Photo by Lisa Verena Pape on Unsplash

It’s been a moment since I’ve written a poem.

A moment’s longwinded breathe, that’s taken a few years to exhale.

A memory that lingers nostalgia from toxic ink stained pages. A tint that’s lingered despite the turning of chapters. So, I’ve bought a new book.

Happy. A first step in the soil of spring, signaling change and new beginnings. The dead, composted into fresh growth.

The season’s in bloom, I stop to smell the tulips.

The storms have left my pen oxidized over the years, but like the tin man.. I’ll need only a little oil to get moving and to find my heart.

It was with me all along.



Photo by Nick Rickert on Unsplash

People drink to drown their sorrows, but every time I drink I cry and think of you. The warm fuzzy glow reminds me of your embrace… the bitter tannins remind me of your exit.

The feelings I buried deep down within myself, the soil turns to mud and past wounds resurface, with ironic clarity…

like a body from a ship that won’t take shore…a feeling rocky. Steering clear from icebergs, I decided to chill out.

This is just a piece of me that I’m never quite ready to let go.

To let go. I need to let go… I will when I’m ready.

But, blood ties.. blood runs thicker than water and thinner with wine.

So I tie an anchor and it all sinks back down to the depths below.

I sober up.



Precious Pioneer

Precious Pioneer


a young adult trying to tread through rising expenses and climate change. adulting is hardly easy, but I’ll settle for good coffee and a scoop of ice cream.