writing music

our heartbeats
creating a song
solely theirs;
it is the bass
and the melody
of my morning,
and my evening,
and my night.

We are always in a hurry to be happy; for when we have suffered a long time, we have great difficulty in believing in good fortune.

Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo (via quotes-shape-us)

burned maps

anger and regret
dance hand in hand, like lovers
without direction


i’m sorry;
it is not
for a lack of care
that my ears
become inept.
it is only
that some condolences
can be offered
fewer times
than you have asked.

an affair of seasons

if i am summer,
then what are you?
can’t you be
a summer too?
are you instead
the winter, blue?
snow-covered hills
and laced up boots —
my summer will turn you
into spring’s cool dew.
do you prefer
the autumn fair,
with its cider spiced
and auburn hair?
i think that’s it. yes,
you must be
the fall-time chill
and its reddened leaves.
if that is the case,
then all i can do,
is ripen your fruit
and wait for you.


my father
wrote his own bible,
based not on
the words
of matthew or john,
but on michael,
triumphant warrior,
father of four,
bread winner
and care giver,
lover of the outdoors.
he rode his bicycle
from the base
of the mountain
all the way to the top;
when he reached the peak
the spectator surround
were ready
to name the mountain
after him.

hammer and nail

you cannot say
i accept this hole
while maintaining
an inability to accept
the one
who created it.

Self pity is easily the most destructive of the non-pharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates the victim from reality.

John Gardner 

(Source: quotes-shape-us)



do you know
what to me you are
a shining light
a shooting star

you radiate
both day and night
the beating of
your heart so bright

a soft and brilliant
spoken breeze
leaves light rustle
through the trees

basil growing
perfect tense
we cook the meal
we burn incense

this and more

3 days ago - 7

on growing up

i’ve learned,
only after twenty-odd
years of life,
that the only reason
i ever disliked my mother
is because she knew
when i might collapse
and she didn’t let me.

We wake in the same position we fell asleep in. My body is curled to the left; my head rests on your arm; my knees are bent slightly. You are behind me, knees tucked into mine, breath on my neck, fingers woven between my fingers. Your morning voice stretches in the sunlight that seeps in through our blinds, and it takes everything in me not to burst into blossom and let my body become a garden, a bed of flowers, all so I can hear you say good morning.

Diaries of Me

on moving on

for when you find out
via a small,
government stamped envelope
that your divorce
is final:

do not trick yourself
into remembering the bad
like you did
when so many other relationships

wallow for a while.

know that the tightness
in your chest
is not for nothing,
and trust that the absence
of nothing
is the presence
of love.

turn your self-destructive desires
into your fingers
tapping a keyboard
and the spilling out
of poetry.

and trust, with all your heart,
that though this poem
came from pain,
poetry does not require pain
to be beautiful,

and therefore,
nor does your life.

Sometimes I would open my eyes when we were kissing, I would watch him and I could see it. I could actually see LOVE - not words, not an emotion, not an abstract concept or a subjective state of mind, but a living, breathing thing.

Tiffanie DeBartolo, How to Kill a Rock Star (via quotes-shape-us)


along the graffiti rail
a patchwork urban forest
forgotten weeds and bramble trees
hidden lost soul memories
crying help me, find me please
in rhyme
that falls on deaf ears
with drums pressed in
by headphone bud
while all around
trash blows in the confluence
of hot engine exhaust
and cool September morning


little bird,
retreat to your nest
and see what you
will find;

stay there a while
and get some rest
until you remember
how to fly.