Black and White: A Poem

There is no one else in your home

Thunder rages outside

And you are alone

The lights have gone out

And their words have been swallowed by darkness

There are no laws here

No men with guns enforcing order

You are flying

But flashes of lightning cast shadows on the walls

You cannot move

Freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

Breaking Free: A Poem

Their eyes have long since passed me over

their attention has been diverted

 once again

they craned their necks to gaze at the Olympians.

no longer am I trapped

but still I am lost.

the future echoes in my head

infinite and unknowable

Walking on Eggshells: A Poem

These eggshells are land-mines, 

concealed under layers of dirt 

and halfhearted apologies.

they tread carefully, not daring

to disturb the centuries of ink

That were spilled to sculpt the skyline.

These eggshells are land-mines

And I don’t dare move.

The Stone Man: A Poem

The stone man’s arm sprang out of the Earth,

grasping at the taunting sun,

 so high on those formless waves.

The stone man’s fingers clawed at the blue

but his screams were muffled by the dirt

and the darkness.

The Bell Tolls: A Poem

the knot tightens around my chest

their footfalls recede into the distance

They tell me it’ll be okay

the light lances down and

Banishes my darkness, my silence 

my solace for a moment, blossoms

They tell me it’ll be okay

and they return, arms laden 

with gifts, and tears, and apologies

They tell me it’ll be okay

Inside/Outside: A Poem

Inside/Outside

On the inside, I am screaming.

On the inside, I am falling deeper and deeper into a pit lined with thorns.

On the inside, I am shaking in my boots, held in place by words I whisper to myself.

On the inside, I am alone, standing amid the burnt-out wreckage of days gone by.

On the inside, I am already gone.

On the outside, I am grinning, larger than you or I have ever seen.

On the outside, I am laughing along with your jokes, although I don’t find them funny.

On the outside, I am listening to your stories, nodding to feign attentiveness.

On the outside, I am composed, like a statue in the square.

On the outside, I am wearing a mask.

Anxiety: A Poem

“I am so sorry.”

“For what?” They spit like acid.

Existing, perhaps.

It Must Be Morning: A Poem

It Must Be Morning

 The sun is beating down on me from hundreds of millions of miles up,

 pressing on my back, marking my skin with the white hot sensation

 of fear.

 I know that I can’t save them all,

 but that won’t stop me

 fighting.

 I think I’m screaming, but there is wind

 howling in my ears

 and I can’t hear you tell me

 that it will be

 okay.

 My heart is a hummingbird trying to burst forth from

 its cage, trapped

 under the weight of a thousand

 prying eyes.

 It must be morning.