if love is a sin, let it burden me.
if love is a gift, let me cherish it.

My niece
made me bangle
of letters, stars, unicorns|
and colored beads

Then it hit me
that's her poem to me
a set of random things
that sit beautifully
side by side
around in a circle

and I noticed that
that's the first time
someone wrote
a poem
about
me

If it was possible..
I would exchange my heart,
With an eve bark...
So that someone will write,
Something this beautiful about it.

a blood-dyed string of destiny unites us,
from end to hematic end.
i dance and strafe,
to and fro,
skirring the breath-thin thread.
it’s not til’ i’m entangled
that i discern the red is my own alone.
my place in this web i apperceive,
while you perch upon the heart of the now gossamer,
like the right widow you are.

dear mockingbird,
what made you swear silence?
it’s unlike your species to become selective mutes,
or, perhaps,
is it because you’ve tired of your sole performance?
you’ve become a broken record,
stuck on repeat:
the same song and dance.
you didn’t know what else to sing,
didn’t know any other tune.
this will become your swan song.

The world is 8 billion strong.
That number growing every day.
So please believe and understand what I mean when I say that some people
will always have it better,
and some will always have it worse.
That doesn't make your struggles any less valid.
You don't have to feel guilty for being human.