Flying home to you

I used to fight sleep on every plane ride

As if closing my eyes for a split second

Meant that I would miss

The most important part

At night

When the building lights flickered

The whole world seemed upside down

But there wasn’t a single star in the sky

That could match the bright lights below

The constellations on the ground

Were made up of so much more

Than a comet’s wish

They pointed to a direction

So close, yet so far

From a thousand feet up

Every town was free of clouded judgement

The price of their utopia

Was my tainted view

But I could afford it

For the glimmer of hope in each home


A letter to my father

When I was young and angry

I used to say I’d dance on your grave

Now I’m older and wiser

And I realize that’s a little dramatic

I no longer wish you death

I no longer wish you anything

Not pain or misery

Or love and happiness

I only wish for myself

To have the ability

To think of you

As little as you have thought of me

The very last thought I can have of you

I could write a million words to say goodbye to you and the piece you took would always be a larger hole than anyone could fill. And who’s fault is that? Is it mine? Is it yours? When do I get to let you go and watch you float away to a world I don’t belong to? Or will your world always be a part of mine? If I write you one more letter, will you finally respond?


The endless stars were ours for the taking

But the sun had the nerve to rise

The clouds felt the need to take their place

And we dared to hold our days

Because no moon, or stars, or rain or shine

Could take it anyway

This was ours from the beginning

The ground we stood on

Could never feel any shade


I choose you

I often get lost in thought trying to describe what we have. Simple is not the answer. Complicated is by far a stretch. You and I are not a fairy tale held on to for years. We are not a romance intertwined with the musings of a childhood dream. We are a million stories before the ones we are told we are meant to be. And in all those books there is no better word to describe our chaos more than “choice.” You are my choice every damn day. I choose to go to bed and wake up next to you. I choose to fall further into your eyes than you have ever allowed. I choose to kiss each inch of your skin, even when you want me to stop. I choose to never stop seeing the sun in your smile and feeling the warmth of your touch. I choose to believe that the real magic is no longer in the fairy tales, romantic novels, and childish dreams. The magic is in your arms when you’re snoring and you reach over and hold me. The magic is in the books I didn’t ask for but you bought anyways. The magic is in the way your hands have grown to look for mine when they used to stick by your side. The magic is in knowing we can both live our lives without each other and be completely okay, but making the choice to love each other anyways.

You are the poem I’ve been searching for

I’ve been searching through the poetry

The milk and honey and all the pillow thoughts

For words to fit how I feel

But their love seems to fall short

With you

I can’t help but fly

So how am I to reference and rely on

Their bare and basic love

When ours is filled with

Words molded into melodies

Touches turned to embrace

And the raw reality

Of us