I write to capture an emotion
or feeling which would otherwise
pass through me as a friendly ghost.
As I feel the chill of its presence,
I take up a pen and write;
Otherwise I would be forever haunted
by a grave yard of words that never
had the chance to walk this earth.

The battles I have worn
still show their faces
in the form of stars,
blinking into constellation,
and leading to revelation
of what nights are,
and what the moon chases,
and how my heart has torn.

When life leaves me distraught
I take comfort in the sky,
for it never seems bothered by
the constant changes it goes
through, instead it embraces
each new shadow and colour
to create itself into something grand.

If only you could break this silence
as easily as you broke my trust.

I thought I was too late,
that you had walked on by.
That I would never see your face,
except in dreams at night.
How could I live in this state
of missing my favourite piece?
I never believed in soul mates,
until you believed in me.

I’m reaching out
but I keep missing,
I’m so close to being
but I keep slipping
on words and pictures
of strangers I’m hoping
to make me their stranger
they follow and number
as someone who reaches
for truth and authenticity
but in reality
I’m reaching out but,

I keep missing.

And with those letters I found myself alive as a readers eyes read my words awry and I smiled as the realization hit that poems and their meanings are never fixed and so while I knew you after those lines, you were always in my soul making them come alive.

If the trees can handle
the weight of the snow,
still standing strong and
showing their colours,
then I can survive this season
without breaking.

He never spoke of my poetry but would speak of his solitary as if it were a curse brought on that he was passing down to me and I thought of this curse as I lay curled up on the floor with my mother crying and my father praying and naming demons to remove from me.

I do not know how to find joy
in these words coming from my soul, I got so used to the blots I take home in the form and forget to look up and see the burn on my skin given by the sun as a message to the one that it loves and maybe the moon will never give anything back but a poem hidden in shadow where every star lacks but in that moment where they’re both in the sky and they catch a glimpse of each other beside you and I do you think that the moon shines a little more bright knowing that he saw his true love that night?