I look(ed) in
the clouds
and search(ed) for dragons.
they dance(ed)
and love(ed)
and sang above me.
I laugh(ed) and cry(ied)
all night, and in day
I look(ed) for dragons.
Up, up up
up in the clouds I look(ed)
to where they say(id)
I can find my dragons.
but now I'm old(er0
and sad(der)
and i'm afraid
as I look(ed) up
that I've lost my dragons.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 3:09 AM UTC
it bubbles and burns
the softness I yearn
leaves its mark inside me
its sweet and its raw
of earth, and claws
and fizzles deep inside me
flowers grow better
sunk in seltzer
poppies bloom inside me
petals caress
like a maid's wedding dress
up my throat, inside me
they say I'm in bloom
so I consume
the soda, now deep inside me.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 12:59 AM UTC
blue and white
cast upon you
like rice at a wedding
they follow
wanting
lusting
calling
cursing
but how to ward them?
when you ache
and plead
with yourself
your empty bank account,
god
for something you find beautiful
in another
yes, the evil eyes are always watching
because
they are yours.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 5:18 PM UTC
Who would you be without words.
Without the innate ability to weild
A sharp and bitter taste
To be left without them
No more music no books no conversation no jokes no movies
You've lost the solace of words
You've lost the shield of language
You're losing it.
Even a dog recognizes it's name.
But soon you won't.
Who what when how
Its all words
Without them
What are you.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
My words are lost.
I speak
But now I stutter.
I think
But nothing comes out.
My words are gone.
I can't remember what
I used to write.
My words have run.
I am smart
Was smart
But now
Words
Are
Lost.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
Getting older
Doesn't mean I've grown up
My coming of age story
Won't be one that's read in English class.
Is adulthood a dramatic change
Or a series of small steps?
What defines me as a child
An adult
Will others one day examen my life, circle a section, and say,
Yes, this is where she had her coming of age.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
I was sitting on the car with my family the other day
Pink Floyd was on the radio
And we were discussing sadness and
Melancholy
When my mother said she didn't like to listen to sad music
I realized
That
Her
Sadness
Is
Just
As
Unique
As
Mine
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:18 AM UTC
Life is
*******
Expensive.
There's phone bills
Water bills
Transit books soap netflix toothpaste food rent
To buy
And it's a lot more
Than I was ever
Prepared for.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC
I always thought art had to be hard.
There had to be some deep inner struggle, some magical spiritual resonance
That gave art meaning
I thought love was about pomp and circumstance
That it had to be verbose, brash
I pined and flirted and thought I knew love
I knew nothing
I haven't changed much
I am a different shape but the same shade
I've found art in puddles, and love in myself
But I'm still learning
I'm sure I'll still write poetry
That's pompous and shallow
But now I'll know a little but more
About the pieces of myself
And maybe one day I'll figure out who I will be.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 5:31 AM UTC
I walk past the poor every day
The ones that ask me for money
For the change
That I hear jangling in my ears long after I walk away
Money comes to me like a slip of paper
A white page
Stateing times and dates and hours spent
In the pursuit of happiness
Because that's how I feel when I get my wage
Like the hours I spent didn’t just waste away.
The jingle of my work, my age
Is what I pour into that man’s cup
It might be fifty cents
But it’s really six minutes
It might be six minutes
But it’s part of what I earned with my time.
Money is a sense of safety
A paper cushion
In my back pocket
That protects me from them.
A buffer of light green
Silver, copper, gold
That speaks of books
And travel
And new worlds
So I pour my dreams into that man's cup.
Maybe I can share my dream with him
Maybe the money
Will help him
In a way that it helps me
Maybe he will feel safer, warmer, happier
With my hopes jangling in his pocket.
It may be fifty cents.
But it was still money
My money
That isn’t gaining me anything
Except a lightness in my pocket
And a quiet evaluation of where it can take me.
Money controls me
Just as much as I control it.
As I tip the coins
As they fall
I can hear them
They keep me going for another six minutes, then another six, then another.
That fifty cents,
Screams at me
Power, effort, time.
I want to think that money is good
That the people who get it are
But I see how I spend
How he spends
How she spends
And I think that the dreams that money whispers are for adults
And maybe I have to truly be an adult to know
That it’s not what my money does to me, but what I do
To those without.
My coins get caressed in his hands
***** in a way
That’s so different than mine
God bless
He whispers, and I think of the coins
That have that
Exact
phrase stamped on them.
Money should be used in Thomas Jefferson’s say:
To promote happiness in a responsible way
Because the tail of the devil must be dipped in the stuff
The economics of everyday making decisions tough
I can feel the relief it gives me to part with the money
But I calculate the loss
The casual toss
Of the money,
The money
That represents so much
Good
And so much hope.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 8:43 PM UTC