The Accidental Poet

Her: my mother sewed my mouth shut. with the same thread she used to strangle her own voice. - the inheritance

My feet know the art of walking away; my heart, alas, knows only the way to you. So I leave by daylight and return to you in every

I am terrified of the day someone I love passes from presence into remembrance before I am ready to let them become past tense of gathering

Normalcy is way too boring darling ….. Let’s be entirely too much for everyone else, but perfectly matched for each other.

Borrow me a numb heart, if only for a single, calcified winter. Let me rent a chest of stone to escape the debt of this bleeding. …