June Bugs- a poem

June bugs

flutter at my window,

their reminder

that the cold

may seize to exist.


June bugs,

may I ask

where you go in

the winter?

Do you hide?

I guess the winter’s

wrath may

be too much

to handle

with your





I sometimes

feel like you,

June bugs.

My dragonflies

can belittle

me too

until my



and my limbs numb.

That must happen

to you too.


Thank you,

June Bugs.

I’m not



Your Average Poem

This is your

everyday ballad

about a girl who

breaks her

own heart

pining for

someone quite

out of her reach,

your average poem

about lies

and deceit

since her life is quite


without the thought

of him

or without his touch.

So yeah,

her life is quite


no more emotions

no more hopes

and dreams

because her fantasies

tumbled down






Just your average



Early in the Morning-a poem

He wakes me

early in the morning

to tell me

that he loves me,

but at night

his eyes go distant,

his coffee grown cold

and his food left untouched.


He whispers

songs in my ear

of utter despair,

but am I the one to blame?


Early in the morning,

he packs his backs

and cuts my heart out.

I should’ve known

by the sadness

in his eyes

and the loss of emotion

in his voice.


But it is not I to blame

because he caused himself

the great shame.



Art in Bloom-a poem

She has

roses in her eyes

and sunflowers

on her thighs.


Grass grows

green in her hair

and her smile

crashes into the

ocean waves.


She helps sprouts


with just one

prick of her



She sings with the birds

and at night

paints the stars

in the sky.


And when the

sun rises the

next morning,

she does it

all over again.



Maybe Not a Superhero-a poem

I need not a superhero to save me,

I need you,

To wipe those tears from my eyes

When life becomes

Too much.


I need not a superhero

With spider-like


But just that smile

On your face.


You’re my superhero

Yet who I am

To you,

Nothing but

An admirer,

But a friend

If you ever feel like breaking too.


You’re loved from all over

Just the same from me,

If not more.


Dark Road-a poem

She might’ve

strayed from

the path,

a road less

less taken

but for a valid reason.


Not in particular,

but she finds


in each



Each star

as bright as the

other or

each a little

gentler on the eye.

But whatever constellation

it may be,

she still walks

down the

dark road

without a flashlight.


Little Cottage-a poem

There is a little cottage

buried deep in my memories.

Wall to wall

shelf upon shelf


and papers stack high above the ground.


My old ideas

and young as time,

but I still recall

the feelings

those stories would

to others

and myself

I would sit

and write

for days at time.

Knowing sometime

all of my writings would

make sense.

And yet,

years have past

and some ink smudges

I’m not able to recover.


Burnt journal entries

and thrown away memories,

but still stored

in the back of my mind.

May I never


the first time

I held a pen

or felt crisp

paper between my fingers.


May I never forget what it

felt like when

all of the breadcrumbs

underneath my bed

dissolved into dust.