I am tired of your complaints,
as I am sick of early morning faints,
I wander beneath the rain
in hopes it will wash away the pain
as tears were slain down the drains

I gasped; the earthly petrichor,
I lost myself in mindfullness, for a minute
how quick the weather changes,
how unexpected moments could be

Due to instant hollowness
I forgot I was praying for rain
in the midst of summer heat.

Another year older,
Another month tugging at the heartstrings.
So many emotions.
Happy, worried, sad, anxious, and happy again.
Everyday a toss of the cards.
I avoided the storms,
Wished upon a few stars,
And prayed to God with all might.  
I watched the movie screen and cried at the scenes.
Missed a few people who have gone on,
And looked back at the last few decades.
My life isn’t perfect.
But why would I want it to be.
At least I’m still here.

A beauty that’s rarely seen,
only reserved for the May queen.
Dancing under her midsommarstang
when the time speeds up but it still seems so long.

We can share some codependency
we can share some trauma and blood.
If you were to leave it would be the end of me,
is this the type of story we tell of love?

Sadly there’s some poetic irony
of the horror when you witnessed the elders jumping,
still human enough but too lost to see
you were in the line; one day to be waiting.

Confuse possession with protection
mistake bare empathy for tender caring.
When’s the last time you felt needed affection
except for the wrong type others are sharing?

And at the very end of it all
you’ll have a face full of tears,
‘cause even a May Queen has to fall
within the changing of season in the years.
And you won’t even care
if it’s freedom or a new type of prison,
‘cause atleast someone will be there
to cry with, to hold you and listen.

Rolls through the valley
A May storm with itchy *****—
What price bonobos?

A month named after Maia
A transition from spring to summer
24 rotations on its axis
19 circles round the Sun
A boy born, his future uncertain
Years of hardship, keep enduring pain
Heart shattered at 16,
And haven’t recovered from the loss
Her body cremated and ashes in the river
Never got a chance to bid farewell
Turned 17, oh what a miserable life
School life turned to hell, full of rumors and lies
At 18, graduated from school
His efforts and work never came to ripe
I hope you’re okay on this fine Friday
Accept my regards as this poet turns 19
Cause I haven’t given up yet