breaking glass // poetry

you first saw me through a glass window
on that cold, November day --
and you fell in love at the first sight, 
or so you would later say. 

the trees were bare and desolate,
their arms against the sky,
and our reflections chased after us
as we went walking by. 

we talked about the future - 
our dreams as open books, 
laid out for all the world to see
if they would only dare to look. 

an image of us was frozen
on a screen that frosty day, 
a snapshot the only fragment 
of the "us" that was to stay. 

we traced our steps back to where we met
and stood at the exact spot 
just as lightning struck the sidewalk
with the echo of a gunshot. 

we walked a hundred miles, 
moments sweet like old champagne - 
and your lips briefly brushed mine
before we parted in the rain.  

you swore that you would write to me
before a single day could pass,
but your promises faded, as did you, 
with the sound of breaking glass. 

[breaking glass, november 5th, 2016] 


haven't been writing too much poetry lately - moving 1,800 miles across the country, job hunting, adulting and writing a novel will have that effect - but here's one i wrote over a year ago, forgot about and just rediscovered. xo


11:30 p.m.

September crept through the door unnoticed this year; or, perhaps, not unnoticed, but rather as if we were lost in the passage of time, too caught up in the hours slipping through our fingers to realize that those hours were days and those days were months - and those months had dropped us on the cusp of autumn, clinging to a season that we wanted to release, but that held too much in her worn bindings and yellowed pages for us to ever be truly ready to let go of.

reality is a cold mistress. she hides behind dreams and hopes and days so far off in the future that we speak of them as if they'll never happen; as if "somedays" automatically become "nevers" once they're released into the air; because, maybe, we've been trained to accept the harsh conception that life is something that never truly changes - because, maybe, we don't want to believe it will.

i feel this goodbye in the chest already; ripping holes into my heart... and my departure is still a month away. how do you hold onto something that will be a thousand miles away? how do you let go of something that is cemented into your chest with strands of time that nothing will (could) ever break?

everywhere i go reminds me of you; every memory i have, you're right there with me. goodbyes do not mean "see you later", because everytime you say it, something changes. no matter how much you want it to stay the same, it shifts, just a little bit, a tidal wave crashing over everything we swore was untouchable; unbreakable; unchangeable.

with every hello, we learn that life consists of greetings and farewells, and with every goodbye, we realize there's nothing we can do to change that.


(p.s. i'm moving to Ohio in exactly a month. 1,800 miles away. it's a big step. but today is my last day of work and i'm ready for a step forward; a new season in my life. what's going on with you, friends? x)



the air is heavy between us,
electricity forming in the darkness,
a storm building in the shadows of tomorrow, 
light reaching for us in our uncertainty -
dragging us relentlessly into
something we wish we could forget -
for the future hours only hold the
same restless wanderings of yesterday
and yesterday and yesterday and
tomorrow is but a repeat of harsh reality,
our world lost in a broken record;
a soul that has forgotten how to let go. 

silence wraps us up in coats of oblivion,
of memory, of brokenness, of fragmented realism,
gentle fingers pulling at wounds we have
long forgotten, numb acceptance - rather than
healing - blinding our receptors to the
pain that has become a part of us,
bound to our very souls, wrapped around
our fingers like a tether that refuses to be
brushed aside with the passing of time.

there are milliseconds between each
breath we drag in, our words as temporary
as the smoke in our lungs, unspoken 
and misunderstood and just as damaging
as the haze in the air that we swallow,
mindless; oblivious to the fact that
we are killing ourselves under a guise
of what we've been told is living.

the world is turning, shifting, changing,
but we are lost in the stillness,
frozen in the exhale of summer;
hanging on the edge of a someday
as we wait for the season to 
catch up with the ever restless 
whisperings of our hearts that tell us
that where we should be is
anywhere but where we are. 

we are pulled into the daylight
kicking and screaming, forgotten 
dreams clinging to our consciousness
with stubborn desperation; tenacious hope;
and we are told that we are brave and strong
for simply refusing to be told what and who 
we should be by the world we have been
forced to live in -- but we know our own
fragmented souls and timid hearts,
and we still search for something to 
save us and make us feel alive again. 


personal / fictional chaotic ramblings at 2 a.m. // august 7th, 2017



i wish
i could find a way
to stop time;
to hold onto
moments that were
never mine to grasp;
to keep myself from
unravelling in a world
that i will
never be a part of.

march 16, 2017
10:48 p.m.