The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.

Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.

If a tree fell in the forest, and you were the only one there to hear it; if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound, would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist, or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?

I know you think this world is too dark to even dream in color, but I’ve seen flowers bloom at midnight. I’ve seen kites fly in gray skies and they were real close to looking like the sunrise, and sometime it takes the most wounded wings the most broken things to notice how strong the breeze is, how precious the flight.

If you ever reach enlightenment. will you remember how to laugh?

When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.

You can have a cold war with yourself, even in the summertime