I felt the rising panic
A burning garden
Why did I let myself do that
My anxiety climbs and swirls up
Like a thousand insects
Bees perhaps
And I know you will come back to see this poem, myself,
When you feel guilty again.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
I drove into a wilderness of lost themes
And entered a house of broken dreams.
Your nightmares live here, they all said.
But when I entered, my nightmares sat at the
kitchen table, dead.
I partook of this ghastly tea party
With a high amount of lethargy
And slowly became numb
To all emotions but one.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
I never want to
take off
these pajamas.
They're the ones
I was resurrected in.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
Its funny how when someone steals your stuff that you'll go
chasing after them
but
when someone steals your heart
you just watch them
leave.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
Time is a fair weather friend
it
hangs
around
to annoy me
and r u n s
away
when I need
it.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
Hate that poetry is you.
Hate that poetry makes you.
Hate that you become your poetry.
How do you survive
knowing that you're feelings are your
own
It makes it easier to write if they're not
Poetry
and
your Identity
like saying my ID is older than yours
therefore I am ancient
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
As boredom swallows each of my parts whole,
with every one goes a slice of joyful time.
To me will come a trepidation bowl,
which transforms into soreness I rhyme.
This poem seems to relish misery
that I do not appreciate greatly.
It drills and grinds away at patience’s teeth
alike an overpaid dentist stately.
The unskilled hygienist throws up her tools,
because the very poem is persistent
like a tenacious patient with strict rules
to whom floss is extremely resistant.
This sonnet, while providing me with grief,
becomes a fight of pain, with no relief.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Do you mind now?
I am trivial in mind and size
Who looks if no one can find me?
I am one of the cats
Desert me here and we’ll coexist
Can’t you see I’m not used to this?
I’m sure of step, but this is not mine
Why did it start entirely without me?
I am a shadow helping within
Keep calm; I’ll help you stand solitary
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC