I don’t want space…
I don’t want to see the mess
And uncertainty that lies
Behind your face.

I just want you.
Right now.
With me.

I don’t want to know…
I don’t want to be aware
Of your questioning faith.

That it’s not me
you want
Right now.
With you.

Why can’t things be simple?
Why does timing have to matter?
There’s love here,
When we lay here together.

But in that space…
The cold, hard truth
Of that place
Behind your eyes
(when you look at me)
Behind your lies…

It’s her face.

Not mine.

Betrayal Trauma

It starts within my heart
Then rises to my throat
Where I spill out all the pain from the old poems that I wrote.

I thought it’d end with you
The way you soothed my fears
But you slipped and hit my panic button, now I’m switching gears.

It never stops, nor ends
These triggers in my head
When I find someone who’s good for me I run away from them instead.

I wish that I could stop
I wish that you could see
Just how perfect of a friend you were and why you’re good for me.

But it’s frightening…your lie
As little as it seemed
A lie’s a lie, the pain’s still there and that’s all my brain can see.

I hate to end us now
It angers me were here
But I just don’t think I can ever stop loving you with fear.

What I Don’t Say

There’s an invisible chaos
Outside my door…

“It’s a pandemic!”
(Someone yells)

And my mind races to find anything
I may have forgotten.
My heart races to find you.

This distance that you and I have forged,
Is wreaking havoc in the promise
That seals my lips away from yours.

Because it’s no longer simple just to say “I miss you.”

And it no longer brings joy to speak the words, “I love you.”

And that’s why I don’t say it.
Not anymore.


I just want to be apart.

Apart from you.
From me.
From our history.
Because every single memory
has a way of seeping through me
like a shot of heroin
to the heart.

(Im tired)

These nostalgic trips in time…
They’re wearing on me.

Like waves to a stone stuck and alone between the shore and the sea.
Paused in its own reality.

But here I am
And there’s my heart.
Seemingly happy.
But secretly…

I just want to be a part.


My eyes study his shapeless lips
as he talks.
My ears stopped listening.

“I miss deployments”
He mutters through the fog.
“Ah yes, hurricanes,” I flutter

Then squeeze my knees,
Hoarding the wet that stains
my garments.

‘I miss you’
My hand says with a gesture.
He holds it but lets go.

I reach back for my coffee.
He says something…
But now I’m thinking about hurricanes.


A morning greet and how are you

Sends my mind into a montage.

My growing timeline of you.

A sunny path and bench near a pond.

A shiny floor and bench, uncles bond.

A committed love to whom he’s strong.

A passionate leader when he is on.

Pieces of tiny visions that you give

Pieced together, creates the life you live

To know I’m in it, puts a smile on my face

To know that in it, I’ll always have a place.

It keeps the silence of our busy days nothing more,

Than the time between the next moment

We explore.

And that is what lies behind the words “how are you?”

It’s like coming back to the puzzle that is you.


A sudden change in view,
In movement and in tone.
No longer am I close to you
In the dark, I’m left alone.

I was one with the abandoned.
What has changed? I am unsure…
In the dark there’s misconception
In the light the truth’s obscure.

(I miss my friend)

But in this mud, alone, I’m wading
Just to be within your view.
And my slighted hands are fading…
As I repeatedly
reach out
to you.

Blind Spot

“You’re a forgiving child…
You’ll be ok.”
This is what she told me
As I listened to her pain.
I watched her past
Sway in her glass
As she glared out through the rain.

‘All things can be forgiven, but my memories will stay’
(my silent ponder)
I study the floor, sip some more
And allow my mind to wonder.

“She’s just like me,”
she cried.
(Confessions for her daughter)
I nod her on and fixate on
Her bonding for the other.

That through the years
It still brings tears
I’m still a blind spot to my Mother.

The Puzzle Box

There is a box
An ordinary box
But inside that box is me.
Through masks I hide
But locked inside
Is what most don’t get to see.

The submissive me

A clumsy dancer in the wind.
A crashing wave against the sea.
It isn’t much
But she is me.

And she wants the world to hear
She has a voice
And it is loud…
So that when on her knees
People know,
It was HER choice
And she is proud.

Because submission is a gift
And it’s meant to be received.
But only by the one who sees
She needs to breathe.


There is this box,
A puzzle box
That nestles deep in me.
That holds a gift
so treasured
By the one who holds the key.