Cross My Heart; Hope to Die

Wondering what I’ve been doing lately? Writing bad poetry, of course. I really wanted it to snow today.


You promised me wind and snow

and gave me sun.

You promised fire and passion

and gave a cold shoulder.

You promised love and future;

I have the blackest nights.

Without you,

promises are my only hope.



You Left

Disclaimer: This is not a poem as I am in no way a poet. Instead, merely find a terse philosophical observation/correlation/comparison between the words a beloved has spoken, a hastily written note, and my heart at the moment.

You write care,

misspelled or illegible,

and strikethrough.

You write hope

only to scribble it out later

with thick, black lead.

You write love,

but the eraser-thinned paper gets

crumpled and thrown away.

My heart still reads

the impression

you left.