Broken Promises

Don’t say the words of the broken promises,

for they are all a lie that sinks deep into the

heart. Pulling us down, like a thick vine that

wraps around our bodies and cuts off the

oxygen that sustains the need for

breathing.

So in that case, maybe we shouldn’t say

anything at all. For the words that come out

seem to be drenched in poison. They are

unbelievable and turn into nothing that we

can hold onto, or even keep safe.

Trials and Tribulations

Your trials and tribulations come marching back;

sometimes I wonder why they can’t turn to dust.

You are broken, but I am broken too—

when every time I keep thinking that I’m losing you.

Orange Blossom Honey

Orange blossom honey, you remind me of summer—

beautiful blue skies and warm weather.

Hints of oranges are bitter and sweet;

just like a summer’s glorious treat.

Blossoms that bloom on every tree when the air warms up.

Bees buzzing in their hives, while making honey—

are the scents that linger and caresses my skin.

Orange blossom honey, spring has just begun—

let the hibernation fully end.

Keep bringing the sunshine until summer

comes around—in the form of sweet smelling lotion—

that’s just around the bend.

In My Room

I’d rather get lost in a messy room

than keep it tidy like you assume I should.

This is my safe place, the only place that I can be alone:

where I can allow my imagination to freely roam.

These walls can always transport me to a better place

to a different world, to a friendly face.

Where so many words float invisibly in the air—

yet I know they’ll always be there.

Because in my room, is somewhere deep inside,

where I keep my emotions to hide. 

Taking It All Away

It frustrates me when you don’t listen

and turn the other cheek.

When you only hear what you’re saying—

Not giving me the chance to speak.

When nothing of me is sacred,

And you end up taking it all away—

Without asking me if you can,

and yet I don’t have a say.

Will I turn blue before you see what

I’m up against each day?

Pretty Little Girl

Behind the poem: Saoirse Fitzgerald was eighteen months old when she died on December 13, 2011 of Neuroblastoma, Stage 4 Cancer. I wrote this tribute for her after a message her father sent me about his daughter loving to dance. I couldn't stop thinking about her and wrote this for her this morning.