he was brown
i was blue
like the earth that the water flows through
he was soft
i was hard
like sand being sliced with a sharp ice shard
he stomped
i glided
like when muddy cliff and rain drops collided
he was solid
i was shaking
like rocks over which the river was breaking
he was brown
i was blue
if only i could like him too
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 5:14 AM UTC
i have never found a four leaf clover
but i have seen many bugs
and given many hugs
and now the sun is licking my skin
and into the grass I'm sinking in
there's a flower to my right
and colorful things in my sight
and this life is a lovely layover
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
this life is a lovely layover
colorful things in my sight
there's a flower to my right
and into the grass I'm sinking in
and now the sun is licking my skin
i have given many hugs
and i have seen many bugs
i have never found a four leaf clover
i have never found a four leaf clover
and i have seen many bugs
i have given many hugs
and now the sun is licking my skin
and into the grass I'm sinking in
there's a flower to my right
colorful things in my sight
this life is a lovely layover
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 6:04 PM UTC
I am floating and in my eyes and my mind and the leaves of a tree there are hands,
because hands are all we have,
because creation is all we are,
because everything spirals outward in the hand of our hands,
because fingers are too long but too short to hold everything we need in them,
because the leaves are many more than the palms but we pretend that trees aren’t real,
in our mass hallucination where you all call me crazy for putting my hands up,
and we pretend our lives are bigger and heavier than anything else when really we just need to look at the colors, when really we just need to experience, when really we just need to remember that curly hair holds all the secrets and all the eyes and watching really matters, and we’ll be freer once we’ve bathed in the sunlight and let go, dropped our hands,
and let the world hold us tighter.
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
I sat at a wooden desk next to an old lady who also sat at a wooden desk. I picked a dandelion, the biggest one I had ever seen, before coming to listen to the talk in the chapel of the brick built college building. It sat on my desk and splashed its yellow into my eyes and occasionally I’d twirl its stem and get the green sort of smell on my fingers. The old lady had picked a dandelion, the second biggest one I had ever seen, before coming to listen to the talk in the chapel of the brick built college building. It sat on her desk and dripped its yellow into my eyes and occasionally she’d twirl its stem with her fragile old fingers and scratch notes with her other hand. She smiled at me knowingly as we did the same thing in the same place at the same time. Did you know that we’re all the same?
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
there’s this boy
and when he smiles or speaks or laughs i’m FILLED with joy.
he likes me and i like him
and i’m always JUST on the rim
of kissing him. or, crying.
it should be easy to feel this
i mean at the WORST you swing and you miss.
but i’ve never liked men
and i only JUST got okay again
after accepting my “gayness”. but, i like him.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 8:55 PM UTC
i sit on the edge of the bench
accidentally bump knees, hear a grunt.
i want this hollow to be quenched
waiting silently for my turn with the blunt.
most of them use it as a social crutch
but i'm just here to fill my lungs.
not here for the hope of souls to touch
just desperate for the taste of ash on my tongue.
there's the stereotype of the stoner
cares about nothing, apt to start stealing.
but this self destruction comes from being a loner
and often the feeler of too many feelings.
so i'll sit on this bench surrounded by friends
who laugh like it can cure their sadness.
to me they're just the means to the end
sharers of smoke which allows me to vanish.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
i remember being little.
i read and read and read
and the words came easy to my tongue
and everything that happened was a story.
i remember the world was poetry.
every breeze had a meaning
and i could descibe it perfectly
and everyone knew i was an artist.
i remember feeling.
every time someone hurt i knew it
and i was made of empathy
and i could settle them with a hug and kind words.
i remember fading.
i tried and i tried and i tried
and everything was hollow
and nothing was beautiful anymore.
i remember empty.
its here always every day
and i can't make it go away
and i can't remember where the words went.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
i realized it 10 years ago today
that my heart doesn't follow the right cliche
i think the wrong things every day
so i feel guilty every time i try to pray
and i don't like it when girls walk away
but i like the way their hips sway
i mean i guess guys are okay
but in a friend sort of way
it's not something i planned to convey
because my parents dreams i tried to obey
basically what i'm trying to say
(if i may)
i'm...
not straight.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
i want to unmake the me you knew
to stick my hands in where my heart should be
and pull until i tear into two
one the new version of me
and one the me that was loved by you.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC