My hand aches to write the thousands of ideas swimming in my head But I can’t bring myself to pick up my seasoned pen Because nothing is ever good enough for my brain Instead It’s a moderately okay piece … Continue reading
Decay
Control
I don’t think I understand How we have the world in the palm of our hand We’re expected to nod our heads and zip our lips And hope that we get something out of this This life that we’ve … Continue reading
Small Talk
I can not do small talk. How do people manage to lift conversations by discussing the length of time Person A dated Person B, or how long it has been since they picked dandruff off of their scalp? How do … Continue reading
c.o.f.f.i.n. (based on a dream)
maybe she
knelt powerful before the sword
ache silent her numbing hands
sword poke through
her sun kissed heart
and she twisted the sword
so shamefully out
and her lips and nose and teeth told
that she had fought until she suffocated
that she had loved until she drowned
her bones made of cracked wood
sinking to the floor
but she rose once
and turned
walked into hell
to join her children
and the reader read in horror
flinched in horror
and kneeled in horror
over the coffin
to continue to write his poems
I Am Floating…
I am floating, like a balloon Until you catch me. Your hand wraps around me in an embrace and tells me, I have you, don’t worry. And I believed you, Because right then That’s what I wanted, what I needed; … Continue reading
something I wonder~
When I first talked to you My well instantly began to glow. Filling up with water. You, standing above as the bucket. Every word smoothly Escape your delicate mouth. You were caring, Everyday you were checking up on me. Rotating … Continue reading
once i knew a kid
Once I knew a kid
She liked the colour blue
And playing in the rain
Liked to write stories and silly tunes
And had clever brain
When the kid was 10 and entered her 4th school
She was asked what it is
She liked to do
She said she liked to write and read
And the colour blue
Didn’t like skirts
Or fancy shoes
She went to school
And learned what she enjoyed
Wasn’t at all cool
–
Once I knew a kid
Who liked warrior games
Playing pretend
And wanted bows and arrows to aim
She reached for them and hit a dead end
You can’t have that,
Her daddy frowned
Why can’t I have that?
She asked, rather perplexed
It’s only for boys
Says who?
Says society
–
I once knew a kid
Who didn’t talk a great deal
She didn’t think it mattered
Who said she had to speak and squeal?
They started calling her quiet and scattered
She hadn’t any friends
Not a single one
Just the rare, occasional fraud
And she was done
She started talking fast
Tired of being made fun at
If only to stop herself from being harassed
–
I once knew a kid
Who really wanted friends
To play with and talk
Real one’s, not those that would condescend
She met some kids on the sidewalk
Will you play with me?
She wanted to know
NO! Your skin is the colour of dirt, don’t you see?
–
I once knew a kid
Who loved to dream
Let her imagination run wild
Thinking if the mostly wonderful scenes
She wished to go to the moon
Live under the sea
Explore Egyptian sand dunes
Play in the trees
Save a million lives
Write stories
Handle knives
Work in laboratories
Don’t be silly!
She was told
Be sensible,
They would scold.
Choose one, not all!
So she packed her dreams away
And refused the sirens call
–
I once knew a kid
And she used to be free
Do anything she wanted
Had the master key
And did as she pleased
I wonder what happened that kid
And sorta wish she never met society
Wonder what she’d be like if she didn’t do what they bid
Would she still feel that aching anxiety?
–
I once knew a kid
And I rather miss her, you see
Because truth was
That kid used to be me.
The Tree
Hate and oppression live in the same direction Descending from the same tree How can we grow when every leaf Is a missed prevention A question of direction; why should we follow Those with hearts of stone And heels of … Continue reading
Dirt
In my teenage brain, I know that I am so used to the taste of dirt, that I chug it down as fast as adolescent promises, Because dirt should taste like promises, Fluffy, and irresistibly true, For isn’t it the … Continue reading