Am I a bad person?
I didn't know it was trauma...
We sit here
and wait...
From dust to rebirth
like pollen particles...
Someone once asked, why do you write?
I replied, “because I need to let it out...
Fostered emotions
escaped...
Silhouettes
stare...
why do you ache
in heavy strokes of despair...
It was a fierce short summer.
A ripe trunk had died...
Hope is a bird that dies outside
my window every morning...
The old house on the hill sits empty
its still structure a thousand tongues of silence...
We're watching the world
wake from hibernation...
As the stars unpacked
themselves across the sky...