I’ve reached the point in my relationship where I’m uncomfortable enough to write again. Poetry flows out of my pens like tears from my eyes, and I’m not sure how to feel.

Does anyone else get writer’s block from being too content in life?

“In our Western understanding of time we involve the correlative of distance. The past is away in that direction, the future in that, and the present is just here, where I happen to be. But we speak of the passage of time; times come and go, the day will come. We remain in place and observe the flow of time, just as we sit at the cinema and watch, fascinated, as images fly before our eyes. The plane of time is shattered; it is composed of moments, ad infinitum, in perpetual motion.”

N. Scott Momaday, “On Indian-White Relations: A Point of View”

Grave Optimism

There is a beauty in letting go of toxic people, vibes and, energy

A catharsis in freeing yourself from the gnashes of their fangs

Piercing into the peace of your soul

Past the flesh, a deeper destruction

Blood leaking out of every orifice

til you’re nothin more than skin & bones

Yes. There’s a peace in letting that go.

Because the body will heal, the soul will repair,

The hurt will no longer be there

And you will grow from the energy they’ve sown

But their toxins poison them !


you are everything I wanted, and everything I didn’t know I needed.

but my brain has not yet conceded to the notion of loving you.

its true I’ve been hurt before,

I have given my all and been taken for granted so I remain a hollow shell of the being I once was.