i am angry all the time.
another valentine’s day without you is another year of melancholy.
the higher i rise above it, the more my cynics sharpen their knives.
i’m so proud of you.
just because you are not mine, doesn’t mean i can’t wish you were.
to have gone through all of this, and to be as soft as i am, is truly a tragic delicacy. but still people perceive me as naive. i suppose they are no longer supportive of kindness.
i know that you love me. it’s palpable.
if you died, they may as well pronounce me dead too.
yesterday i read the notes on a life
that had just barely counted as one lived
the girl was far too tainted to be a wife
but she was a girl with much love to give
she talked like a true contrarian
eternally antithetical girl
then her opinions flew with the herons
to a much kinder and comforting world
with time her smile faded into the gray
and she went aimlessly through the motions
she joined other wretched souls yesterday
her eulogy murmured by the ocean
i suppose she always hung by a thread
i would’ve hung onto each word she said
my brothers are not my blood, but they are mine. we have been through tragedy and triumph together. they have been my shoulder to cry on, and i have wiped away many of their tears myself. my soul will always be tied with theirs.
my biggest dreams couldn’t match the life we’re going to build together.