Sometimes clouds seem light and fluffy, like they carry no weight upon their shoulders. They are able to float by unnoticed by a passerby's eyes, withholding any drop of pain. But if you brush the ink aside and run your fingers through their words, you'll find baggage that weighs more than you thought a cloud could take, and that's when they turn to ash and let it all pour out...just know eventually even dark clouds turn back to white

I scrapped enough mudfrom the bottom of my converseonto twisted tree trunkspeeling bark back likefresh scabs to seeif I could count howmany rings awayyesterday is

I’ve flown on the backof an owl through cloudsso black you’d swearthey were universesin-between a final trimester&a blue blanket as they emptysheets of memories thatsting my eyes no matterhow high the owl strugglesto climb

I’ve read through pages ofall the dreams I couldwake up from, but everywish is a high pitch whisperyou’d swear you couldn’t hearif not for the laughter ticklingyour inner ears

sometimes it rains for so longthe owl can’t carry youthere is no use in cleaning shoesyou play with letters long enoughyou turn a page&there’s nothing left to be explainedblank pages burning everythingyou’ve ever known, wished, hopedfor or dreamt, from cover to spine

sometimes it rains for so longyou’d swear the clouds wouldswallow the fires this time

once they empty they’ve doused everythingbut the fire inside

so you swear