When I was younger, my mother used to call me “Eeyore.” Everywhere I went, I would carry this lonely, black raincloud and let it pour over me until my mood was as grey as the droplets hitting me in the face. “Don’t be such an Eeyore,” she would say, “things will always get better.” “I’m… Read More Raincloud


Heard, but not seen, My words stretching like, “Good morning, love, How’d you sleep?” Questions, Asked but not answered, Our love lay dead, Doorknobs and dustpans, Ashes to ashes, Life, not lived yet, Livable, Side by side, In hushed hallways, Always, hotter than the summer sun, Yet, A heart cold as ice, “Too nice,” I… Read More Eyes