Dear 2018…

2018 had many lessons for me.

Lesson 1: Mental & Physical Health cannot take a backseat.
Lesson 2: Friends are important, and so are boundaries.
Lesson 3: Creativity, music & words will forever be a sounding board I use to gather myself.

I have some goals for 2019, but I don’t want to feel too restricted by listing out every aspect-so instead, I list out the 3 things I hope to encounter in 2019 in broad strokes.

In 2019, I want to tie up unfinished projects.
In 2019, I want to admire someone new in music.
In 2019, I want to experience an old recipe tried with a new spin.

I am excited for 2019. For more poems, more blog posts, more love and most importantly, more health. Cheers to the New Year, indeed.

Hold My Hand (don’t make me shout)

You walked briskly away from me,
We have the same destination-
(your place, your room, your bed)
So why the hesitation?
Darling, why won’t you hold my hand?

Your footsteps are heavy,
echoing on the pavement
And my drunk steps patter behind you
“Why won’t you walk next to me?”
I ask aloud
Only to hear the footsteps-

I ask you again
to hold my hand
(please don’t make me shout)

The brisk walker ahead of me
turns ever so slowly
That gleam in his eyes reveals he’s lonely

And he takes my hand, as we waltz in a dance
of me asking, and him answering
Darling, hold my hand (and I won’t shout)

Maybe I Could

I love the word ‘maybe’
& how it rhymes with the ‘baby’
Because maybe is a start- a new beginning
And maybe baby, I could be that for you

Maybe I could be the one to hold you tight
kiss you goodnight
make your morning coffee
Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely?

I love the word ‘maybe’
And maybe, baby I could love you


It is not broken.
I am not broken.
I am purple, and green, and red.
I am black and blue.

I am still here,
in certain lights more present than others.

A walking bruise.
When you touch me,
I am warm.

My blood is flowing–
even though my center is off.

The hurt is there still;
only. if. you. press.

I can conceal it, this ache of mine
—my bruised being

Adorn it with ornaments and ointments.
Remembering that nothing is opaque
and just,
let me heal.



Creeping and crawling upwards
Yearning towards the sun,
Begging for light, while scaling the walls
Snakelike, enchanting and charming

Put the plant with something else,
Ivy League presents us honor, evoking a certain era
Poison Ivy scars and bubbles the skin, to be avoided on your journeys
And the evergreen, ever-mean ivy continues on its path.

Where the buildings touch the ground you are reminded that they
in fact, are the intruders,
not the ivy

That the ivy persists, and climbs
forever remembering the needs for its own survival
oh, what we could lear