Poems from unpunkish
‘maybe it was my fault
for falling in love with your words
instead of your eyes.
maybe that is why i am crying
at 4 am’
because i loved...
she examines the tallies on her arm—
a red one
for each time
she’s loved
and lost.
one single black mark
for the love
she’s not yet...
what happens when i
cannot find my true north
and i do not remember how
to navigate a compass in lonely waters?
i cannot even write myself...
we are icicles ready
to be shattered and
puddles already melted
the way the hero’s journey
is always bound to
winter.
we answer
with...