When it Rains

When the days have been

nothing but clouds and storms

and you’ve almost given up,

you wake up one day

and you realize it’s gotten

easier

to smile

when it rains.

Nostalgia

I haven’t felt a single thing

and I worry I never will again.

What happened?

I used to be so lively,

nowadays I’d rather sit at home

than be with loved ones.

What happened?

It’s like a part of me died when you left.

I knew it would happen;

I knew from the start

and I did nothing to stop it.

What happened?

What happened to the person I once was?

I have a fondness for things from before,

things like games and music and pop culture

because it’s the only thing

that brings me closer

to who I was

before.


Small Talk

The grass turned green

and the snow melted;

hope came back.

Echoes of strangers saying

“So nice out today,”

followed by another stranger’s

“enjoy it if you can.”

I smile and agree,

I always hated small talk, though.

“Medium iced mocha”

I tell the barista.

“Iced, good choice.”

“So nice out today.”

I pay and take my coffee

to a table in the corner.

If I take my notebook out,

they won’t talk to me.

But is that what I want?

That’s what my anxiety tells me,

but I don’t mind a little small talk

if it leads to a real conversation.

But it always starts with the same

“So nice out today, huh?”


I’ll Wish I Slept

You couldn’t give me the time of day,

but I wear a watch anyway.

You weren’t there when I needed you,

but truth be told I never needed you.

I needed you in the way I need coffee before bed.

You could be fun for a night,

but I’ll wish I slept instead.


Note: I found this poem I had written a while ago in an old notebook.

Writer’s Block

I love the feeling of finally being over writer’s block. Writer’s block, as a creative person, leaves me feeling so crummy all the time. It’s repeatedly opening Word documents and closing them only to open another one. It’s wanting to say something but having nothing to say. I can write, but it’ll never be something substantial. It always ends up being something boring, something basic, something I’ve said before. But when I finally am out of it, it’s a clarity like no other. It’s like I was drowning and now I’ve learned to swim.

It’s a blessing and a curse, to be a creative person. It’s a blessing when I’m creating, I feel best when I’m creating, but when I’m doing anything else, it feels like wasted time. I know it’s not, and I’ll just get burnt out if I’m always creating, but I can’t always shake the feeling. It’s good to take a day off or take breaks. I tell myself this. But I’m also the person who will stop everything to write down an idea. I’ve pulled over while driving because I thought of an idea for a story. I feel like my brain is just always thinking about what to write next. As if it’s wired to create.

That’s what’s been on my mind today. I didn’t have any poems to post, so I figured I’d give you guys a look into what’s been going on in my head lately.

Also, I’ve been thinking of maybe writing a poetry book. I have a backlog of poems that admittedly need some work, but those plus some I’ve posted here, I think it’d be cool.

Hibernating

The winter snow told me to relax,

things will work out,

just give it time.

And if it’s not okay,

have a cup of tea

and a warm blanket.

Spring will be here

and you’ll be good again.

Winters are for hibernating,

growing and healing.

But then why,

I ask myself,

do I always break down

when winter comes around?

Bitter Winds | Poem

I do miss it sometimes.

I miss the closeness,

I miss the warm feeling-

I’ve been so cold lately.

I fear, as I always do

that I won’t feel it again.

I’m destined for a life

of freezing, bitter winds.

But I’m tired of killing myself

over people who aren’t

worth a scratch or a scrape.

So, I’ll risk the bitter winds,

because I won’t freeze over

and someday I’ll find

someone worth dying for.