teardrops: A Poem

you’re too old to act like this

whining and screaming at us like a child

but you’re too close to dismiss

even when you’re angry and riled


your constant abuse mocks me

all of those hours i wasted with you

nothing…and i guess you’ll never see

or try a different point of view


and if my side was a book

it would be ten thousand pages long

your side would just be the hook

a story of how i was strong


i guess tears do fall from heaven

if heaven’s where i was

but i didn’t learn a lesson

and maybe that’s because

at some point everything thing you told me

was not the friendship that you sold me

and that’s when i stopped

when your trustworthiness dropped

and your lies again were topped

with another shiny story


and if teardrops fall from heaven,

then you must make the rain.


music: A Poem

music is not a heartbeat



with the rattled piano, giving its musky shiver

harsh and loud and gentle

and everything

echoing in the background

a million little moments


a million little meanings

strobing and wanting

every moment, with emotion

dancing and fleeting

on fleeing little feet

breaking off the sheet

tearing through the lines of the staff

running from the club and the night and the dark and the dance floor

it’s alive and it’s breathing

telling what it was told to tell


what’s between the lines

and words

and whispers

make the music


no, music is never a heartbeat

never a single rhythm, lacking followers

never a monotony of a single crash or crush…



is a pulse