To hold your branches

I used to love the coming

together of us all by the sea

to love you, to celebrate you

and how much you matter to us.

You are old now and can no longer

go to the sea.

You sleep amongst the trees

instead, watching squirrels,

bushy-tailed and quick witted,

play in the evergreen branches.

We still come together though,

under your trees to love you,

to hold your branches and to

celebrate those squirrels

you love so much dancing

all over us to make you

smile.

Self-Love

The way your parents loved you is the way you learn to love yourself. A part of growing up is learning to take care of yourself like your parents took care of you when you were little. Unfortunately not everyone was cared for and loved they way they needed to, and this is often reflected in the way they later take care of and love themselves.

Borrowed History

We borrowed our history,

collaging it together to create

a more appropriate narrative

where the building blocks

were cut from books we read

and movies we watched together.

We pretended to exist on a plane

where we cast no shadows,

existing only in fragments of time

skipping like a dreamscape

from narrative to narrative.

A heart that loves

A heart that loves

fiercely

breaks

ten times

during a day.

A heart that loves

faithfully

mends

ten times

during a day.

A heart that loves

unconditionally

becomes

a patchwork

of joys

and sorrows

with seams

of glowing stiches

sown together

by the resilient

soul.

Without

the heartbreaks

there would be

no healing,

without

healing

there would be no

glowing seams

uniquely crisscrossing

the living heart.

Being and Empath

I’d rather

lose

myself

than see you

lose

in life.

I’d rather

be the one

crying

than see you

hurt.

And no,

this is not

a love poem.

“You”

are the one reading

this poem

and everyone

who is not.

You see,

if it is my

pain,

it is mine

to heal.

If it is your

pain,

it is still mine

but not mine

to heal.