Mindful Tides

If Not Now, When?

Reality, Pt. 2

I’m heavy with ambition
And faith that can’t be more
Come immerse me in your weakness
The sweetness of our storm

Reality, Pt. 1

You don’t see yet
how trees bend for you
how they grow for you
how they die for you

The only way I’d say you’re flawed
Is if the leaves do not fall
If the winter does not come.


Talk it to rest, think it to death, drop it, pick it up, dust it off, pull it down, stretch it out, and whatever you do, don’t look at it for too long. A seed will sprout whether you watch it or leave it alone. The difference is whether you starve to death, or if you’re alive to see it bloom.


Close, you look like you
And one step back
The colors start to show
But from across a room
How could I’ve known
The masterpiece you are
Is even more elegant
From afar

It Still Seeps In

It still seeps in when I sleep. No matter how high I build these walls, no matter how much respect or understanding or ration is packed between the immense willpower and trust that cements it all together,

It still seeps in.


She dismounts a bike. She unplugs her music from right to left. She swallows her gum. She avoids a puddle. She walks with purpose. She walks with a mask and a frowning angel that sits on her shoulder. She picks up some trash. She looks for a sign. She treads water in an infinite pool of mindlessness. She sees clearly but still wonders what she’s missing. She feels right, and she feels wrong. She’s dark like tinted glass but is as conspicuous as the sun. She locks up her bike. She drops a bottle of water. She doesn’t really mind who notices. She sits in tall grass. She’s empty and she’s full.
She waits to see which direction the wind will blow.

“The purpose of poetry is to remind us
how difficult it is to remain just one person,
for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,
and invisible guests come in and out at will.”

—   Czesław Miłosz (via observando)

(via howitzerliterarysociety)

Fortune Cookie

Even pain is pretty- fire kills to stay alive, the moon couldn’t orbit without a sun, and lack creates compassion which cracks our locks open as if we were only eggshells containing runny, over-easy truth balancing delicately on a fencepost…

But the wood won’t scream at the flame, and moonlight rests for the beaming sun every night, it has never failed. We carry each other because we know we’re soft. Once our shells are gone, we’re free. It’s only right to fight for who we are.

We’re heading that way anyway, so fuck it.


Find my love
forgotten under the car seat
With candy shells and bar receipts
With your pocket lint and dinner mints
From jeans lost in dresser drawers
Find my love behind closed doors
Where every piece of you that’s gone
Has drawn your hands to their knobs.
Find my love tucked away
For years stuck in scrapbooks
With luck
You’ll find my love again one day

When I dove for the sea
To pull you to shore
I saw the bricks in the mud
The chains round your ankles
The key in your mouth
And the look of your eyes
As though I was the one
That left you to die.