under shelter

i dream of things that have come to pass
and too, of things that have yet to be
my eyes view more it fitful darkness
than my waking mind could ever see

we struggle to grasp the pieces
we’re told we must adjust
but these times that we are living in
have taken the life right out of us

i’m empty before i’m satisfied
left always craving more
the walls they echo from the hollowness
as reality’s turned horror

where starry day meets beaming night
you’ll find that time has shifted
we’ll no longer be who we once were
by the time this ban is lifted

Renaissance lies not far from here
and Hope, i’ve seen her close
for these are the defining moments
from which we may find repose


Happy National Poetry Month 2020

These are trying times. Shed some light in the darkness by taking part in NaPoWriMo or simply share a treasured poem with someone.

Check out my past NaPoWriMo writings here.


TLT Week 192: Refracted Light

Photo by Sara Riaño

Refracted light; meteorological phenomenon; bridge, fortune, pride, hope.

I have always wanted to touch a rainbow… and see if that prismatic luminance would rub off on me, or seep into my melanin and fill with me with a boundless joy, bubbling and bright; like the stunning spectrum it shoots through dense and darkened skies, I wanted to shine against the gloom

But rainbows, are not meant to be touched, only felt; the gentle warmth and welcomed relief that you have, once again, weathered a storm.

Three Line Tales, Week One Hundred Ninety-Two

Pyrotechnic Paramour


we are like fireworks —
stars waiting to be ignited

i try to savor the best of us
but the radiance
of dazzling dahlias
is indulged
in short, fugacious bursts


my breath catches in the hangfire
sparks fizzle and spurt
the show goes on

it always does

i am the paper

i am the paper
my tongue is the pen
i am the blank slate
to write who i am

there is no constant
but the irony of change
trapped by my choices
i press to the page

keep up with the moment
hush all the chatter
silence the ignorance —
all the noise that won’t matter

the narrative i’m breathing
leaves lungs gasping for air
problems sit heavy but
complacency’s heavier

hemorrhaging thoughts
blood’s as good as ink
when all’s said and done
there’ll be no thoughts to think

write what i can
save nothing for later
’cause my tongue is the pen
and i am the paper


if feelings are confined to the consciousness of mind,
then why does my heart ache in your absence?

pain floods every ventricle
and sorrow, with its unforgiving tendrils,
squeezes my heart like Devil’s Snare,
constricting the breath that gives me life

the simultaneity of heavy and empty feels like a joke without the punchline
no one’s laughing

resistance ineffectual,
to succumb is to escape
because even the smallest flame
has been snuffed out

warring sides

there is no hope
it’s impossible to believe
the future is boundless
tethered to the present
i am not
capable of transcending this reality
an automaton of broken parts
i refuse to be
free of society’s constraints
a fragile mind
i am not
determined to shatter false conceptions
i will not be
the voice that stands apart

(read from bottom to top)

something greater

i believe in life after death because though i can no longer see you
your presence still lingers here
my father’s cooking is seasoned with your hand
and food still brings our family together
in the folds of my memories
i’m struggling to hold on to the moments that brought us joy
because i fear the passing time weaves fabrication into our truths
and that one day all i’ll have left will be fairy tales to keep me warm
there must be something greater than all that is here
because the prayers i send out are destined for somewhere
so just as i trust in every day’s pink-peach dawn
i hold a candle of hope for some great beyond