Dear 2020,

You’ve taught me
many lessons.
You’ve been strong.
You’ve been fierce.
You’ve shown me
what it means
to be human:
what it means
to salvage
what has been
ruined. 2020,
stop the joke;
it’s not funny.
I write to you
in hopes that
you change. I
hope you can
bring me bliss
after putting
me through all
of this. That’s
my one wish.




Windows and Doors

Windows let others in. Doors close others out.
Windows and doors make up places we live.
Open windows provide insight into one’s life.
Closed doors ignore outsiders galore. So many
windows – so many doors – so many years –
so many fears. Unlock the doors and open
the windows, and show others how to grow.

Table for Two

The tables were empty. Each table had chairs.
The chairs were empty. The room was filled
with all but life. On this night, tables and chairs
were patiently waiting to be used by someone –
anyone. The day came where a table was used,
supported. The day came when I looked around
and saw you. Our eyes met and never left.
I tried not to stare. I walked to a table, with two
empty chairs, near you. We were alone together:
inside the same room. I walked to you despite
my fear of failing. I remember this moment
year after year. That night we met became
the first time we sat down at a table for two.

Circa 95′

Where were you in 95’?
Were you even alive?
I was born on May 28:
To me, it’s a special date.
I didn’t know much
as I was out of touch.
95’ was a good year
because I didn’t feel fear.
Now 24, I open up doors
to places without floors.
The falls are bottomless;
they don’t hurt, I promise.
I’ve learned how to live
a life that I gladly give.
95’ is my year of birth:
my first day on earth.
I have been blessed
to be put to life’s test.
I don’t remember 95’,
but I can rewind time.

I remember being 5
and how the sun shined.
I remember being 10
and the places I’ve been.
I remember being 15
with a spirit so clean.
I remember being 20,
working to earn money.
Now 24, I just want more.
I want what I didn’t have.
Now 24, I can now laugh
at what held me back.
I am blessed to be here,
to see a year reappear.
95’, a year I think about
brings me zero doubt.
Now 24, I feel alive –
Thanks to the year: 95’.

How a Year Can Disappear

I blinked twice, then twice more.

I thought about life’s open doors.

I tried to stop it, but I failed.

Time flew by as my ship sailed.

I loved so much and hurt as well.

Those 52 weeks have a story to tell.

I pushed forward; I rarely reminisced.

It’s sad knowing things will be missed.

I look back and smile at my past,

Realizing time won’t last.

I look back and remember the year

Just before a new one appears.