Tag: Photography

Welcome to the nights of the beautifully broken.

We start to head down this unraveling midnight road,
and music slips through every word unspoken.
You begin to navigate us to nowhere.

When I cannot fall asleep at night,
I fall apart instead.
I look out the window and try to convince myself,
I know what’s coming ahead.
These silent roads are all intertwined,
and you continue to navigate us to nowhere.

Like a deer in headlights, the conversation changes.
This dynamic is starting to reach new stages,
and I don’t want to be on different pages.
But then you accurately navigate us to nowhere.

We eventually circle back without a hurry.
But this drive has gone by in the blink of an eye,
and now looking back, it’s starting to seem blurry.
So again, can you navigate us to nowhere?

You can feel the midnight rush on her streets
like a constant pulse running through this city.
Everyone that passes by carries a different story.
Even her forgotten corners have their own sense of glory.
But they’re all connected by their love for her.
The kind of love you have when your role model watches you perform;
a tender love of appreciation and intimidation.

She never waits for anyone;
you either learn to run at her pace or you get left behind.
Her sidewalks force children to quickly grow up,
yet she can give you a reason to feel forever young.

She stands as the strongest pedestal for light;
in morning sunrises and evening horizons.
The minute you arrive you never want to leave,
because despite all the lonely dances,
she’ll always have you entranced.

The stroke of autumn colors swipe across the evening sky.

An every day miracle;
I catch a glimpse as I walk nearby.
Leaves in every shade of red hit the ground,
and crunch beneath my feet with a familiar sound.
Golden rays ricochet off everything it grazes,
and touches my face with soft embraces.

But what I say may not be all real or true.
It is nothing but a rose-filtered view.
And what a wonderful way to view this world,
through my own poetic hue.
To find beauty in paltry, neglected corners;
it is a royal way of living.

You want to share stories and emotions,
but you’re afraid to be open.
So you pause and look out at the ocean,
and count the silences between the waves.
You sit quietly, just listening.

So much history runs through my mind,
and I cannot collect any words to say.
These pulses of anxiety feel unrefined,
but I still want to stay by your side.
So I sit quietly, just listening.

Conflicted with what we want,
we finally reach an impasse.
We pretend to stay nonchalant,
with ebbs and flows of imperfect moments.
We sit quietly, just listening.

Listening for all the unsaid words.
Listening for all the stifled laughter.
Listening to every wave crash on land.
Listening to everyone else around us.

Just not listening to each other.

I am a runner.
I am proud.

I run up mountains.
I run through the night.
I run in the snow.
I run past finish lines.

And then I keep running.

I run from my feelings.
Growing up to be strong
has made me afraid of my emotions.
So I run.

I run from my insecurities.
Years of being complimented on false confidence
has made me lock up my real anxieties.
So I run.

I run from intimacy.
Losing the people I open up to
has taught me to never let my guard down.
So I run.

Running.
A form of strength,
I manage to turn into my weakness.

I am a runner.
I am not proud.