I’ve still got your poem on my phone.


The one you wrote for me a couple summers back?

Where did all that love go?

Did you burn it?

Are you giving it to someone new?

Is it that girl I saw you with last night?

Or the one I saw you with last week?

Did you throw it away?

Or do you keep it in your pen?

On paper?

Maybe in your eyes?

I think I might’ve seen it in your eyes.

Last night.

With that girl.


I’ve still got your poem on my phone.

I like to read it when I feel alone.

Or when I’m missing you,

Whichever comes first.

Do you ever read it?

Did you delete it?

I found you on a bookshelf today.

Is the poem on my phone

Now in the hands of strangers?


I would’ve taken you home

But I was afraid of what I’d find

In the pages.

The things you had to say

Or didn’t.

I don’t know which would’ve hurt more,

The words

Or the silence.


I’ve still got your poem on my phone.

I should delete it, but I’ll keep it.

Not because I still love you,

But because we were art

And I still like to look at us sometimes.



From Dust to Flesh

Infinite timelines

running together

and this is the one we’re on.

You and I,

out of all the billions and trillions of cells,

collided in the midst of chaos

and for only a second

it was quiet.


Being born.


The stars realigned,

for God’s greatest miracle

is hidden in the intricacies of our bones.


From dust to flesh,

we became.


is the true beauty of it all.

How it all happened so complicatedly perfect.


We were written into this world

and the story is carved on our skin.

Don’t hide it.dust

A Cold Cold Night

(This poem was first published in a series of tweets.)


So cold, these hands.

He shakes, he’s frozen.

Where has he been that he’s so cold?

His tears, his breath.

He’s so cold he’s blue.

Voice shaking, teeth shattering,

He tells me where he’s been

and I break.

He takes a step forward,

I take two steps back.


“Hold me close, just hold me close,”

He says. “I just need to get warm.”


But he’s broken us.


I shut the door and all of me shatters,

pieces of him and me on the floor.

I still here him whisper,

on the other side of the door,

“I’m so cold,

I’m so sorry,

I’m so so cold.”


door sketch




The snow owl watches as the others take flight, dreaming of the day she’ll sail the Great Heights. Up there with the clear blue waters, she’d navigate through the cotton fields and look down to the dust, where all is revealed. At night, when the sea of aquamarines faded into an ocean of onyxes she’d speak to the twinkling lights, the starry eyes in the black night. And the moon, oh how she wants to meet the moon. So many great adventures up there, she is aware she could go Anywhere, see Everywhere. But it isn’t time. Still every day she goes to Father and says “Daddy, I want to fly!”

“Why do you wish to spring away from me so fast?” he always asks.

The little snow owl hates when he asks this because it makes her feel guilty, but then he laughs and says, “Not yet, my darling, don’t rush, hush. It all comes with time.”

Time, how she hates time! But Father always knows how much the little snow owl wants to fly, so he does the only thing he can. “Come on up, little flake, I’ll make us fly.” She never hesitates, for they do this every day. With a big smile, and a ruffling of her thick feathers, she climbs unto his back as he grabs her wings.

“Hold on tight,” he says and he jumps into the air, jumping from tree to tree, the farthest he can go with the weight of both of them. It isn’t really flying, no, but the little snow owl never cares because in her mind she is soaring. The older the little snow owl got, the shorter the distance Father could fly, but even if his arms hurt a little and his back bruised a little, he took her for a flight every day until the little owl wasn’t so little and she flew off to the Great Heights just like she’d dreamed for so long.





poem for All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven


Where is the Blue paint?

Where are the Blue walls?

Can you feel that Blue hope?

He wants to feel the Blue hope.

Down into the Blue Hole,

He needs to sink in.


Blue, whirlwind of tranquility,

He needs the calm.

Blue, storm of serenity,

He feels the calm.

Blue is dressed in ice,

And God he feels so warm.

Blue is the eye of the hurricane,

Where he lays breathing in the colors

Until the calm takes over and he’s floating,







Until he’s free, and lovely and blue.

Away, away, away.


blue hole 2

Children of War

Lay down your weight on our shoulders

Crush our lungs with your fists

Rip out our hearts with your teeth

Sew your eyes shut, needle and thread

Tear your ears out, blood under your nails

You’ve murdered our youth

You’ve killed our innocence

The water in your sink is tainted blood red

The guilt on your skin stick to your bones

The soap has run out, you can’t wash this away

The truth remains


This is all you’ve left us

A charred world

In pieces

This is all you’ve left us

Hate and smoke and murder

We don’t want it

We will burn down the pieces

We will drink from the hands of Hope

We will rise from the ashes

And we will rebuild

This world you have broken