I can’t imagine looking you in the face

and saying, I have never loved this man.

I know the lines on your face,

the height of your breath,

the way your mouth moves.

You could never be a stranger to me,

will always feel like coming to some

type of home— vacant, dusty, forgotten.

this is the way of time.

I can’t believe I loved you enough to let you go

but this ghost has flesh now

and we have all come so far into ourselves

it’s hard to remember a time we weren’t.

So, that’s life. We have our sea legs now

and listen to our mother when she says

we will love again.

I will love again.


Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, 

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. 

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 

in secret, between the shadow and the soul. 

I love you as the plant that never blooms 

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; 

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, 

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. 

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. 

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; 

so I love you because I know no other way 

than this: where I does not exist, nor you, 

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, 

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Poetry post! 

In my April Housekeeping post I said I would post two poems a week, one that I had written and one that was written by someone else. Earlier this week I posted “Having a Coke with You” by Frank O’Hara, so this is the post that features a poem that I have written. I don’t normally have titles for my poems, so they’ll all be titled with the date and time they were written. Enjoy!
March 10, 2017 10:12pm 

I’m soft and have a capacity for love.

I have retreated into myself so well,

I struggle with the present. I’m boring.

I’m boring. Often, I find myself

in circles, endless loops of the same

empty thoughts pressing into my brain,

weighing my shoulders, until my back

is curved away from the sun

and I’m closer to the earth, the flowers.


There are small joys in everything.

I use them to orient an overstimulating

world. When I can’t sleep at night

I push myself into alternate universes

and write poetry. I don’t count.

We’ll never stop getting older; the sun

will never stop getting closer. Oh,

I don’t know. I guess I just want it

to all add up somehow.

The Rose That Grew From Concrete, Review 

“U say that u’ll love me forever but what about todayAs the dusks becomes dawns and the years pass on will u love me the same way” is an excerpt from “The Rose That Grew From Concrete” by Tupac Amaru Shakur, the collection of poetry I’m reviewing this post. 

This is a relatively short collection. I love the way it is put together, with the handwritten poems on the left hand side and the typed copy on the right side. The handwritten poems often feature cool drawings and illustrations. It’s also just neat to read poetry in the original way that it is written. 

This collection has several themes, the largest of them love. Love of self, platonic love, romantic love, familial love, love of country, etc. It deals with the idea of having more than one great love of your life. It deals with struggling with fame. It deals with struggling with infidelity. Towards the end, it does get political which I love because I feel like we’re getting an honest look at all the different parts that made Tupac up. 

My favorite of the political poems is “The Unanswerable?” 




4/5 stars for me. If you’re looking for something raw and vibrant, this is the book for you.