a poem — it’s the finer details of you that captivate me the nuances no one else gets to see because they’ve never had the privilege of sitting so close to the stage of your aliveness that they can hear the cracks in your voice when you speak they don’t catch the way you…

a poem of an endless summer romance — one summer you gave me a single white flower with bruised petals. purple stains of purple rain on milk-white porcelain you said it reminded you of me. i thought it beautiful for i did not know that i had bruises, too. i wondered if it meant you were my answered prayer…

It is an impoverished life we live, really, when we do not revel in the richness of love. The rich, abundant, pregnant, fertile mess of love. No matter how much material or intellectual or social wealth we may gather and obtain; whatever flighty, fleeting pleasures we may chase and acquire…

It took an exhausting and exhilarating amount of work to become the person I am right now. It was, at once, both an intuitive and counter-intuitive process. …

You’re still called, even when you don’t answer. — Time and time again, I find myself showing up to the page because something compels me. This something is not by any means irresistible, for if it were then perhaps I would not have spent so much of my life resisting it at all. But this something is unquestionably, irrevocably…

Because killing your chances to make mistakes = killing your chances to make magic. — Perfection is the death of all things. You cannot be perfect if you wish to be alive, for the act of living is an act of creating. In creation you can never attain perfection, for creativity has no end. Creativity is about exploring and expanding possibilities, not ending them. You…

a rhetorical rhyme about chasing cardboard — you thought you were above the hype on the streets but you’re still chasing cardboard son don’t you get it your love is blind you’re so dazzled by her mind you can’t see she only has room for one in her heart. she checks off all your boxes with her fancy…