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Delicate flowers don't last long in icy, Harsh conditions. They grip on tight to their roots But the cold always wins. Their fragile forms Aren't made to withstand such relentless conditions. Yet, they come back Year after year. I wonder if they're brave Or naive. And what is to be learnt From this perpetual cycle. Freesia, I have so many...

Why do I stand here, screaming? Into this stormy weather. Do I want to be heard, or am I to afraid? To get noticed… Why does it have to be? All or Nothing! I have you, I am happy. No one gets me, the world falls apart. Trying, but not hard enough Doing it all at once, no focus Try to focus, nothing gets done Screaming! So loud, but nothing. Fall...

Rooted in place, too many things pulling at it. Instead of being nourished, it gives and gives. It withers, draws itself inward, yet the roots are still searching, still trying to give of themselves. It tore itself up by the roots and flew off, not knowing where it was headed. It crashed straight into a wall and fell to the ground. It lay there...

They call her a voice of brown pain, But we’ve heard louder cries, from fields soaked in sacrifice, from mothers who buried sons, not metaphors. They sold us short, for lowercase lines and over-capitalized lies— as if formatting could mask the absence of truth. She speaks of lands she never walked, names wounds she never bore, calls for borders...

**The Heart of a Tempest** A storm within, a raging, endless sea, Where waves of anger crash eternally. A heart of stone, a soul of iron cast, Forever bound to this tempest, forever fast. The pain, a viper, gnawing at his core, Leaving wounds that fester, evermore. Rage, a wildfire, burning fierce and bright, Consuming reason, plunging him in...

Going into my garden this time of year is like seeing an aging friend. We used to talk of the future, now he speaks of the end. Strong, open arms that once hugged me grow more frail each visit it seems. He is wearing yellows and browns, I remember him in summery greens. Our words that seem business as usual are actually a long goodbye. I head...

let me tell you all a story about a girl I know. Smart as a whip, keeps her pinky down when she sips and she never sips on tea not made for her. She's beautiful too - and seemingly comfortable in her own skin - and for some we'd perceive that as a win, but winning isn't always winning without some sin and sinning is never done in the open....