Uncertainty
Is questioning
A part of my growth
Or my demise
Where have I been?
Where am I going?
Where am I now?
What do I do?
Who am I?
How do I live?
Madness
Or clarity
What is this uncertainty?
A bridge to understanding
Or quicksand
I feel so lost
Again...
Always?
Do I always feel this way?
Underneath?
Inside?
Or is there strength somewhere in there
Knowledge
Purpose
Intention
Why can't I grasp
Truth
It slips through my fingers
Like a fistful of sand
It slips from my mind
Like the item I forgot at the grocery store
It slips from my eyes
Just outside of my periphery
So I close my eyes
And search for truth
Fool’s Gold
Pyrite’s luster
& yellow hue
makes sparks
when struck
with steel.
& you?
Whipped cream
on dessert?
Or soap bubbles
on sandpaper?
Let’s not
call it love—
this bogus
emotion
you share.
Fake.
False.
Flirtatious.
Phoney.
Fraudulent.
Pyrite’s luster
& yellow hue
makes sparks
when struck
with steel.
But nobody
thinks
it’s real—
least of all
me.
Black Crows
black crows peck at my corpse
skeletonized remains alone and forgotten
struggling to wash pure with gallons of tears
memories branded and seared into breast
hollow throbbing bones collapsing in ruins
black crows peck at my corpse
dissolving into puddles of rancid death
unfolded particles of grief and sorrow
trudging paths of sharpened pain
digging into wounds, praying you’ll hear
black crows peck at my corpse
my feelings packed beyond last door
unraveled like a threadbare sweater
neglected and held in contempt
erased from deep depths of darkness
black crows peck at my corpse
abandoned and invisible in my corner
fading into grey world of oblivion
tiptoeing on silent padded feet, as I
pull blade of scorn from bleeding chest.
black crows peck at my corpse
“I am still here!” I scream
begging you to blow air into lungs
so I can inhale your essence
but I plod on, lost and alone.
Cancelled
I stared down at him for a second and then rolled my eyes towards the ceiling.
“Yeah,” I said, into the phone. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“But you promised.” My little sister’s voice came through the speaker, a high pitched whine.
“Yeah, I know. Things got a little complicated over here, though. I don’t know if I’ll be back in time for the party.”
“You said that you were going to come. You promised.”
I groaned, letting the noise whistle through my nose. “Yeah, sweetheart, but something came up--”
“It’s for your job?”
“Yeah, it’s--”
“I hate your job.” I could imagine Lexi’s face: her eyebrows drawn low on her forehead, defiantly, her chin jutting out, lips pulled tight, nose in need of a tissue. I imagined her arngrily wiping away a betraying tear and then planting her hand firmly on her hip, the other gripping the phone tightly.
I groaned again. I looked down at Claye and tried not to feel trapped.
“Look, I can’t talk right now, sweetheart.” I tried again.
“Why not?” Her voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Your job again? What do you even do all day?”
I grimaced. “Sorry, I can’t talk right now--”
“Why not?” She repeated.
Hades, she was starting to get on my nerves.
“I, uh, something came up. An emergency,”
“More important than me?”
I fought the urge to scream, swallowing down the sound. “No, sweetheart, but someone needs my help.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Someone important, alright?”
“Whatever. You promised, I thought you kept your promises.”
I gritted my teeth. My hand wandered down to Claye’s forehead. I brushed my fingers over his clammy skin--he had stopped sweating long ago. His skin was hotter than ever, the fever was rising. I brushed my fingers along his cheek and elicited no response from his cloudy eyes.
Come on, Claye, I thought. You can’t die on me now.
“Sorry,” I snapped, not feeling sorry at all, “I have clingy, feverish assassin on my lap. I’ll call you back when I can convince him that he’s not going to die of a cold.”
It was a lie.
But I wished with all my heart it was true.
I hung up the phone before Lexi could answer.
“Claye?” I whispered, leaning over and speaking into his ear.
No response.
“Claye?”
His gaze wouldn’t meet mine, they pointed, rigidly at the sky.
“Claye?” I said louder, this time. No response.
It was a second before I noticed that the night had become eerily silent. His ragged breaths no longer filled the air.
My heart seized.
″Claye!”
There was no answer. I had expected none.
Tears wouldn’t come. I felt empty. I couldn’t bring myself to look in his eyes again.
Trembling hands grasped my phone. I dialed Lexi’s number. The ringtone sounded haunting in the empty air.
“Hello?” Lexi said. “Change your mind, did you?”
I shut my eyes and felt like breaking.
“Y-yeah,” I whispered.
“You’re coming?”
“I think I can make it,”
Tears came just then, streaming down my face, silently.
“Really?”
“Yeah, plans got canceled.”
The Grim-lit Dark
All my life I was taught to be a soldier.
I even signed up.
When the dream ended, I realized it was never mine to begin with.
A victim of another's lost fortune.
Now, I forge a new path, one that rests on my own deeds.
Much time has passed, a lifetime spent and wasted.
I am young, so they say, but I feel so old.
Each word I lay down is a pulse of light along a grim-lit path.
I write to embrace the past.
I write to know I didn't fail.
I write that I might not feel so lonely.
Keep writing
Writing doesn’t have to be for anyone
or anything.
A stream of consciousness where
you can let your heart flow
to your fingertips
and seep into the page.
No second checks.
No deletes.
Because you can’t delete your heart.
No matter how hard you try.
As a writer I am human.
Full of successes and mistakes
(mostly mistakes)
but trying her best
(not always enough).
But overall a way to let loose the aches of the heart that keep
pounding and pounding, rattling against your chest,
pulling you to the ground with the weight of the world.
Because the weight of the world is never on your shoulders;
it’s on your heart.
Writing opens the cages we can’t see.
It can help the writer be free
and ultimately lets them just be
As people compare people,
poets compare poems
and hearts compare hearts.
“Why can’t I be more eloquent?
Why do I use so many statements and paragraphs?
Why don’t I have enough likes?”
As people compare people,
poets compare poems
and hearts compare hearts.
It’s the human nature,
yet with human nature we have been gifted the blessing
of the power of words.
And the power of sharing.
The ability and confidence
to post your heart
onto a screen
and watch it get judged.
Yet, keep writing, hearts.
Because no matter how dark or strange you may seem,
you are beautiful and unique.
Keep writing, hearts,
and let the world know who you
truly are
Save Me
I am submerged
below my flood of tears.
Can’t gaze
through murky vision.
My arms flail
trying to swim
through emotions
impeding my struggle.
I am drowning
I grit my teeth
to stay the flood
from flowing sobs
penetrating my soul.
Perpetual grief
adding to my misery.
My despair darkens
like sky’s sorrow.
Fissures weep
spitting blood of angst.
Chaos speaks
through thunder’s hammer
and lightning’s smite
Please, lend me
your heart
to float on before
deep watered threat
conquers
and takes me under.
Expel my torrents
from body and breath
before I gulp
the cascading torment
and nothing remains
but muck and sludge.
Quench my need
engulf me
immerse me
inundate me
wrap me
in your warmth
quell my pain.