What’s it Worth?

Before this pen,

so much as thinks about touching a blank page, again.

I must know: was it worth it?

Was it worth it,

to watch me sit, and write. . .

And write. . .

And write, until my pen runs dry?

Was it worth it,

To see me stare at a piece of pointless paper,

Until the sun sets and the moon shines,

Looking for the perfect word or rhyme?

You know,

It would make such sense;

If it wasn’t.

Writing. . .well,

It can drive one mad.

—And for what?

A pat on the back?

A good review?

Some feedback?

But, then again,

Writing is more than that.

Writing is a portal

From your world to mine:

A world you can visit at any given time.

Time though, will eventually win.

And if all I have,

Are these words from this pen;

Then I’ll always wonder. . .

What could have been?

If I only put down this paper;

If I only put down this pen;

And spent all my time,

With you. . .




There are many sides to a story; this, I’ve known for a while now. But today, as I awake, groggy-eyed and in a light daze, I finally understand your side of the story.

The early part of summer, in 2015, was a summer I long to forget. My heart was shards of glass, and my mind was weak. Anyone who knew me could tell. I coped with the pleasures of the world: drink, gluttony, laziness, lust.

Of course, these sins did nothing to fill the hole in my distraught heart. Yet, like a fool, I did not cease, and dug the hole deeper and deeper. I was not myself; I was an impostor. Then. . .I met you.

When I first saw you, I was in awe of you: your tiny shoulders peering out of your shirt. Your green eyes like the universe. And your sincere smile showing your stunning heart. I was in love. . .but, I was also deep in pain.

You took a risk the day you opened up your world for me. A risk, to be honest, I did not deserve. Though, that’s one attribute I love about you: you will observe the worst in all creation—and see potential.

You saw the monstrous mask I wore, and you saw the good behind it. And, above all, you showed me the importance of trust and honesty. I will forever be grateful for that.

The Mind

Happy is my heart, my soul, my mind;


the mind is such a powerful tool.


Like waves,

crashing against the ocean’s shore;

the mind—giving no warning—can crush your soul.


Powerful enough to make you feel as though you can’t be stopped;


at the same time, the mind can keep you


stranded. . .


motionless. . .afraid.


This, sadly, is the state my mind has me in:

the more I think,

the tighter its grip on me,

pulling me into darkness.


It’s an ironic thing, the mind:

knowing it’s the only element which can free me from the depths it put me in.


I will break free, though—and soon!


My love is on the other side.

I won’t keep her waiting.


I come my love.