Freeverse Poems

next summer

Do you think we could fall in love again next summer?
Like a warm breeze that swiftly moves through the seasons embracing for the cold winter ahead.
We would sit among dewy grass blades and walk along the chilled sand from a secluded beach as the moon rises.
Splash and swim around in chilly water.
Lay between wildflowers and

she who dances with fire

she does not walk—
she ignites.
in the dark cathedral of ash and echoes,
she spins,
a silhouette carved from the mouth of a flame,
hips swaying like the last breath of a phoenix.
her dress—
not cloth, but the wind of burning wings,
each thread crackling with a story
that refused to be extinguished.
arms flung skyward—
not surrender,
but invocation.
the fire does not consume her.
it

your tears were my ambrosia

i never wanted to be a god—
just someone you cried in front of.
that was enough divinity for me.
your grief tasted like pomegranate seeds,
sweet and bitter
and buried in the soft ruin of you.
i held your sobs in my palms
like something holy.
like juice from a fruit
i didn’t deserve.
i didn’t cause your sadness.
but i didn’t stop it either.
sometimes,
i

the girl in the sink

last night,
i kissed the wine glass
until it cracked
from want.
i wanted red—not wine.
not again.

the walls talked in their usual static,
soft-lipped murmurs,
muffled as a hand over a mouth.
i pressed my cheek to the faucet
and heard
my mother crying
through the pipes—
or maybe it was me,
thirteen years ago,
learning how to disappear
without moving.

there’s a spoon in the bathtub.
bent.
like my will
on sundays.

i

i text dead people for advice

i text dead people for advice.
not because they answer—
they don’t—
but because they never interrupt.
i tell my grandfather
about the boy who left mid-winter
and how my ribcage still
clicks shut like a locket
when someone new gets close.
he was buried in silk,
but i like to imagine
he’d wear combat boots now
and tell me to run before love
swallowed me whole.
i ask

never just human

it did not knock.
it poured through the cracks—
in dreams,
in fever,
in the silence between my inhale
and forgetting.

i didn’t summon it.
didn’t pray.
didn’t kneel beside any sacred thing.
but something sacred knelt inside me.
without warning.
without language.
without mercy.

it came wrapped in ash and static.
my ears rang for three days.
my limbs forgot gravity.
my mouth opened
and nothing human came out.

i thought it

Kundalini

Spirit didn’t knock.
It entered through the back door—
a sliver of wind in my kitchen,
on a Tuesday so ordinary
I thought the sacred had forgotten me.

The sky was the color of old bruises,
and my hands were inside a basin of water
that had cooled too quickly.
The air held nothing.
And then it held everything.

No angel descended.
No flame spoke.
Just a

All My Friends are Dead

After "the ritual" by Olivia Gatwood

everything about this song is red,
your wallet is brown,
the brown a burgundy
and the burgundy’s chalice
has gold to dazzle
rubies, carnelian, sard
precious, semi-precious, the same-
all the same, feel the same
when you hold the cup to livid lips
and send them on their merry way
bumping into the ugly ridges
of a throat lodged 
with stingy

Why I Write

Why I Write


He asks why I write

And I say I must

Because the words, you see

Flow as easy as blood in my veins 

The pen as natural as the air I breathe

Without it, I explain

The maze of my mind couldn't handle it 



He asks how I write

And I say that my method cannot be taught

For my

Sounds like Candy

I love you
Sounds like candy
When it rolls off your tongue
So sweet
It's bound to fill my mouth
With cavities

I imagine you talking to me
I go word by word
Visualizing the eye contact
Dreaming of the way
Your voice sounds

I listen to your audio messages
Basking in the bliss
Smiling like the first time I heard them
Euphoric in the way
I can hear your

Clinch Fist Pillow Cuddle

Machine gun heart riddled with shades of grey.
A mind once sharpened by your own forked tongue.
Lovers' lips part with rumbles of a cannon.
Dew licked satin sheets - the highway to carnal desire.

Silhouettes of freshly washed skin dance in the night.
Passion rising like the souls of the departed.

Where do you sleep after your thirst is quenched?
Where

Poetry Is

Poetry
A whisper to a scribble
The pen scratches against the blank page
an odd and rhythmical pattern
Imprinted into one's soul
Leaving an odd sense of peace or turmoil
Lingering with a yearn
A yearn for something unattainable
Something supernatural
Words standing tall
Reaching and stretching- searching
Desperately trying to
Obtain the unobtainable
Failing time and time again
Only leaving an echo of the words spoken
Or the emptiness

Love's Uncharted Waters

You are my woman
I want to love you like you never been loved before
With depth that reaches beyond the shallow shore
Into the vast ocean where hearts truly soar

I'll cherish your strength, your fire, your grace
Not as possession but as gift beyond measure
In your complexities I find endless treasure
A universe to explore at our own pace

When

He Is Able

Why can't you just help me 
In my time of need
You would always go to her
And give her a hand

Many A time
I cried much too often
The thoughts of you
Too painful to bear

But He is so kind to me
His smile
reaching the depths of my heart
Unlike you could

I smile back now.
My laughter bubbles up
as He guides me

Mothers Day

Sitting on the lip of my bathtub,  
hunched over the edge,  
dripping and draped in terry cloth  
I cry out, "Oh God".  
I pray.  
More sincerely than I have since I lost my faith.  
I am certain someone is listening.  
I am certain of this because I need

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