"Broken Bones"

Broken bones,
broken bones.
Straying from
the straight
and narrow.

Broken bones,
broken bones.
Sticking out
just like
splintered arrows.

Broken bones,
broken bones.
All of us
once made
of perfect form.

Broken bones,
broken bones.
Now all
crooked and bent
from the storm.

Don’t cross paths
with one of us.
We healed wrong,
left forgotten
for too long.

Fractured
and cracked
but still strong
despite the world
doing us wrong.

All us
broken bones,
broken bones.

Photo by Harlie Raethel on Unsplash

"Shadow"

Don’t
turn around.
For I will be there.

Don’t
look up.
For I will be there.

Don’t
stare
to the light.
For I will still
be right beside you.

Don’t
hide
in the dark.
Even if I’m not
visible
I am still
right here.

I,
alone,
will never
leave you.

That is the thing
about us.
Shadows
never die.

We were never
alive
to begin with.

Photo by Isai Ramos on Unsplash

“Lucky”

I found a four leaf clover
twirled it hand my hand
put it in my pocket
and lost it in the sand

I cried the whole way home
and you found me on the stair
I blubbered what had happened
and you gave me yours to share

You found it on the way
and immediately thought of me
I realized then and there
you’re the only luck I need to see

Photo by Amy Reed on Unsplash

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

“Commuter Blues”

Photo by Jeremy Yap on Unsplash

The day starts early,
when the sun
first touches the sky.
While the clouds are still pink
you’re already saying goodbye.

Not for good reason
you think to yourself
as the bus comes late.
There’s traffic lining up
and down the interstate.

Through the streets
and down the alleys
coffee stains your lips.
Gulping it down,
when you should be taking sips.

Work is just
as every day before it.
Then suddenly it’s noon,
and you’re scarfing peanut butter
and bread to a headphone tune.

Going home is easier
knowing that sleep is close.
But you run out the door
and trip on the sidewalk
spilling things to the floor.

Standing for the ride home
is better than waiting at the corner,
even though your heels ache
and the two people near you
find more of your space to take.

In a haze of a pink sunset
the day is almost over.
But while that’s true,
you frown to yourself
because there’s tomorrow too.

“Question”

Sometimes,
she’ll ask
me
a question.

Then in return,
I’ll give
her
an answer.

Bundled
in a sweater
with purpose
puncturing her words,
I hear her smart
yet sassy
inquisition.

(She never lets me down.)

It’s those moments,
where my heart
beats a little
too
fast.
But still…
I try to keep
my distance
(and curiosity)
at bay
for what her next
question will be.

She brings up
the clouds,
the mist
the breeze
trying to get in
through my window.

And I want
to open the window
and feel the sun on my face
because it is just like
her smile.
(But instead
I bury my head,
back to the calls
flashing on my phone.)

Every time
I see
her
there’s so much
to do
I want her to leave
(and need her
to stay
to make this
dull gray light
stark sunshine bright.)

Sometimes
she’ll ask
me
a question

(Too close to the truth.)

And I
won’t answer
her
at all.

(And we both
know why.)

Photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash

“Valentine’s Day”

Chocolate hearts,
sweet tarts,
honey dripping
off your lips.

Written out paper card,
walking down the boulevard
not knowing where
but happy all the same.

Red rose,
bantering prose
nothing can ever
compare to this.

Cuddly teddy bear,
my mind without care
as long as you
are next to me.

Love of my life,
your future wife
doesn’t need
all these things.

Only you
and me too
together
forevermore.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear

Photo by Alejandra Quiroz on Unsplash

“Answer”

Sometimes,
I’ll ask
you
a question.

Then in return,
you’ll give
me
an answer.

Fastened
in a business suit
with logic
licking your lips,
I hear your polite
professional
response.

(Good for you.)

And I notice,
disappointment
and relief
tying my hands
behind my back.
But still…
I’m curious
(and struck)
so I change
my tactics.

I bring up the sun,
the air,
the rain brushing
the windows
near your desk.

And you say,
“It’s been so
so busy.
There hasn’t
been time.”

You are either
so absorbed
in your papers
or so disinterested
in everything else
except
your phone.

Trying to get
you
to look
at me
is my favorite
game.

Because,
there have been
certain times,
when I know
I’ve gotten through
to you.

Sometimes
I’ll ask
you
a question.

And
you
won’t answer
me
at all.

(And we both know,
you heard me.)

Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash