From Where It Comes 

I scream at the mountains
Receiving nothing in reply,
I cry to the river
And it passes without comfort,
I shout to the stars
And they are silent to my plea,
I sit with the flowers
But their petals offer no advice,
I whisper His name
And He’s already there. 


Take My Mind Back

Welcome To Today!

​You are further,

Further than you were yesterday,
Even further than just a few minutes ago.
But not tomorrow,
You don’t want to be that far yet.
You don’t have the grace for what it brings,
You only have the grace for now,
And ‘now’ means you’ve come a long way.
If you have a ‘now’ it means you had a ‘then’.
You survived then.
Look back,
I promise, you are much further
Than you thought,
Now keep walking.


The Right Kind of Addict 

When did I forget

All the things you’ve done for me?

When did the numbness 

decide to kick in,

Without me even realizing?

When did I start thinking

That the drug I needed

Was just the one that made me feel,

And not the one
that actually let me live? 


Little Hands, Beautiful Minds

No time to put on shoes,

she ran,

from the kitchen with a handful of glasses to catch the rain,

back and forth she went,

till the cupboard was emptied of everything of use,

and the driveway was scattered with glasses half full,

tears came down her face

as she watched the raindrops hit the ground,

trying to smile she looked up at the sky,

begging it not to cry,

she couldn’t understand what had made it so upset.

“Honey, what’s the matter?”

“The sky is crying mommy, and I couldn’t catch it’s tears.”

“But that’s what the ground is for,

it catches all the tears that the clouds cry,

and it grows flowers to make the sky happy again.”


Just a little story for a rainy day…take of it what you will, hopefully it made you smile a little.

Photo Credit: <a href=””>SoePhotos</a&gt; Flickr via <a href=””>Compfight</a&gt; <a href=”″>cc</a&gt;

Everywhere You Look

There are words,

And then there are hidden words,

Words within the silence,

Words within the whites of pages,

Words where there are none,

And words where there are too many words,

Words on faces,

Words kept safe within the mundane,

Screaming out with only few to hear them,

But words don’t always mean what you think they mean,

Words can be so little,

And yet say so much,

Without even being said at all,

It all just depends on how you look at them.

If that made any sense?

I Have No Words.

There were words,

For spilt coffee,

For contentment masquerading as no other than his evil twin,

Words for the melancholy of sitting alone

Watching the world be still in the midst of its moving,

There were words,

For the unread books,

And the old worn out pair of shoes,

For the smile that hides so many secrets,

There were words,

For the crunch of fallen leaves,

For the way laughter breaks through so many of her walls,

For the things she didn’t know how to say,

Even for those,

There were words,

She just had no idea how to speak them,

How to make them come to life,

They were hiding,

Deep inside,


But she felt as if she didn’t have the power

To make them come to life.

Photo Credit: <a href=””>Vincent F Tsai</a> Flickr via <a href=””>Compfight</a&gt; <a href=”″>cc</a&gt;

I Don’t Show My Heart Enough

My heart likes to live quietly, keeping to itself (not really, because then what would be the point?), though it’s never quiet, it’s rather loud actually, I’ll just rarely let you know it. It likes to think too much, beating itself up, for every little thing, though it’s not to blame, it’s not my hearts fault it got stuck in a body that refuses to do what it wants. 


The Logic of Silence

I hate the things that I don’t say,

the lost goodbyes,

and the blank pages,

or the empty silence

when there’s something left to say,

you came to me and wanted to know

why I always waited

to speak before

I was invited

the logic of waiting,

dear friend,

is not an easy one to reason,

I’m not sure that even I

can read it’s mind

much less my own,

so I’ll just keep asking the same one

you did,

as if it didn’t make sense


Find the Music Where Most Don’t 

They sit there,

Their black silhouettes painting a picture

Against the morning sky,

Of silent music written in the power lines,

Patiently waiting for no one

To listen,

But the one who writes the melody,

Giving them a reason to sing.