If Inks were Wine

My ink betrayed me,
spilling out my vulnerable heart;
No, I don’t want to start.

But here I am, wishing,
my pen on hand — the magic wand;
dreaming for words
to console me, define me, unvex me.

In my mind’s eye, I look like a puzzle,
perplexedly unresolved;
A pat on the back, the Author of life draws nigh…

Nonetheless, a nincompoop,
losing grip playing with words;
No, I don’t want to start and sigh,
pining for clean white sheet again.



Here’s to the ones who dive deep
the ones who strive to understand

Here’s to the thinkers,
the dreamers,
the lovers,
the listeners,
the demon tamers…

I hope you don’t get all consumed
by the depth, and the chaos.
I hope you’ll find your way out

For every ocean you dive in,
don’t forget to come back to shore.




Still waiting for my first gray hair
Still holding on to my teddy bear
Still overthinking thoughts in my head
Still finding it hard to get out of bed

Still hanging out late at night
Still choosing flight over fight
Still reminiscing good old days
Still stuck with old fashioned ways

Still bad at meeting deadlines
Still consuming trivial headlines
Still crying over little things
Still working on my dreams

Still waking up insecure
Still finding the cure
Still sky watching
Still star gazing

Nothing’s changed.
Nothing’s changed.

Still here.

* * *



Penning my thoughts of the season
revisiting memories of the past–
the shadows that clouded my reason,
places where memories of pain seem to last

No matter the number of bridges you burn
there are pages that cannot be unwritten
And as you patiently wait for a good turn
the gloaming words and anxiety heighten

But the twisted tale that ever haunts me
is that of conquering and re-conquering selves
for as I write and edit and edit and write me
this recurring battle ground never ends

* * *