Poetic Nonsense

Normally up to no good,

I hide between the lines

confiding in an imaginary you.

Dramatizing about my day.

I ink what I think—watching red fade to pink,

trickling off what I really want to say.

Blanked spaces and empty sentiments,

words flock like birds migrating away from

my poetic nonsense.

Son of a Seamstress

Image from Pexels

Alone,
taking patterns and material
to sew colors that only your
love can express.

Quietly
choosing the right emotions
and threading your soul
carefully.

I’ve mistaken your happiness
when you smiled,
while wearing the shirt you made.
Some of the buttons have gone missing now
and there are holes and stains all over.

You rush to fix it.

I don’t see anything wrong—

the love never faded.


This poem was written for my momma who seems to have a knack to guide me even from a distance. I love talking to her on my Sunday mornings!