Are raindrops tears, with
messages inscribed on each
hurdling down to earth  

Landing on flowers
Letting petals brace their fall
they listen and say  

Your pain my beauty
I drink your peril, for in
Nature we are one

I rip ragweed from the ground,
    dew drops from its leaves onto my arms

        never making it to parched soil
            nothing more then powder
                across my feet in tilled earth.

I kneel in the garden saluting sun and
    welcoming a new day as light moves

        over hills and fields around me
            bringing bees and butterflies and birds
                beginning their day

I stand with the push of breeze
    rustling trees nearby

        to watch clouds, and it’s like
            time slows for just a moment
                there with my toes in dirt and

my head in the sky.

A year and a half ago
I’d been a barista for five years.

“Luck” fell into my lap
And now I’ve been apart of
The white collared community for almost a year.

It honestly feels fake.
It honest feels like a lie.

The only time
That I feel like my true self
That I feel like my comfortable self
Is when I’m five beers deep
And smoking a cigarette
All alone
And acknowledging
That a year and a half ago
I was happier in most ways.

I think poetry is mainly just

I saw aging hippies with gray ponytails,
well-padded grandmothers
with their pattern-bald husbands,
and a slew of sixty-something-year-old women
with bleach-blonde hair, high heels and push-up bras,
all wanting to relive their glory days by taking it easy,
pretending they are not now running on empty.

Joyous childhood
Lost
As the shadow
Throws punches
Slowly getting
Larger and closer

The constant battle
All-consuming
Stealing energy
And relationships
Leaving behind
A scarred battlefield

Momentary relief
Appreciated
Yet colored by
Fear that
It is temporary
Overshadowing the happiness
Wounding the brain

Longing for
Normality
Holding oneself apart
Unable to believe
One can truly relax
Destroying the psyche

moment
longer

funnily, i write this at dusk
to recognize my own absurdity

being without is so trivial,
toddler-like, but i will wail until i am fed

until my simple needs & desires are met
until i am loved

until the dawn stays
forever

mourning doves still sing in the evening,
but i always miss the dew

(as discovered in the doctor’s notes)

I heard nothing.
But he heard plenty:
heart sounds.
But they were
normal heart sounds, S1 normal and S2 normal.
No murmur was heard. (I kept my mouth shut.)
No friction rub.
No gallop.
No S3 or S4 sounds.
No wheezing or rales.
Bowel sounds are normal.  

I kept quiet but
it seems my body is rather noisy.