a little romance with life

There is still so much growing up to do. Like learning how not to be disappointed By my handwriting on the first page Of a brand new diary. And loving myself when a new pimple Pops up on the nose (maybe the pimple too) And how the hair gets all messy after sleep. Looking inside to find the courage to finally Empathize with the people I love too much But am often reckless with. Like how to express feelings for which There are no right words, and to say the right words when there are no feelings at all.   To become friends with the shadow that lurks Behind, scaring and warning me of who I am And what I could become. Learn how to let a word seep into my bones And let it run through my nerves and veins Without feeling the need to tattoo it.   And how not to judge the first bencher Sitting and making notes in a boring class, Asking questions as I stare at her from far behind.   There is still so much growing up to do Before the dust rises again and I begin to forget All th...

The Death of a Tree He died so young, they say; how unfortunate, they say; Such a time consuming affair, the cars slow down in front Of his open casket, paying homage, their cries sound like horns And the sky weeps rain, and the wind runs wild Offering comfort to the trees nearby, families and friends Of the one who lost his life; he died so young, they say Swept off by a storm, somebody needs to teach these kids To stay strong, to keep their roots firm, to hold on to their ground; The college students walk by, with him they shared the shade on a Sunny day, the first kiss, the smoke of a cigarette, the weeping On a call; the shower makes it hard to see their tears today; He died so young, they say, but he smells like the first time His leaves were born; he looks like he’s finally fallen asleep After a tiring day at work; he died so young, they say But I can’t stop thinking about the bird who lost its home At such a young age.

It is time to pack and say goodbye But all I want to do is refill my now empty Almira Back again, so I sit inside it Trying to fill this hollowness I feel. It is time to pack and say goodbye But can there ever be enough bags To record the magical laughter of the people I’ve met? Of randomly opening up to complete strangers As we sit and talk under the stars? Can a bag ever hold all the warmth I’ve received In libraries, while crossing paths, and during Awkward bathroom conversations? Who can ever express the feeling of being in love With people, sometimes without Even having spoken to them enough? It is time to pack and say goodbye And the fuller each bag looks The emptier I get inside. Is there a bag somewhere that has stored All the hair I have given up, All the inhibitions I’ve lost All the fears that scare me no more? Is there a bag with moments of songs And crying, chocolates, and colorful festivals.   Where do all these go? These magical moments That vanish in the blink of ...