I take too many pictures and my voice is unneseccarily loud

at all times

My heart is stiched together

with vines that break quickly

and often

causing it to attach to stray branches and restless hands

The voices of my past have stained my knuckles with reckless ambitions 

and unkept promises

Most days I can’t walk without tripping

over my own feet and I refuse to solve anything 

and everything

Words fall from my pockets like loose change 

poetry folds across my forehead like wrinkles

from all of the lives I have lived

I do not know how to be someone who doesn’t admire the stars

have love affairs with the moon

Call sunflowers natures laughter

I’m terribly sorry I cannot be a person that you would remember

For I am too easy to forget

I promise you this,

my heart may lose its way in the city of your ribs

but I guarantee you it will find it’s way back

A wanderer

a dancer of wrong rhythms

a wisher on broken traditions

I’m nothing more than the soil growing into my feet


and I hope someday



will be enough.