Poems
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He’s nothing like you Excerpt for the way he stands. The same height and casual stance- Wrapped in black jeans. He’s nothing like you Except for the way he talks. A shouted voice full of mirth When excited in conversation. He’s nothing like you Except for that face he makes. Dark eyebrows raised, wide mouth
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*A poem about feeling overwhelmed by life. May be triggering for some readers* I’m drowning in a self-created sea. Made of tasks, duties, and responsibilities. I asked for this. I thought I wanted more, but I’m in over my head. The water’s getting deeper, and I’m too tired to tread. I’m slowly slipping under- anyone
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I can never go back to Tooele or I might pass that Greek Cafe and remember the afternoon we ate lemon-rice soup and baklava after shopping in the one antique shop in town. I can never go back to Tooele. Or I might drive up that canyon road and remember when we escaped to the
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In the dead of night, silence dances to the racing of my heart. I sit in my bed illuminated by my lamp’s orange glow. Hours slide past as time stands still- I’m as calm and raging as flickering flame. And I gulp down herbal tea as if it’s the remedy to the manic anxiety in
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I still think of you when I hear that song. But today, instead of the familiar stab of pain, I smiled, then laughed, then sang along.
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Coffee in the morning sitting at my desk. Tea after lunchtime- while I take a little rest. A Glass of wine with dinner, with a fruity plume. An herbal drink at night time, a nightcap in my room. My day measured in beverages, drank at their appointed time. A mug, a teacup, and a stemmed
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I knew our relationship would end when I didn’t delete my breakup playlist. I stared at the lineup of songs That nursed me through our first and second love affair. I read through the titles with my thumb hovering over delete, But I couldn’t erase that playlist, Because I knew I’d need those songs again.
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Every winter I seclude myself in my hobbit hole of a home. I surround myself with hot beverage, warm blankets, and fuzzy sweaters so I can pretend that the cold doesn’t exist. The short days drag into never-ending weeks of self-isolation and hibernation. All the hours pass by in a gray smog of monotony, fatigue,
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Has the night always encroached so quickly, after the leaves have turned? Has the dark always fallen so surely after the first season’s snow? Have the days always been so short? Have hours always felt so long? Has winter always entered so suddenly? Where has the autumn gone?
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“Sit with me” the wind howls through my window. “Come run with me” it beckons in the night. “Hear me!” It screams through the branches. “Follow me” It’s shadowless presence invites. “I will bring you clarity” “I will bring you truth” In a voice made to disturb, soothe, and seduce as I shiver in my
Bringing Mae Flowers 