Wednesday, November 26, 2014

The Heart Ends Its Own Pain

Anyone made of pure love would live forever. But you are taught to hate. And hate is what kills you. It kills you because love made you. It kills you with lines on your face and hurt in your heart. It makes you old and it makes you dead.

It's so simple to live long. Love makes babies but hate kills us all.

Monday, November 24, 2014

The Illusion Of Things Never Changing

You think, “This is life, this is just how it is and how it’ll always be.” But you are living through something. And while, logically, you must know that there was a time before now, when things were different, and that there will be a time after now, and things will change, it’s so hard to remember right now: Everything will change. 

You are alive in a memory. 

You, are once upon a time. 

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The Tension Between Who You Are

You want to be so many things. I always thought you would settle down one day and be ok with just being who you are. And what kind of monster would I be, to ask you to want to be less?
Maybe wanting to be so many things, is just who you are.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

The Design Of A Sickness

It only starts to hurt when you leave.

Monday, November 10, 2014

The Sad Sea Waves

When I look at you, I can see the person you used to be drowning in the person you are. And it makes me nostalgic and sad because I know when you look at me, you must see the same thing.

Thursday, November 6, 2014

The Place I Stopped Briefly

I know because I've seen your footsteps, sometimes the road gets so dark, you forget what light was like.

I know, it's easy to forget that it's just the end of the day, not the end of you.

And if you'd let me walk with you, I'd tell you that it doesn't matter who you walk with, as long as you walk this road, well.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

The Twin Engines

I love you to create a kind of medical emergency, to make sure that as our bodies grow older, our hearts can grow younger.

My heart was old as oak when I was born.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The Contradictions Make Me

Poetry is a way to take pictures of things you can't take pictures of.

Pictures are a way to say things you can't say.

This is a way for me to do things that I can not do.

Monday, November 3, 2014

The Glassy Reflection

If I'm loud, it's because I'm above the wave and if you can't hear me, it's because I'm under it. And I never want you to worry because the nature of a wave, is to pass. I'm not being quiet. I'm just under this wave.