Muse’s Epiphany

I enjoyed the taste of poison With every brush of your lips For just one moment I built a future with you in my head As you re-sketched and erased Every version of me you wanted I was the object of your affection The fantasy you wanted to frame Until I became a scrapped idea …

Mosaic of Stars and Scars

I woke up to the sound of your frustration And saw scattered papers of unimaginable views, Puzzle pieces of torn pictures With colorful and vibrant hues Lay on the floor It was a mosaic of broken inspiration You were unsatisfied with your pages Splattering your dizzying thoughts Then you grabbed my arms And started scribbling …

I wish I was straight

If you ask me if I am proud I will gladly say that I am But there are days I often wonder How easy life could’ve been if I was straight I’m not daydreaming of still playing a charade Or trying to find my way back into the closet No, I wonder how life would …

I Want To Be My Own Person

I am somebody’s calm While I am my own chaos I am somebody’s comfort While I live in anxious thoughts I am somebody’s peace of mind And I don’t know how to be my own I am somebody’s wisdom While my own words feel too distant It feels like a foreign language I never learned …

The Perils of Writing Anxious

I rearranged my worries into an incoherent thought There is no logic or common sense Even if I proofread its sentences The clutter of the words will attack me They are hard to read But easy to digest How can something so poorly written, Badly structured, and filled with made-up words Cloud my better judgment, …

Rewriting Fantasy

Over and over you had me making revisions Until you were the protagonist of the story The hero, The Romeo, The Prince, And my king I have spent too many nights rewriting you As the savior, the white knight A story I didn’t know how to write sober Few glasses of wine, I turned you …

December Ruins and Newly Built Skies

You created a mural from the pieces of my wasted time Tracing back the history before the one they rewritten for me Revised their stories where I was the villain laying on her wreckage Thank you for growing flowers through the cracks on the concrete Allowing me to rebuild this sanctuary Sweeping the rubble from …

He Told Me He Was Old School

When a man tells you that he is an “old-school” kind of lover He is not a dapper ready to sweep you off of your feet He is no gentleman with manners or good-intentions Careful darlings, these old school lovers think in black and white Our new world is too colourful for them to handle …