the kind of reckless

my mother never told me
about the nice guys
that hide behind old wounds
and impossible dreams.

she warned me about
bad boys who were
after one thing

but she should have
mentioned the ones after your heart
with pretty words
and heartfelt promises



there were times
I was young and unwise
I’ve done some things
and I have these regrets
and you were there
there at the bottom
in the dark
when it hurt

but my worst fear
is that I didn’t say
thank you enough
that I could’ve said
I love you once more
with feeling

I could say the things here
and I have
but not often
or without a smile
so you’d feel the weight
of my words

but i fear my words
don’t have the same impact
in person, out loud
but you must know
what you mean to me

and here, here is the proof
this is what you mean to me

* for you

the birthday poem

i wrote a birthday poem
it might be for you
it might include
a silly rhyme or two

so here’s some words
to help ease
the fact that you’re old
(at least you can do as you please)

hopefully you’ll be wiser
and accept that I’m always right
it’ll make your life easier
so give up the fight

but most importantly
may the party gods be with you
so you don’t wake up hungover
or with an STD or two

* a silly little (fun) poem


I was somewhere
forced to dig deep
into the well of memories
that twist inside me

these are the things
nobody knows
the scars hidden
by time and a smooth facade

I’m sorry, the voice said.
Do you think about these things often?

the air is thick with the past
tinged with my regrets
a smattering of voices
from people long gone

I wave them away.
(one, twice, three times)
they threaten to linger
and open old wounds
that never quite knew how to heal.

no. my voice sounds unfamiliar.
I don’t think of them at all.

old habits

these are the oldest habits
the familiar paths or the
smooth timbre of your voice

they are the numbers
imprinted in my head
or a quick order
so accustomed
to life as a pair

it’s in the silence of the night
where love and laughter
once filled the deep grooves
one touch said a thousand words
and one problem could get
two solutions

it’s the pieces I had to part with
pictures, sweaters, a note tucked away
years and years built up –
yet quietly (but with small reservations)
it was all destroyed

and all I have are these habits
and they are the toughest to break

the bitter cold

there was a chill in the air
a coldness so unnatural
it passed layers and layers
and pierced though bones

I tried for a length of time
(with body heat and heat)
to raise the temperature
to get it back where it used to be

but it seemed that
the deep freeze settled in
and shattered everything
into pieces and pieces

and the miles and miles
could not thaw it all out
I can’t imagine anywhere colder
(trapped inside your heart)

the longest goodbye

I have never said a good bye
so lengthy – it spans several seasons
mixing with the bitter cold
and punishing heat
yet each day I find
there’s more to say

but the worst of it
is that the words are buried deep
in the turbulence of my mind
if I say it – could you hear it?
if I put them to to paper –
would you look upon them?
if I did nothing at all but wonder –
could you understand?

and even if I could
say goodbye
I fear that my words
would be terribly inadequate
a mixture of phrases that
could never capture
the depths of my feelings toward you

the dying fire

(we slow burn
and flare up)

now I am
a dying fire
no brilliant colors
no heat
just the remnants
of something here
once too long ago
it cannot be salvaged
or kept as a memento
there is nothing left
but the quiet wisps
of smoke and the looming
nightfall and soon,
that will be gone too
overshadowed by the brightness
of a beautiful day and the life
that blooms through and around
the ashes that day by day
escape on the sweeping wind