Not every poem
Will be a masterpiece.
Not everything I write
Will get others to
Be in awe and cease.

But I can try
To craft my words
In my own best way,
And continue to write
Every single day.

I can try to write
What others want,
Or I can just write
In my brain's
Special font.

It matters not how
Well-liked my words are,
Or how many people
Praise me from afar.

I just wish
To pour out my thoughts,
Before my body
Gives in and rots.

Nature is underrated.
It is,
To most,
Merely outdated.

In the age of technology,
We only care about the screen.
We lost our love
For the luscious green.

The cat:
A wonderful creature.
She creates a throne
Wherever she lies.
She stares at you
Through her crystal eyes.

She sleeps all day
Without remorse.
She lives to eat,
Not eating to live,
Of course.

A loyal creature,
She follows you around.
Her ears perk up
At every little sound.

R.I.P.
An acronym.
Rest in peace.
But it stands for more:
A rip of the heart,
The tear of someone
From the earth,
The shredding of
An entire lifetime.
But we must learn,
Eventually,
To let our loss
Rest in peace.

We went to the doctor
To hear the news
Of a birth.
He told us it would come;
We had nine months.
And within those months,
The birth took place.
Birth of the treatments,
Of the bills,
Of an afterlife.

Everyone was speaking English,
But here I was,
Unable to understand.
I know not which language I was speaking,
But my tongue couldn't form the right words;
My mind couldn't wrap around theirs.
As their words flowed like a majestic river,
Mine remained trapped in my head,
Shut in a barricade,
And so I remained silent.