I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.

If you’re handing out flashlights in the dark, start handing out stars.

I am wrong more often than i am writing and even then i am often wrong

But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.

My heart is still a leather jacket I am waiting to give to someone sweet.

You are not weak just because your heart feels so empty.

Sometimes the break in your heart is like the hole in the flute. Sometimes it’s the place where the music comes through.