Blank. It’s difficult to think when you don’t know what to think about. The cream colored wall doesn’t turn into valleys or beaches or places I would want to visit. They remain still. Just like my state of being.

Stiff. Lying on the top of my roof was pointless. The stimulating clouds that help me create provocative ideas are dull and quiet, vague and indeterminate. Just like my relationship with the man I love.

Naked. The dark turquoise sea is calling me, crying for her unguarded existence. Little did she know that the human she chose is also out in the open—exposed, defenseless. Just like my heart that was torn apart.

Spare. Standing in the woods is dispiriting; the trees were tortured once more. They didn’t have mercy. Just like you. To me.

A Blank Stare


A blank stare
at my window,
the raindrops
the cup of tea
sits on my lap.

A blank stare
at the note,
my mind vacant;
for you to arrive.

Daily Post’s Singin’ in the Rain.