I people watch at the airport. With enough distance that I can’t hear; I can only see and I write poems, imagining their stories and their lives based on body language.


I look for you

in between the pages
of the novel
how novel you
never write


the secrets pile on
layers unaware of one another

a mess of silence
scared and lonely

wanting to be found to be free
wanting to be left alone

the lie that it’s better
if each moment just passes
and another secret piles on

until her heart collapses

thoughts go here... be nice... be thankful...

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