Isolation feels like a cold word,
Maybe that’s why stand here alone
in my frigid iceberg
A prison far worse than
Albatross could ever be
A place where there is every type of lock
But not a single key
Permafrost bars cage
A person so frozen
Yet blazing with rage
I am surrounded by people
But they are only reminders
That my stay is not peaceful

Isolation is a disease,
But everyone but the person infected
Dies away.
A virus that is perfected
It targets not the physical
But the mental state
Sanity dropping at critical rate
It really is parasitical!

Isolation is a cold-hearted sickness,
But there is warmth and a cure.
Permafrost can be melted
And diseases endured.
Find your fire
And burn through those bars
Because once you find who melts the iceberg
You find who you really are.

Freedom means the right to do the right thing not the wrong.

Maybe, just Maybe I never kept conversation
Cause I couldn’t find words.
Maybe, Just Maybe I left  
Cause being there hurt.
Maybe, just Maybe I was never angry,
Just disappointed.
Maybe, just maybe I didn’t deserve your friendship
But I was appointed.
Maybe, Just Maybe I wanted to say sorry
But I couldn’t let myself
Maybe, Just Maybe I was ready to
But then you left
Maybe, Just Maybe I regret my words
Not finding better things to say
But I know for certain that I'll miss you
Now that you’re on your way

it’s here,
the place of rest
the paradise and relief
from homework and stress
no piles of paper full of numbers
I detest
you can’t test
me anymore
even though this me at my best
well, more or less
forget the method of guess and check
cause I’m checking off the word vacation
can’t fight the sensation
of peace
here’s a piece
of advice
don’t let the sun come up
and you’re not smiling
cause it’s only three months
before sheet piling.
don’t waste time deciding
the world’s inviting
you to take a chance
start those lessons in dance
then salsa over to
the capital of France
break a baguette with romance
go on and advance
take the gift
cause you only have 88 days
to make a difference

The unexplainable, bubbling sensation,
Of staring at a blank doc searching.
They call it young writer’s frustration
But I call it creativity yearning,
For answers that can’t be found.
The longer I look the harder it gets.
Isn’t it profound,
The more I see the more I forget.
That I’m a writer with skill,
With the pen as my powerful weapon.
Yet I lack the will,
To get the last two lines of this poem done.

Don’t care too much about what people say about you.

What is it that makes you stand out from the others,
What makes you come before your brothers.
Yellow, green and Blue,
Seem like nothing compared to you.
You tell me when to stop and where to exit.
I use you to highlight things so I don’t forget them.
My school colors are your crimson.
Your color makes my backpack glisten.
How would I live if you were taken away!
No more Red Delicious apples or Red paint!
The world would be bland if you went missing.
So for you to never leave is what I’m wishing.