Once there was a little bud

sprouting out of the ground.

Fresh, and new.

to this beautiful world.

Soon, it reveals itself

into a glorious rose.

Every petal splashed

with deep crimson glows.

Even with her beauty,

The rose still feels lonely.

With no one but the grass

to dance along with the wind.

Suddenly, a guest arrives;

a busy bumble bee!

He greets the rose with joy

and proceeds to make honey.

The rose is estatic.

Every day, she eagerly awaits

for the arrival of the bees,

with hummingbirds and butterflies

whom she passes time with.

What a wonderful life,

with good friends

and the best views of the world,

the rose thought.

But one day, it all changed.

No bees came to visit her.

She was confused...

didn't they enjoy the pleasure?

Day after day,

no one arrived.

She called out to the wind

And started to cry.

The rose feels weaker now.

Her petals are losing colour

Now a pale red

She's under the weather.

All she could do was wait...

wait...

wait...

Her petals are wilting

It's almost the end.

She lets out a tear

Soon, she'll be dying.

Suddenly, a familiar voice

echoed in the silence.

She looked up and saw

Her old comrade.

"Hush now rose, don't cry,"

says the bumblebee.

"Look around you,

you've created many new lives."

The rose looks around

and she sees an amazing sight;

many small buds

popping into sight.

The rose thanks the bee

with one last smile

and heaves her final breath...

A few weeks later,

the field is painted

with hundreds of pretty roses

swaying in the wind.

And when the bees arrive

along with the hummingbirds

and butterflies,

they remember the rose

that started it all.

' New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.'

– Lao Tzu

Low, deep rumbling clouds,

slide slowly across a slate-gray sky.

An occasional rush of cool winds

push and pull at what cannot be moved,

while everything else is torn away,

only to be abused

when the winds want their way.

… and you know it will rain soon.

Low, quiet thoughts,

slide slowly through your mind.

an occasional rush of a smile,

push and pull at what cannot be changed,

while everything else is torn away.

I think of all our yesterdays,

as I leave you fresh roses,

and walk away.

… and choke back the tears to follow.

*******

This one you will see again down the road

from my new collection starting soon:

Scattered Thoughts

She was all dressed up with no one to love.

her heart wrapped in the torn fabric caused by sharp jagged fingernails and poisoned lips.

her tender soul was clothed in old rags and unfinished stories.

She was all dressed up with no one to love.

with lilies blooming in the spaces between her fingers and rose thorns for tears.

her unbreakable skin soaked with disappointment and nightmares.

she was all dressed up and holding the sun in the palm of her hand… Alone.

The tear from your eye

was held on by your heart.

When love was lost,

your heart had an open spot.

Excuses motivate the growth of your tear.

Reality is what moved the emotion near.

The constant rejection from love is the start.

That causes the production of a tear

that was held on by your heart.

he didn't know when he left me

that his abandonment would

create heartache that would last

a lifetime

a void unable to be filled

but that won't stop me from

trying, so i call my lover

daddy and hope he will

love me enough to stay

but how could you ever get

a man to love you enough to stay

when you're own father didn't

find it in himself?

my consciousness is always louder

than i'd like her to be

when i allow myself to hurt

i admit that it eats me up

because in my twenty-two years

of life, he didn't care enough

to watch me grow and instead he

turned me into a girl with

daddy issues

and that is not fair

because i deserve a dad

i deserved to go to the daddy-daughter

dances that my friends went to with their own

i deserved to be shown what real love from

a man looks like

i deserve to have a dad to show me what's

wrong with my car when it's making a weird sound

what i don't deserve is to feel like

less of a person because one of the people

who gave me life never cared enough

about me

on nights like this, i cry

and i hope for a day

that my heart won't ache

this way, for him

There he lays on his bed with only empty memories,

And fading dreams to live inside his mind.

While life lasted, everything was in the future.

He had plenty of time to make it all come true.

Every moment he thought about working on his plans

He said, “I have the rest of my life to do.”

Where there’s a will there’s a way.

With neither now his troubles lay

Right there with him in this lonely place.

As he leaves one life and enters another,

He leaves behind no marks on the lives of others.

He leaves no changes, no Memories to enjoy from past the skies.

If only we could see like the man that saw it all.

If only we would be willing to find the things that matter in the end.

But sadly, we can never know, until it is too late, what could have been.

the saddest poem

is the one that's never finished,

lines left unedited

or unwritten.

thoughts left unmade

art left half-finished,

a sketch in a dusty notebook

where the pages have rotted.

the saddest poem

is the one that's never finished,

the one that's never gotten to finish its life.

the one that never got to breathe.

the saddest poem is the one

that stays left in your hard drive

or scribbled on a sticky note,

unable to touch strangers' hearts

with a few words.

the saddest poem

is the one that was never finished.

I regret nothing,

But I regret you.

Wasted winter, summer, fall, and spring.

Seasons of my life, all tainted by your blue.

It was always blue,

Even from the start.

Royal, cobalt, navy, too.

But I love the blue, just not on my heart.

Conversation all in blue,

Don’t you know I worry?

You left me on read, 12:32.

Blue caused by you, made my eyes blurry.

Sleepless nights in sheets of blue

If we’re still together,

“y do i feel like i’ve lost u?”

“idk, i just think u deserve better”

I can’t leave you with the blue,

Baby, blue is the worst.

It’s cold, but not cold enough for you.

Seems cruel but cool at first.

“u never told me u felt this blue”

My thumbs dance over the screen, not knowing what to say.

“i didn’t have to. u already knew.”

He didn’t talk to me till tuesday.

I ended things with a bubble of blue.

“i think we should end this”

“but i’m still in love with you”

I am a snake, peeling layers of myself off in bits.

Like a puppet, held back by my string.

I’m alone now, but I’m free of your blue.

I regret nothing,

But I regret you.

My copy of Jane Eyre would stop rotting.

The creases in the spine would be ironed out.

The black ink will flow out of my eyes; stramp the letters back on the pages and unravel all the words.

When I move my neck to my shoulder, to crack the joint,

everything intelligible will come out like sour milk from the forefront of my brain.

Then, I’ll feel like the ditzy bunny I’m supposed to be.

I will stare at my empty plate and the bile will churn in my stomach.

It will burn a hole in my esophagus, it will sting as it climbs up the walls of my throat.

I would un-chew my food; it will reform into bits onto my forked tongue

and spat back out onto a clean, shiny spoon.

I will rub cold cream all over my lips and rinse the red lipstick off my fingertips

and underneath I’ll uncover the baby pink mouth that I spoke with in elementary school.

The lips that told my father how much I loved him.

The lips that were smooth and un-blistered.

My tongue wouldn’t lick every single lie I told. I’ll shove a bar of soap into my mouth and

exterminate anything terrible that was stuck between my teeth.

Instead of a pull, I will push him right off me.

All the wrinkles will smooth in my sheets and my chenille bunnies will not be knocked to the ground.

My bruises would dart from yellow, green, blue, purple, and gone,

We’d button our shirts back up and put our socks back on our feet.

My knuckles will be soft again and she’ll hold me in arms.

She’ll lather baby shampoo into my hair and wash out all the dye,

bleach, and chemicals that ruined my curly hair.

All of the product would flow back up the drain and solidify;

we’ll bottle it up and set it in the far corner of the medicine cabinet.

I’ll put on blue gloves and rubber boots that reach my pelvis to

dig through a decade worth of garbage in a landfill to find the floral wallpaper that bordered my room.

I’ll take a toothpick and scrape off grey paint,

to uncover a satin pink mess.

I’ll run my hands through the shags in my carpet to rip out the dirt from other people’s shoes.

And I’ll be an adult pretty soon.

I’ll be alone in a city and the best love I was ever experienced

was one that only exists in paperback.

I’ll eat nearly expired sushi from the second-best grocery store in the city.

All of my fruits and vegetables are a little bit rotten.

I cannot manage to cover the hyperpigmentation on my cheeks

and the acne scars on my chin.

I barely put on lipstick anymore because everytime I eat oily, fast food it dissolves my makeup.

I’ll answer a text.

Then, I’ll lay in bed with someone I am not in love with at all.

He has Taco Bell crumbs in his pillowcase.

I will carefully slip out of his off-white sheets and scramble for the front door.