Somewhere on a sidewalk

you kiss a girl hello

and the world collapses

around me as you fall into her

Somewhere on a bathroom floor

lying among the ruins of our love

I am trying to pick myself up again

Somewhere in an old abandoned house

on a distant star—they’ve just heard

your voice for the first time.

And if sound can go on forever

Then why can’t our love?

After Thirty

For many women, turning thirty is something we are conditioned to dread. As though we are born with a clock already ticking, counting down. From our first breath, we are in a race against time.

I clearly remember my race. Looking at how far everyone had gone ahead of me, feeling panic well up in my chest. All my life, I had thought the clock ticking away inside me was a time bomb. But when the time came, I realized the clock wasn’t counting down—it was counting up. And just like that, my whole life came together, and I knew it was just the beginning.

Everything good that happened after that would have happened anyway. But after thirty, I learned that when you confront your fear, it will no longer have power over you. And when you are no longer afraid, the possibilities are endless.

Night and Day

There are those who say

that love is bright

that love and hate

are day and night

Yet there is light

when darkness looms

and shadows

in every sunlit room

When grief foreshadows

the blackened moon

joy is a counter

to her doom

May we see ourselves

in every star

that sets to remind us

who we are

The Chase

I have grown soft—forgotten what it was like to go hungry. Love has spoilt me, but I don’t miss a man I have to chase. Does that seem sad to you? That I don’t miss you? I wish I could tell you about my life. Paint a picture of everything you’re missing. Sometimes I still feel you, looking out from behind my eyes. There was a time when I would have given it all to you. But not anymore. The truth is, I loved our love more than I loved you.

Moving Time

Like love, loneliness is a nocturnal thing

when I’m missing you all night

You snatch away the sleep

You take so much time from me, my love

And what is love but a heartbeat, ticking over

What is a heartbeat but a ready and anxious clock

What are you but minute hands and hours absent

Only you can make time move for me, my love

Only you can make it stop

A Single Word

To be a poet you must hold nothing back. In poetry there is no room for ego, nowhere to hide. You must write under the pretense that no one will ever read a single word.

When We Love

Why does it hurt when we love

When love is so painfully present

Like a sheet on a line