this much, that early

what I want time refuses

to hand over

not yet ready for the future

and unsatisfied with the present

I run ahead of my desires

straight into plans

that were never made

and I end up loving him

this much

that early

all over again.



what’s the going rate on an artist’s soul?

there is a price to pay for making art
there is a price to pay
if you want paper
to turn into soul
in someone else’s hands

it’s not easy-
reaching darkness
just to later walk out of it

and I just hope
that the light you have
is bright enough
to bring you back
I just hope
you don’t forget
none of that darkness
belongs to you
or is yours to keep

treat it as a brief encounter
a first date you never want to see again
get what you need
and leave it just where it is:
behind you
a story now of your survival
a testament of your strength.

planting sunflowers

He was enough
just the way he was
the day he helped me plant my first sunflower
and as if speaking to the child inside me
he told me to not be scared for the worms
as I dug my shovel into the clumps of soil,
putting all their lives in peril.

And I remember smiling at the fact that
we could yell at each other
and then spend the rest of the day’s light
playing in the dirt


“Have you written anything about me?” he asked
and from behind him I heard
a chorus of all my past lovers,
their voices echoing his question,
curious to know how much claim they once had on my heart,
how many letters I strung together to gift them with
but never what remained when they left,
never how many chances I gave,
never a sorry for using me to feed their ego,
never any words
gifted back
to me.