I’m trying to write about you but I’m not sure how to: I can’t call you ‘mine’ because you aren’t, and I can’t call you an ‘ex’ because you never were. You were an ‘almost.’ A ‘not-quite.’ A ‘what could have been.’

what could have been // a.s.m

i find the quietness i crave
amid the forest’s windy veins
where my mind can be at peace,
where my thoughts vacate with ease.
here my feet become my breath
and my mind one with the earth,
i come to realize my worth:
an atom in the universe.

i can always find peace in the forest. // a.s.m

I Am (Nothing Without) Poetry

I am nothing
besides a collection of poems waiting
to be experienced, waiting
to be written.
I am an urn of emotions, a vessel for verse,
an undulating piece waiting to be
completed.

When You Ask What I’m Writing About

seeing the world in a
drop of rain.

finding
meaning in the leaf that has just
fallen onto the pavement.

discovering truth in the
cracks of the living room
couch.

frantically catching thoughts–
like flower petals in a
whirlwind–
in the palm of my hand
before they escape
back into the universe.

hearing stories in her
breath as she lies
next to me,

how much i want
to kiss her.

seeing the universe through
a kaleidoscope,

smashing
it on the floor
in hopes that the colors will
repaint
the skies.

how reading
perfectly phrased metaphors just feels
whole, and like truth, and
like home.