Doesn’t it hurt just as much?

Want

What do you long for

in your heart of hearts

in this eruption of light

between eons of dark

What do you wish for

at the cut of the cake

A knife in your hand

for a love you still ache

You’ll get what you want

if you’re willing to wait

If not when you want it

then when it’s too late

Either Or

There is so much anxiety in the beginning. So much hope and faith. But it’s all unnecessary. Once you give your heart away, it’s out of your hands. And there’s nothing you can do to change the fact that love is, or it isn’t. It will either work or it won’t.

The Golden Rule

Something I wish I had known from the beginning. If you are criticized for your writing, it means you are creating work of note. When you find yourself in a place where strangers are talking about you, keep creating the work that got you noticed. Do not alter your writing to appease your critics. It is natural to crave validation, especially from those who will never give it. To be a successful writer, you must ignore this instinct. This is the most critical lesson I have learned. You can’t please everyone, so don’t even try. This rule applies in life, in love, and especially in writing.

Only Yours

In this poem

there is only one voice

My voice and none other

In every other poem

there is only one other

One voice other than mine

There is only your voice and mine

Hidden Love

Just like you would hide a tree in a forest, I hide my love in a poem.

Being an Artist

I recall those lonely nights

pushing pixels on my screen

craving pencil and paper

the smear of paint

beneath my fingertips

the sound of paper sighing

as I drew a line

I dreamt of being an artist

just enough to eat and live

Just enough for the little things

A cup of coffee with a friend

on a park bench one sunny day

A vase full of flowers

I put on my shelf to admire

or a book I can devour slowly

over two weekends

It was a lifetime ago

when I thought of all the things

I could do if only I didn’t

have to chase the things I need

And now here I am with more time

than I had ever dreamt

I pick up my pencil

and nothing comes

Of Years

One day, love came to me. And love has remained with me since. How long was it, before I noticed the ebbing of years? Like a thief in the night, taking so little at a time—it seemed like hardly anything at all.

To the Guy Who Claims My Poetry Was the Cause of His Break-up,

It is astonishing to think that my words have the power to make someone fall out of love with you. That I have somehow been conspiring against you, even though up until this moment, I was blissfully unaware of your existence. Maybe you should ask yourself why she has found her self-worth in the words of others and not yours. Could it be, perhaps, that I’m not some grand puppet master like you believe, that my words are not a cold hard slap, but merely, a soft tap on the shoulder and the truth is—you’re just a shitty boyfriend?