He buries down 
deep inside
the brain, snuggling 
up for another sleepless 
night. 
The same words
and fears on constant 
repeat-spitting 
out a combination 
of lies and truths 
that it's hard to tell 
what the difference even is. 
​My chest curls 
itself into a tight fist
in a pathetic attempt 
to dodge
his cruel tongue. 
​

She smiles 
as her orange curls bounce 
around the dimples 
of her face. 
Her smile is quick,
maybe too quick, 
and lingers 
long after all the presents 
have been opened. 
It's so genuine-
​it hurts. 
No one has cracked 
her smile yet. 
Her mothers arms 
have always 
been there to wrap 
her in a blanket 
of security 
and dry 
her crystal 
eyes. 
She has not 
laid alone 
in bed,
cheeks tainted 
with droplets 
of self doubt-
red lips swollen 
from screaming 
to an empty wall. 
Up to this point 
she has always 
been enough, 
and my birthday wish 
for her, 
is that she'll realize
she always will be. 

Silence, 
at the end of the table. 
They just aren't as keen 
as they once were. 

They sit, 
waiting for a sound 
to be swept 
up and carried 
inside. 
But the wind 
these nights 
is quiet,
and still. 

Maybe it was the roar 
from the jets 
as he trudged 
across borders, 
protecting a country insistent 
on making the same 
mistakes. 
Coming home to find himself 
stranded, 
deserted, 
among all the people
he loves the most. 
What happened to
man down
and why are we powerless
to stop it?
​
They miss the click 
of his pen
from the morning crossword puzzles, 
and the afternoon news 
that remind him the world 
will always be one step 
ahead of him. 
But most of all, 
they miss the song 
that wakes him from his armchair. 

Only this time, 
the other line rattles
with vibrations. 

They imagine its happy birthday Papa
and that maybe it's just as crooked 
beautiful as they remember.

They can't hear the words 
that tumble 
out of his mouth to whisper 
I love you, 
but even with a broken 
record player,
the words still ring 
true. 

When it's the dead 
of night 
and even the crickets 
have forgotten 
their tune,
and darkness crawls
through my window,
threatening to swallow 
and spit
out my very existence, 
she's there.
​Picking up
on the very first ring,
she knows how to smooth
the vibrations 
from my crackling 
voice as the mere 
comfort of her presence 
is enough to push 
the bleak 
shadows back into oblivion,
where they belong-
providing me with the
heat that vanished 
when the saffron
yellow sun burned 
its last ray
and left me stranded 
in a dim 
world.

She's there when fragile things crumble and night 
time feels long; when innocence becomes blurred. 
Soft whispers to try to always stay sweet.
​You won't want my help when you grow older. 
I will - should have meant it when I told her. 

We crave human touch
and comfort to the point
​where we neglect
when their hands 
have grown cold 
​and their eyes 
no longer burn fires 
into our souls 
but barely spark
​the surface. 
Someones inability
to love,
does not have to illustrate
your ability
​to hate.
Do not turn 
away from your feelings.
Our capacity 
to feel things deeply 
on an emotional level
is what makes us special,
and we become dangerous 
beings once we start to lose 
this innate quality. 
We care about those around us, 
and sometimes even more than they do in return-
but that doesn't mean we should stop. 
Do not dwell 
or delay him on his search for happiness 
and don't allow his realization that your souls 
don't quite align anymore, 
to delay yours. 
The universe places people, things, and experiences 
into our lives for a reason.
Make way for new things by flushing 
out what has long-expired.
It's the cycle 
of life.
Someone else will come along and love 
someone you used to love,
and thank them for that.
We recycle, refresh, change, and upgrade
so that we stumble 
upon the right people for our current state 
of mind and journey.