I never understood the reason I cry before things end
is because the man that was supposed to wake up every morning and tell me I was worthy,
only ever texted me on my birthday to tell me he was proud.
As if he ever played any part in raising the person I am today.
How dare he show his face every other holiday and act as if the good in me came from him.
I've spent the last twenty years using boys to fill his void.
I've spent the last twenty years begging those to stay that were never meant to.
Because the only way I knew to recognize a man's love was in his inconsistency.
You tell me you want me but the daylight fades over and over and I haven't heard from you in two weeks.
I learned when I was 5 years old that a man's words mean nothing when his actions don't align.
I am done giving you the benefit of the doubt.

What has literature become?
Mockery of the new age
They spit on the graves of former writers
They take their names and drag it through mud
Disgrace, distaste
Nothing fuels the flame
The elusive spark as died
We all try to grasp at fame
Only few may succeed
In comparison we falter
We are the ****** ones
left to pray at the alter

seated
on a bright yellow stone slab bench
beside a cobblestone path
diving steeply into dark forest

my page illuminated
by the last trace of filtered sunlight
this overcast Friday eve

mountains peeking through low clouds
marking dark silhouettes
against a blue-gray southeast sky
hints of pink paint the western clouds
softly bidding us goodnight

scattered shouts
and musical notes
waft up from the town's bars below
dancing through the trees
flowing to the rhythmic folklore
of the local vallenato band

night closes in
darker each minute
the thin yellow crescent overhead
seizes its moment
shining brighter and louder
through the wispy clouds

as mountains emerge at last from fog
they dissolve just as quickly
into the black sky

all vibrant hues melt away
the bench transforms
dark yellow becomes gray
beneath my weight

one last vestige of color lingers on
the dull red burning on the horizon
sparks an inner fire of gratitude
for every second of light
every second of life

my page descends into darkness
written thoughts plunge back
into the unexpressed depths of the mind

Night falls.

I refuse to let your eyes look back.
The Past is nothing.
A lesson learned and forgotten.
Let it softly fade
And the stars shine bright.
Don’t ever look back.