirds
Take pride in their feathers
Yet, vibrant as they are,
Your eyes remain treasures
And now, my broken wing,
It keeps us far apart
But I will continue to sing  
Longing for your heart
and your lips, a work of art
So here’s a song to the girl  
that this hummingbird
still dreams about

I fed the wolf too well
and now the beast barely
fits its sheep's clothing.
And now, the wolf must
hunt again to satisfy
its darker side.

If you find yourself
awake at 1AM,
you just might
be in love.
If you find yourself
awake at 3AM,
don't do anything stupid,
you are loved.
If you find yourself
awake at 5AM,
you should go
to sleep.

I want to make that journey
from your knees to
your hips again-
it was always my favorite route.
Soft plains,
colored of oats,
and each road
I know like the back of my hand.
With my destination in sight,
it's getting more humid
by the inch.
Hotter,
wetter,
hotter,
wetter.

To taste her lips
is to drink her soul.

Can we still salvage this kiss
from over seven-thousand
miles away?
Were our lips destined to repel
like the north and south pole?
Or will they find a way
like a heart to a soul?
What were we thinking
when we never said goodbye?
what were we thinking
when we ripped our souls apart?
Can we still salvage this kiss,
as damaged as we are?

You were the last
bit of good in me.
You walked away,
and never gave it back.

Your body
is an artwork
hung up like a Monet
it brightens up my day
A masterpiece
that I call mine
appreciated each morning
'til night without warning
I cannot
turn away  
a beauty so immortal
so sublime and so artful

My sorrow is a rose
and I am the last petal
trying to hang on through
the raging winters.
Sometimes I forget that
spring does not last forever.

I know you
like the sun knows
the sunflowers.
Your love blossoms in this heart
and I nurture it as if it were
the last seed on Earth.

I'm a sorry little soul
and you’re the only thing
that keeps me going.
I’m a fraying mass-
I'm falling apart at the seams
and you're the last stitch
keeping me together.
I've been left out in the rain,
the cold and the darkness,
and I'm waiting on your light
to bask in my direction.

If I had known
that was the last time
I saw you,
what would I have done differently?
Would I have memorized your smile
for all those rainy days you
wouldn't be here?
Would I have held you longer
hoping that your warmth would
stay with me for just a bit more?
Would I have kissed you one more time
so that I remember heaven
when hell comes next?

Learning to look  at you from afar,
to not reach you with these hands,
to get used to the silence,
to become strangers
once again
is one of the
most difficult
lessons I have endured
and am still learning.

We check under our beds
for monsters but
don’t check for the ones
living in our heads.

I feel a weight of the world
Upon my shoulders
My stomach churns
And there is no escape
I tell myself there is a light
At the end of this tunnel
There has to be
The nights aren’t getting
Anything shorter
The thoughts aren’t
Going away
But there’s no turning back now
On this long road out of hell

They’ll be
no sleep tonight
Not when you’re
on my mind
the night:
It’s cold, it’s silent
But your silence:
it freezes, it screams
It’s the loudest sound
The loudest sound
I ever heard

Everyone's in the search
for a love that doesn't exist,
without first knowing who they really are.
How are you supposed to know
what love you will find,
love you can give,
if you don't bother to know
the love you are?

I get to see the world
and all of its beauty
like the shiniest pearl
in the deep blue sea.
I may live in Sydney
and all its works of art,
but he's the luckiest guy in Tbilisi
'cause he unlocked your heart
with a charm like a key.

You wove magic
with tenderness and love
that you braided in my skin
and made the sunflowers sing
with your laughter alone.
I painted your beauty
into those very sunflowers
that I maintain to this day.
I plucked the brightest one I could find
and keep it on my bedside table.
That way it reminds me of you
from the moment I wake to
the moment I sleep.
I think I'm going to plant some more sunflowers
in hopes that their presence will embrace
my home the way your warmth
embraced my home
so very long ago.

I'm not a good person,
I'm just a somebody that
does good things.
All of my sins can be
swept under the rug
in exchange for hollow gestures
and empty kindness for those
who do not mean me harm.
I am not a good person,
but it's easier to get away
with more when you wear the mask.

I watch the me i never knew
I watch him stare back at me
through all the shattered memories
And I watch him fade like a breeze
I bury the me i never knew
I bury him deep beneath me
beneath all the love lost long ago
And i watch him rot so deep below

We all get a little
overwhelmed sometimes
but the memories of you and I
sustain me the most.
I submerge myself in the thought of you,
that sublime smile and
the sunflower that is your heart
and I feel better again.
Just knowing you exist,
the miracle that you are,
is more than I could ever ask for.

This mountain
is not mine but I
feel the need to climb it.
It mirrors my aching soul
but I'm afraid to reach the peak-
a world of magic,
a world I have been
longing for.

The night is young,
the night is ours.
Hand in hand,
we'll steal the stars
and all the lonely sunflowers
with no sun to face.

You crossed my path and I realized
that you haven't changed at all.
Still, you are the lost and bitter
individual that I did not realize
until you turned away.
The difference between then and now
is that my eyes see through you.

I used to miss you
I still do
Selfish, maybe
But I miss the old you
The you that spoke your mind
The you that wasn’t left behind
You’ll walk by and pretend it’s all okay
But it’s true
I still miss you
Sometimes I can see the old you
When your eyes flash
When you almost look real

Stay in my life
with purpose or
leave and take your
dubiety with you.
Life is too short for games,
and half-assed attempts and platitudes.
I want meaning, I want passion,
I want the one.

We move on from
most souls we embrace,
But the ones that got away,
they are never really gone.
There they remain,
Roaming in the
distant cosmos
of our hearts.

My mistake was
believing you were
the only star in this
vast but lonely universe.
You were all I had,
all I wanted,
and I forgot that
there's a billion other stars
that could have shined for me.

How lonely is the
writer who sinks into the page
as they pour their mind into their words
only for no other soul to
witness their art?

Isn't it ironic when
our pain helps us to write?
So much so that we get so
caught up in the inspiration that
we let the happiness pass by.
We hold onto that pain and
squeeze every last drop
of ink until our
work is done.

I've been painting a picture
for as long as I can remember.
I remember going out to buy the
canvas and paints, the brush and the easel.
I spent years on this painting,
making sure every stroke,
every shade was perfect.
I made mistakes,
but it was nothing I couldn't fix.
This painting is my pride and joy-
everything I have to show
for the last few years.
I invested everything into that painting:
time and money, tears and joy-
and then the painting was stolen away.
Sure, it might still be out there, maybe not,
but I don't think I will ever see it again,
no matter how hard I try.
All I can do now is remember how proud I was
of what I had accomplished and what went into it.
I think this is why it is so hard
for people to let go-
to start over and face a blank canvas
as daunting as that may be,
rather than not paint again.
This is why it is important to know
when to let it go,
to start again and forget
about my portrait
of you.

She waits
Waiting for the phone to ring
Waiting for an end in the arguing
It keeps her up all night
but she’s gotten used to the silence
In the darkness, she finds a balance
her mind races
Each passing day feels the same
When repetition is her only game
dragging herself out of bed
hanging onto life by the thread
And out into the world she goes
but inside, she withers like a rose
Feeling like an unread book upon the shelf
Ink upon her skin, she’s an artwork in itself
standing there in her home-made dress
she sewed with the threads of distress
But she’s not dressed to impress
The perfect mess

We were two
frozen raindrops
in a greying cloud of love.
Our collision sparked
the perfect storm.

Have you ever
heard a tale of a phoenix
falling in love with a
wolf in sheep’s clothing?
One was rebirth
and the other was betrayal.
What good could come of
their tangled and violent embrace?

Who is a poet,
without their pen?
Our existence is on the page-
it is the stories in our head
and the words in our heart.

Is it a blessing
or a curse
to find poetry in
anything and everything?
To seek out its beauty,
its faults,
and everything in between?
One might call it a gift,
but me,
I'm not so sure.

I wonder what the
prettiest colour in the world is.
I think it is a mix of the hues in your eyes
and those teeth the moon could only
dream of shining so brightly
when you smile at me.

The queen
gave her life
for the king.
Indeed,
love is about
sacrifice.

I haven't heard
from you in a while,
and even though you
broke my heart last night
I'm still glad you
took the time
to talk to me
again.

This life is
really not so poetic.
It's dreary and empty,
and almost ordinary.
These poems are but therapy-
an attempt to make sense of
this world and all emotions
that come with living in it.
They're a coping mechanism to
work through the pain and
better understand oneself.

Tell me
the reasons why
I should stop loving you
just because you stopped
loving me.

I'm still trying
to describe you,
through poetry
and to explain you,
through song.
But the more I try,
the more I realize
that none of these mediums
will ever do you justice, love.

I have come to realize that
we, humans,
have a religion-shaped hole
in all of our hearts.
What do you fill yours with?

There is nothing
on this planet more beautiful
than seeing a daughter's smile
in her mother's eyes
even when heartache is an
ingredient for something so heavenly.
The sun and moon could learn so much
from this baby girl’s warmth and glow.

There's a riddle-shaped hole
Cutting deep in my heart
but I gave up in it
Long ago
I swore I had
Accepted defeat
But every now and then
I'll catch myself
Digging at
The riddle-shaped hole
You left
So long ago

Think about all the people
you wouldn’t have met if
you had never broken up-
Think of all the things you’ve
learned since then.
Think of all the travelling you
wouldn’t have gone on and the
photos you wouldn't have taken
and the laughs you wouldn't have had.  
Step outside yourself
and look at who you have become-
remind yourself that you made
the right choice.