I keep a garden of weeds,
They're so hard to pull out,
But the always seem to grow back.
Seldom I follow the guides,
That tell me what to plant.
The seeds I sow,
Always lose their row.
And everything fades away to black.

I've made my bed
I know what I've said.
But i still fill my brain full of lies.
The ugly bliss
Of satisfaction almost missed,
Like a a truth
That was secretly a lie.
A wonderful thought,
Comforting you think,
but really it's not.
Its a tear down your face,
As you tear holes in your face.
With your own self-righteous lies.
You do it for yourself,
it would be nice if it helped.
But it does nothing,
But make me cry.

I'm too tired,
And It's going to get me fired.
My family doesn't work
My mother forces stuff on me like a ****.
My brother is dysfunctional and lazy
All my happy memories seem to be hazy.
I'm too tired to be bored and glad
Only sad.
I'm too distracted to see what's right,
I'm only really able to see what I did wrong.
My fathers half way crazy
And my brain is falling apart.
I'm too tired for your assignment.
Because I can't seem to get my life back into alignment

So long ago, the soldiers fell,
A raging war we cannot tell.
In our hearts, they each will dwell,
The poppies will tell us that all is well.

Fighting, hurting, to reach this day,
For what is now, we thank and pray.
For laughing children, happy and gay,
In memories from us, they will always lay.

So for this, we wear a single red flower,
That show they died for what's rightfully ours.
How they lost their numbers, hour by hour,
Their loyalty was, indeed, a great power.

So long ago, the soldiers fell,
A raging war we cannot tell.
In our hearts, they each will dwell,
The poppies will tell us that all is well.

I don't know how much more
I can find trust ignoring the lore
That I keep on writing til my fingers are sore

This strange heavy book
with an even stranger look
that a stranger once took

I want to think
that it is full of insightful ink
giving me good reasons to always stay close to the brink

But when my heart grows fonder
today when I catch myself, ponder
my mind only recklessly starts to wonder

And I've been reckless before
my heart and soul given to a false poet who calls me a *****
it tinted my deepest thoughts, it might be blue forevermore

I'm an expert on overthinking
still can't help but drinking
Wonderland's poisons up til I'm shrinking

If I could only say
that on some distant day
I'd learned my lesson not to pray

For you can never know
maybe it's only the gardener, just a poet for show
beware of what he might sow

The poet examines her work
leafs through the crumpled papers
watching handwriting change
from entry to entry
sometimes within poems
as if emotion dictates scrawl-
lighthanded, looping, or harsh and flat

She stops on a few
drawn in by memory
or lines like dreams
where she imagined sleepless nights
or the end of a life
anything her mind could imagine
fleshed out with the fluidity of a stream

The words had always been in
her brain. It is impossible to know
if they would have disappeared
with nowhere to go
if she hadn’t guided her pen to paper
everyday, writing about whatever
or whomever. Like the sketch artist

she has gotten better everyday
the words appearing quicker and quicker.
This might be due to English class
it’s hard to say
regardless she has grown-
like a tree budding in Spring
learning everything has a purpose


The poet is not just a poet
she catches snippets from novels-
the dialogue or introduction or
internal stream of consciousness
clanking around her brain
She once wrote a fairytale
about a boy who spoke to trees

All of them are precious-
they are pieces of her soul
spread out on lined paper
calling out for a life that imagines,
wonders, feels free,
does not stand still-
floats on the breeze like the eagle

She has learned a thing or two
from Sylvia Plath:
the good stuff
the quality of dissonant language
the stanza-length-decision
Before she would write whatever
sounded nice- she might still

The poet, satisfied, closes the journal
imagining that one day
her poems would reach into the
minds of the world- gently
drawing out dreams-
inspiring words like she has been inspired
And she closes her eyes with an exhale