Princess.
He called me that
after two days
of talking.

Sorry, Mr. Prince Charming—
nicknames are for those
who know my soul,
or who’ve seen me tear up
at Harry Potter.

Mr. Prince Charming replied
he had advice
“for my future.”

Not all emotional intelligence
needs to be shared.
But I stayed quiet.

“You should try to be more open,”
he said
to the girl
who pours her heart out
when the key of a smile
is turned

Tell me,
oh loved one,
grandson,

do you know how I cared?

As you said your goodbyes,
I removed
myself,
blending
into the
shadows.

I wonder
about
your life
as you lay
in the quiet
of the side room.

Yet three months
ago
you were the
laughter
of the bay.

Being Irish
was not just
a personality-
it was our connection.

Who knew

in those three weeks,
the brown notes,
black ink,
set at the top desk
for someone
to complete
your ending,
would bring me to tears?

Resilience was meant to be built,
yet I carry your accent with me

And it breaks me,

for every word I speak,

I hear you.

They say this is the princess era,

but what I crave in you

is the masculinity-

the kind that holds my heart

in two hands,

never shaking,

not once trembling,

as I bring

the chaos of my mind

into your world

Love woke in the middle of the night to find Pain staring at the moon.

They spoke –

their conversation whispered into

the deep quiet.

Pain asked if she could live without him.

Love did not have an answer.

So they stayed,

Promising each other they would meet once more.

But Love found another.

And Pain stayed awake

for all of eternity.

It’s on the days when
the words,
of every alphabet

cannot be strung together

from my cracked,
and bruised heart.

One look
in silence,
shared in memory,
as you walked by in the rain-

brown eyes
melting me away.