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.

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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.

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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.