The candle keeps flickering
Every time we bicker
It goes out
The flame
I keep having to relight the candle
Then keep going about
Its always the same

• We fight
• I relight the candle with the scarce light

The room used to be so bright with the light
When it would approach midnight
It'll look like the sun is out and about
But now, I can barely see a thing
Not even the biggest thing
Letting the shadows come out to play

I try my best
To fight back at the painful test
After the arguments
I look back at the room that's dimlit
My gaze fixed on the candle
The darkness around it is one I can't handle
Blood is constantly covering the candle
To simply relight the candle
Yet the flame won't spark

There's no point
There's no point.
The only thing I can do now is wait
Wait and watch the shadows come closer
To look at me like I'm prey
While you relax and watch

As soft as the hair that dresses the cat
on top of the bird that coos like an owl
or beneath my feet, gracing the grass

Sometimes I cope
By imagining you
To be perfect
And that if you were here
All would be fine

I’m not sure why
But I make myself
Believe

I’ve been the storm, I’ve been the tree,
Breaking down and breaking free.
The deeper pain, the higher climb—
My soul’s grown wiser over time.

I don’t just bloom—I rise, I bend,
A story still I’ve yet to end.

it ain't easy, when you relate, restrict and delegate,
when you draw a narrow lane on a highway that says
only left footed
poets need apply
<>
it does not say
slow cars stay to the right,
only trucks,
or oddly even,
no trucks


I love seasonality,
without thickly thinking
you take a break
from the poetry writing

one day I'll figure out a way
to monetize my love poems,
publish them as Shakespeare's couple(t)s,
"new edition plus
a couple of
newfound poems!"

maybe some fools will buy some thinking Shakespeare has been, resurrected!

love grows goes hot all over and
grow slower older
and grow colder,
in between those fine
ticklish teasing moments

when the miracle of resurrection repeats itself

something is said
a gesture is made
a finger strokes the cheek,
unexpected
and it all comes
rushing back again,
overfilling
that coffee cup mug she bought
just(ice)
for you

ain't gonna check how long it's been
since last I declaimed, disclaimed,
inflamed,
these pages with an only love poem

but I do know this:
it is something I think about,
It is something I know about,
it is something I feel about
daily
even on the nothing days,
when routine takes over
I know you couldn't remember of its passage,
is the waking up and the lying down to sleep

but the poets eyes are always open his emotive secret senses,
always alert,
what's that thing they always say,

his heart just wasn't in it!
(🥴if they only knew the truth😘)