the poet

there’s too much of everything too much of missing you too much quiet too much inside of me that i can’t get out too much confusion and trying to figure things out because i don’t have a clue too much of this

i am surrounded by immense volume yet there is no sound. open fields, skies, and forests surround me yet even the wind is still i didn’t know it was possible to have so much silence in such a vast existence

i lived my life an untamed garden. wild poppies blossomed next to tangled reeds. irrepressible carpets of moss crept their way along, never stopping their growth. i was alive, i was living.  but once in a while things would change. my garden wouldn’t die, exactly, it just stopped you could no longer recognize a purple iris underneath the grey canopy that covered it the trees were no longer stretching high with pride, but sunk lower to hide themselves time seemed to freeze - no blooming, no thriving, no life it was only for a short time, but those short times were frequent the garden became not only wild, but feral and sometimes i couldn’t control the brambles that wanted to push up next to my heart i wanted to go back to the way things were in the beginning, but that’s the things with  growth you can’t undo it but i could redo it i fought, i bled, and i toiled the brambles were pulled away and burnt, their thorns screaming to the sky as the fire...

what happens if you pay a forest a visit? well, let me tell you first, he will whisper in your ear he will extend his leafy fingers and usher you into his abode he will say “welcome, little one. taste, see, it is good. here…here is peace.” he will seat you down on a chair of wood, cushioned with moss he will serve you wonder and rest, he will pour water from a rock for you to drink he will entertain you with the music of birds, with the soothing rush of the wind’s breath he will take your hand and lead you on adventures he will offer you gifts of ideas and excitement he will clothe you in flowers, place a bud in your hair and when it’s time for you to go, he will wrap around your heart and call you back he will never leave, he will constantly urge you to return for, you see, the forest is the best of hosts he will leave you with an aching feeling of satisfaction, with your heart full and your eyes shining and when you lie in your bed at night, you will th...

we are people of safety of comfort zones and boundaries and walls we erect barriers around our hearts, guarded by a vicious monster called fear we put limitations around our abilities, not letting ourselves go too far into the unknown we banish adventure and risk and thrill, replacing it instead with an aversion of hazards and danger we have locked ourselves into a burning room with only a fire alarm, but we are too hesitant to break the glass and rescue ourselves and that monster that we placed as a guard has now become our master, and it controls our every move it feeds off of our walls; with each new layer we place around ourselves it grows stronger and more powerful and we don’t even know we don’t see what is beyond our fortress, we have barricaded ourselves in and forgotten to leave a place for windows there is no light, no joy, no anticipation or excitement just dark, thick and suffocating and that monster called fear, holding us back'

when i was little i used to set out my clothes for the next day as little mannequins at the end of my bed they were my clothes-people when i was little i used to lay my stuffed bear next to my pillow and leave the toy bin open so they could play while i slept they were my dreams when i was little i would whisper to the face i saw in the mirror she was my friend when i was little i used to run my fingers along the mossy stones and try to listen as it told me legends of the time it had been a dwarf it was my imagination when i was little is used to go on carousel rides and lay my hand on the horses’ neck, trying to let it know that i felt sorry for its captivity it was my sorrow when i was little i was childish i dreamt, i didn’t know i imagined, i didn’t realize i’m not little anymore but now i wish i were

i don’t have anything to say. i just thought that maybe if i put words down for my eyes to see, that i would realize something’s missing. that something’s really gone.

on days like this i am small. i am weak and tired and scared.  i am quiet words and slow movement, i am limp fingers and a drooping mouth. i have nothing of my fire and fierce words, there is no more courage or strength left in me. i need to be held, to be told that it’s okay sometimes to be this way. i need to hear the words: today your soul has hidden away and you cannot see the light in your eyes. but it’s okay. it’s okay to be tiny and trembling and small. i just want to hide away where no one can find me and rest.

there’s supposed to be a light at the end of every tunnel. if that’s true, i don’t think this is a tunnel,  i think it’s a hole. a deep, black, ineffable hole. and i’ve forgotten the way back out.