Late To Bloom

The Queen Anne’s Lace blooms in August.

Budding like August memories.

Thriving like August harvest.

Dancing like August trees.

Happy like August nights.

The dandelions die in September.

Dimming like September sun.

Falling like September heat.

Fading like September leaves.

Bittersweet like September summer.

Take me back to August.

To summer warmth still abundant.

To the middle ground.

To contentment manifesting.

To hope still lingering,

Hope for the beautiful arrival,

Of the ones who are late to bloom.


Dusty Lungs

This one kinda came to me out of nowhere. The day I wrote it, I was feeling a little melancholy. Not a bad melancholy, but a reflective, sensitive, & calm melancholy. I felt like the world was in hyperdrive & I could feel everything around me. This is the feeling I always get when my brain is starting to cook up a poem & I know I will *need* to write that day or I’ll miss the fleeting moment of inspiration. It is an intense time of being in tune with my surroundings & being inspired by anything & everything. So, the day this was written, I wrote a few lines when I first woke up. Then, about every half hour or so I’d think of another few lines. Then I’d remember some random sentences I jotted down in a journal a year ago or scribbled onto a gum wrapper the week before & somehow these old, unused lines fit so perfectly into this new poem. By the end of the day, I crawled into bed & read everything I wrote & to my surprise I had written a complete AND fully legible poem. The poem was obviously inside of me somewhere, complete & ready, but it came to me in unclear & broken pieces. Then, as I wrote what came to mind, it reformed itself naturally without me having to do hardly anything. To me, this is a metaphor for life. Things come to you in unclear, broken pieces, but they naturally form themselves into something that is collectively prosperous, true, & good. These are the poems that I live for. These are the poems that lead me to self-betterment & leave me feeling tired, but divinely peaceful & refreshed. I realized that this is one that I needed to recite. The words needed to move & breathe. So, I recorded it & I’m finally sharing it. The video recitation is at the bottom & here are the written words:

Everyday, I live.

Walking around, breathing more dust into my lungs,

Growing & packing more age onto my body,

Each year carrying a heavier weight.

It’s like, for every new layer of wear & tear, I am given a medal,

And my frame is pulled further down every time I place another one around my neck like a yoke.

It’s not exactly the prize you’d hope for.

Yet, I wake each day unbloodied,

My hands unbound,

My body unbroken.

I survive, still, even while open to the elements, unprotected.

Don’t lungs ever get tired of breathing?

Seems such a tedious job,

Over & over, with every breath, all the capillaries inside having to intermingle with the outside world.

“How exhausting.” I think.

Having your sole purpose be to constantly work yourself raw to keep someone else alive.

But then I remember,

That we all essentially do the same thing,

We‘re always putting so much effort into keeping ourselves living, thriving,

Along with keeping others out of danger too.

Reciting comforting aphorisms in our sleep,

In an everlasting state of recovery.

Life is so fragile.

Life can change in an instant,

And it causes us to live & love with so much fear.

At least I know I am wanted by the earth.

It continues to hold me in its gravity & hasn’t let me go, yet.

The world around me seethes up & down, back & forth,

In & out, like breathe in my lungs.

It reminds me of ocean waters,

A stormy swell eddying.

Maybe someday I’ll be as beautiful as the sea while I turn & shift.

Maybe someday I’ll see the people lined up on my shores staring at me & marveling at my current & flow,

Finding solace & inspiration in my changes & movements.

But, I have not found my flow just yet.

I haven’t mastered my sleight of hand.

I still scramble & fumble every time something new & unexpected happens.

I find it impossible to grow used to things.

I’m always surprised & caught off guard.

Everything we experience always has an effect,

Life imprints it’s marks all over us.

Like how there’s a worn down ring from the glass of water you always have at your bedside.

Or how the lipstick crescent shapes on the wine glasses never quite come off.

We’re always being shaped, molded, & influenced.

All the moments of our existence build up, one by one,

Superimposed like thousands of overlaid film exposures,

To reveal one jumbled, unrecognizable photo of life itself,

And in the end we’re left with a faded reflection of everything.

A Life to Live

I stepped over somebody’s handwritten words in the sand today.

So I didn’t disturb someone’s mark on the earth,

So I didn’t destroy their attempt to be remembered– to be heard.

I became upset & wondered, “Why doesn’t the rest of the world give the same respect to other people’s screams into the void?”

But I let the negative thought pass & I reminded myself that, today, for the first time in a long while,

I’m shining a little brighter,

Humming a little louder,

Feeling a little deeper,

Reflecting a little stronger,

Living a little lighter,

Reacting a little bigger,

Seeing a little clearer,

Hurting a little gentler,

Yet, feeling a little more tender,

And hoping my heart is a little softer.

Later, I laid in bed alone, in the dark.

I closed my eyes & listened to an old song,

Instantly, my favorite memories flashed in my head like flickering splices of a film reel.

I remembered the moments so vividly, both the good & the bad.

The moments I learned from, the moments that revealed the answers I sought.

The moments that shaped me, that left their mark on me.

I could feel the sun on my skin,

The wind in my hair,

The water on my toes,

The pain in my heart,

The smile on my face,

The tears in my eyes.

I could feel.

I could feel life again.

And I realized, I still have time to leave my mark.

I can still be heard.

I still have life to live.


My world inverts.

I watch my light turn to shadows.

I used to live in the brightness,

But the negative spaces have become tangible & physical.

They have engulfed my bright places,

And I feel the overwhelming absence of light.

I want to let the shadows dance in tandem with my soul,

So I can sit amongst their dark shades & understand what they’re trying to show me.

I want to rest in their inky umbra & discover the lessons I’ve overlooked for so long.

So I can savor the brighter days more than ever, because I felt the beautiful chill of darkness.

But the contrast sends my senses into shock.

The changes & shifts distort my whole being.

Yet, I worship the peace in between the two extremes,

Because that’s where the balance is,

That’s where the lesson is.

But again & again, the dark arrives & the sun sets too soon,

And I must learn to bask in the moon,

As its beams shower down on me- so cold and clean.

And the shadows whisper, “this is the depth you’ve been searching for.”

I dig down inside myself.

So far from the glowing veneer I veil myself with,

Down into the caverns of my negative spaces.

I am inverting.

Breakdowns & Breakthroughs

Life’s lessons come draped in sadness and fear.

They scream with subtle profoundness and profound subtlety.

The beauty that comes after pain is hard earned,

And it should be recognized as such.

Our existence is a plethora of ups and downs that must be felt in full,

But always remember that the waves come without notice.

Your highest high could soon shift to your lowest low.

Yet, your downfall could lead you to your greatest advances,

And the breakdown could bring forth the breakthrough you’ve been awaiting for eternity.


I am the wind who makes the trees dance

The relief of a second chance.

I’m the dust in sunbeams,

The magic in dreams.

You can meet me in the water’s reflections & ripples,

Somewhere between a stranger’s smiling eyes & familiar dimples.

Lost in the happy hellos & painful goodbyes,

The glowing clouds in painted skies.

Hanging in the branches & golden leaves,

In your favorite sweater’s sleeves.

Caught in the river bends,

The laughter between friends.

I live in the pictures in your wallet,

The box of keepsakes in your closet.

You’ll find me in the new beginnings,

The goodnight kisses & sleepy good mornings.

I am floating on the pleases and thank you’s,

The silly phases you outgrew.

I’ll be hidden in a wedding song,

Tucked away in the places you felt you belonged.

I’ll be in the old notebook on the top shelf,

The ballet shoes from when you believed in yourself.

I’m mixed in the colors of your favorite paintings,

Clinging to the words of your favorite sayings.

Cradled in the cobwebs of your childhood home,

Cemented in the cracks in your first skipping stone.

You’ll feel me in your mother’s hug,

Cupping your hands around a warm mug.

I’m the sound of a doves coo,

The flavor of grandmas chicken soup.

I am the smell of fresh brewed coffee,

The heat of a campfire on your shivering body.

I am the breeze who makes the curtains dance,

The comfort in a lover’s glance.

I am love & hope, I am meaning.

I’m what keeps you living and dreaming.

There it goes, the passing moment,

Gone like a whirlwind.

In the blink of an eye, we are in another eddy of time.

We’re just walking the line.

The clock doesn’t stop for a second,

Do we ever really experience the present?

Or has it just been past and future all along?

Because life just flows like a river on and on, flowing ever-long.

Who really knows where the currents go,

When we’re always moving and can’t take it slow.

I feel like I’m just skimming through life, floating through every experience,

Never a force of action and completely void of any influence.

I just exist.

Yet, something inside tells me to resist.

Sometimes I want to implode and turn into a supernova, unconfined,

Leaving a black hole in my wake, only my push and pull left behind.

I want to live with purpose and meaning,

I want to keep loving and dreaming.

I love the way the sun feels on my skin,

But I want to feel that sun within.

My life isn’t a game to be played,

It’s full of passion and intention and I do not want my ripple to fade.