Gatherings for the sun.

The curtain is raised. Racing to unravel our backyard folding chairs to have the best seat to witness the final showing of the day. To bask in the beams blessings us one last time before the moon takes the night shift.

Flash photography is welcome yet a disservice in capturing the raw beauty on stage.

Captivated by her movement, you join in on her song and dance. An array of emotions run through your veins. Happiness, gratitude, joy, wonder, curiosity, grief, confusion. Will the next performance be more grand? Have clouds on set? Will the lighting be more vibrant or grayscale?

Take deep breaths and prepare for her disappearance into the horizon. The show is coming to an end. Notice how the audience does not get mad, does not judge nor criticize. Applause roars for her magnetic performance until her return in the morning.

Throw aways your concessions and proceed to the nearest exit. Will call has your ticket for tomorrow’s showing. What will come of it? We hope you will join us for another marvelous evening performance for Her Majestic.

Mesmerized by emerald sleeves draped around a crystallized silhouette.

Her touch, icy yet refreshing.

Standing tall, a magnifying beauty before my eyes.

She speaks in river flows and misty rhymes

whispering enchanting secrets of the forests surrounding her.

She invites me in for a dance around her mind, I couldn’t resist.

I immerse myself in her mystical world, never wanting to return to a reality.

I am now draped in emerald sleeves, standing tall among the forests around her, I am now her.

You invited me in only to chase me out like vermin.

Fed me false hope on the silver platter I gifted you.

Told me today’s specials. I ordered triumphantly only to learn what you were serving was stale, torched and battered in half truths.

If you knew I wasn’t the dinner guest of choice, why invite me? Go through the trouble of onboarding a sous chef you did not want in your kitchen?

I saw you as a new chance at love but turned out to be one of the harshest degrees to cook in.

Too much oil, too many flames, heat over powered and charred us.

I guess there were too many cooks in the kitchen, one of us had to leave.

I used to test you on how I like my coffee 

black, nothing else. 

But since then, my order has changed 

a little bit of milk, brown sugar. 

My hair is a different shade of auburn then you’d remember 

And my heart is a little more reserved now. 

I wonder how the plants are doing 

Or if you shaved your facial hair. 

I hope you found your next favorite coffee blend 

and we could meet again to share a cup 

with a little bit of milk, brown sugar.

I try so hard to be poetic

I start sounding like a character in a novel my high school English teacher made us read about. 

A designated protagonist but no one understands why this is the main character.

They’re so boring and predictable. 

be a villain, at least that’s interesting. 

Keep on running 

Away from heartbreak and disappointment. 

Fleeing from one coast, across to the other. 

Only to fear the first trek was misdirected. 

Where do I belong? 

Is it in a city? 

A room with an ocean view? 

A cabin in the Smokey’s? 

Followed the rainbows, but no pot of gold. 

My compass points north, but I’ve lost all sense of direction. 

My dreams seem like distant memories of a younger version of myself I can’t seem to remember. 

When I wake, will I find my path? 

How much time remains before I wave my flag of defeat?