we take so much from the earth,
and we give it nothing back.
we owe it everything.
singing thoughts
Hope
Waiver
Freeing.
Why do we always seek to be free?
Does that mean we’re always stuck?
Always restrained?
Never enough freedom?
Complaining about how it’s always gone?
Maybe it’ll never be enough.
The taste of bliss is always temporary.
Comfortable (for now)
there is some justice.
only some.
justice does not stop here.
this moment is enough
to let us sleep for the night,
to let us feel some comfort, but
but,
but,
but it will never truly be enough.
Floating underneath rocks
When do you know if you’re preserving your peace or if you’re truly just being a coward?
When do you know if you’re giving yourself rest or if you’re just denying reality for as long as possible?
When did you want to come out of your rock? Out of you’re encavement?
Out of your whisper of a reality full of fakeness?
It’s clenches your heart to write about this. You know it. You agree with it.
But what are you going to do?
You’ve threatened yourself from living fully, from experiencing fully, from being together with others fully.
I think you remember when you started doing this to yourself.
The times when your eyes started to glow when talking about the future.
The times when you stopped wading in the waters of the present.
The times when you started paddling for the crest of the wave,
only for it to crash down wildly at you.
But you accepted it anyway.
You masochist.
Splattering spring
Frills. Frills. Pollen. Chills.
Some are passing,
Some are still.
First day of spring.
Here it comes.
Here it lays.
Running through daffodils.
Making new days.
Rewinding clouds
Wouldn’t it be great to experience something so beautiful time and time again?
To live through that first feeling you had,
whether it be trying a new food for the first time,
seeing fresh colors of a sunset you’ve never experienced before,
or watching that favorite movie of yours as though you’ve never seen it.
There’s something special about our firsts,
something irreplaceable.
That strength of expression felt from that first time around is something you want to capture again.
But I also think it’s beautiful to let our memories be preserved and aged like fine wine.
There’s something beautiful about knowing how a story will end the second, third, fourth, or twenty-seventh time around.
Beauty comes in pieces, expansive or minute,
they’re lovely regardless.
Picture it: peace
Sometimes you’re just upset over all the humans that did wrong to this world,
that there’s no one else to be upset with.
Kind of like how angst is spilling through your fingers, gripped tight into a fist,
and it just leaves you.
Because there’s nothing else to hang onto.
No one else to get mad at,
because you’re already mad at all that exists in the world.
But that’s when you take a breath.
Take a gulp of the air and filter it through your bones
to remind yourself that all of the world’s troubles are not for you alone,
not for you to bear all by yourself.
Your anger is normal.
It is validated.
Don’t forget to bring yourself peace when you need it.
The year is blowing past us
Day and night.
Water and light.
Traipsing through the evening faerie lights.
Swishing through the mellow moon rise.
Come morning, there they are running.
It’s the leaves.
They’re chasing each other.
One after another.
And another, and another, and…whoosh.
They made it safely across the road.
Sea glass ceiling
Calla lily sunrise.
Blueberry paradise.
Footsteps in the water.
Wind chime sounds go under.
Sunken muffled melodies.
Gone are the umbrella trees.
Overseas, I’m at my knees.
Ears filling up with salt water.
Eyes closed, heart overexposed.
Stop asking me what I have to offer.
Lackluster lunar lavenders
I. Am. Death.
I’m dying.
No.
I am death-defying.
Palm up. Palm down.
Trace the fingers where the blood is drawn.
Retry.
Redo.
Remake it again.
You can make it again.
Keep faith.
Keep above.
Don’t let the morning come without your love.
Carmel 