it’s a still monday morning a yellow bellied sapsucker gently plucks from the bird feeder in the tree that hangs over the deck
i’m no longer seldom when i am under the stars i talk to them they listen they can not judge
through writing will be the only way i will be hea… if my words are cemented on paper permanently maybe then you must listen
my feathers are no longer beautifu… they are weathered from the cold and so is my soul this place is no longer habitable… migration is the only cure
the night sky pays no heed to my b… cant the moon rise and never retur… cant time pause for me just this o…
some days it feels like there’s someone rolling dice in my mind to determine my emotions i have no control
i wish to stay for a little while… let the moss become one with my skin while the creek prunes my fingertips
i find myself tracing trails in th… with each step the sun paints a new pattern among my skin trying so desperately to
