Dear room,
I know
It's not your fault
That you're small
-you're supposed to be an office
Clean crisp piles of
White clear paper
Stacked and neat
But instead
You're cluttered
Like you were hit with a bomb
And cramped
With a bed, closet, shelves
And who knows what else
It can't be fun
I'm sorry it has to be this way
But you're an office
As a make-shift bedroom
Cluttered and cramped.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Happiness comes from within
It comes in a small grey tin
The warmth it gives
Is more than any other
On the cold days
The sick days
The warm days
The bad
It's ready when ever
In seconds
Minutes
Happiness is grey tin can
Colored in yellow
And filled to the brim
Happiness is a yellow soup tin.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
You stand so tall
With out a fight
Only wavering in the wind
With out a great fright
The air rushes around you
Trying to break
The stress becomes tighter
And you cannot fake
You begin to bend
And twigs snap off
Your leaves rustle
And your bark begins to cough
You've grown weak
Leaves gone
Down to a bare skeleton
It won't be much longer
And one night
The winds to much
Broken in two you've finally cracked
-Cold to the touch
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
The ground sinks through, shloop
Another winter bites dust
The ground becomes whole
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC