I usually don’t let myself get my hopes up,
It leads to disappointment.

But this time, I took a chance.
And getting my hopes up was worth it.

Because these butterflies fluttering rapidly inside me are worth every second I’ve waited for you.

Not Christmas At All

The stockings aren’t hung,
the walls are bare.

The fire is roaring,
But there’s nobody here.

Lights are glowing,
but there’s no tree.

No sleigh bells or snow,
Nobody but me.

The music still flows through the house,
but my home is no longer here.

No presents were swapped,
Spirits are low, no holiday cheer.

No plans were made,
It doesn’t feel like my favorite time of the year.

All should be holly and jolly,
instead I feel empty.

Losing Your Memory

Losing my memory doesn’t seem so bad.

It would erase the pain, let me start over. Forget you. Forget the memories. Forget the heartbreak. Forget the loss.

The weight of the world pinning me down would no longer exist.

A fresh start, you know? The type where nothing in the past matters. All that matters is the future. I’d be able to look forward and actually see myself alive for the first time.


I want all of you.
The highs, the lows.
Emotionally and physically.
I want to worship your mind.
I want to relish in the feel of your skin against mine.

You’re highly contagious.
And you’ve infected me.

Dark Circles Like Bruises

The nights are no longer silent,
not with all the noise inside my head.

Jolting me awake as soon as my eyes flutter shut.

Makeup conceals, but it won’t cure.
Melatonin relaxes, but my body resists.

Someday I’ll beat these racing thoughts.
Someday the nightmares will stop.

But today is not someday.

And here I lay, with heavy eyes, a tired mind, and dark circles that look like bruises.

Wounds Won’t Heal

To heal a wound, you need to stop touching it.

But what happens when you’re not the one touching it? When everyone else around you just keeps picking the scabs, ripping off the band-aids, digging the knife in deeper… ensuring that the pain never ends while you’re left, helpless, as the suffering continues and the wounds can’t heal.

See You In Every Line

I hate how every line of every poem makes me think of you
And how I have to read every poetry book with a pen in my hand
Just so I can mark, scribble and star all the parts that remind me of you
Until I realize the black ink of my gel pen is flooding every page

Until the ink is all gone
And I’m left with memories of unrequited love and my love for your words

Resentment Part I.

Resentment: A feeling of bitter indignation at having been treated unfairly.

I used to see myself standing there.
Long white dress, curled brown hair.
But now when I picture it,
The dread makes it hard to commit.

All eyes on us.
I stand in front of someone who loves me,
Saying those words that bond us together officially.

But “til death do us part” is no longer an option.
Instead, it’s a ghost that haunts me.

Continue reading “Resentment Part I.”


The weight on your chest, pushing down — harder and harder. All you want to do is be strong enough to lift it off. But instead, you feel weak.

Your lungs feel fragile, you’re gasping for air. And then the ringing begins. Floods your ears and bombards your senses. You feel weak.

Then comes the heat. Your body temperature is rising, quickly. You’re panting to try to slow your breath and cool your body and stop the ringing. You feel weak.

The pressure in your chest is tightening. The pain is spreading and squeezing. Your body starts to give out. You feel anger. You feel sorrow. You feel weak.

All of your senses are at maximum capacity. You can’t move, aside from the shaking. You can’t speak, aside from the crying and gasping. You can’t hear, aside from the ringing. You can’t feel, aside from the pain engulfing your chest.

You’re gasping.
You’re trembling.
You feel weak.

You’re suffocating.
You are weak.