I only loved you
when it was
Convenient
I'm really sorry
that I  didn't think
of you
( When it really mattered.)
What's the matter with my
soul? It isn't correct
but nothing feels wrong.

I feel something , I don't know
if it's "sorry".

Looking into the void.
I think I seen you.

Reached out.
We met again.

For the first time.

It was love


Possibly maybe.

holding on to right now.


Frozen. your face perfection.

Eyes closed.

Waiting so anxiously for you
to open them.

You don't.
   My heart arrested by your beauty.
   Shatters when you chose not
   to look at me.



I don't feel any signs of growing.

We are beings of light you see

Collected together in unity

We are brilliant and strong

Yet, if we focus too hard

On one single photon

You're surrounded by darkness.

As we disapate and divide

To fixed on individual lives

Death, will always bring us

To an ending.

La luna,
La luna llena y redonda,
Esta hueca y vacía.
El viento,
El viento rápido y feroz,
Esta lento y frío.
Las aguas,
El agua deslizante y fresca,
Esta estancada por los metales humanos y el estiércol y la basura la detienen.
La tierra,
La nutrida tierra,
Esta seca y quebrantada.
Los árboles,
Los fuertes y robustos árboles,
Estándares de la vida,
Se inclinan hacia la tierra seca.
La luna hueca se refleja en la tierra vacía y seca;
Y la tierra esta seca porque el agua no corre
Y esta estancada
Y el estiércol
Y la basura
Convierten el agua en lodo,
Y el agua se seca y desvanece
Y la tierra endurece,
Y los árboles, los grandes árboles sé mueren,
Y ya no existe el viento,
Y todo muere.
Muere la tierra,
Porque el agua se a secado,
Por culpa de los metales humanos.
Por culpa de los metales humanos muere el agua que seca la tierra que da muerte a los árboles que callan al viento.
Y la luna,
La luna hueca y desolada desciende,
Y nace el sol caluroso,
Y quema todo,
Y todo muere.

Remembering places unseen
hidden deep within the walls
of my own subconscious dreams.
Is this heaven on earth?
Or just a false mirage of reality?
I’m drinking from the oasis
as my mind begins to scream
go back through the looking glass
nothing is as it seems.

you dont have to be a writer to be a poet

you write poetry with the tears that glaze your eyes at three in the morning
you write poetry with the sound of your laugh and how your lips frame a smile
you write poetry with the eyelashes you bat at your lover
you write poetry with the words you whisper into their skin
you write poetry with the way your chest falls and rises with every breath you take

you dont have to put ink on paper
to be a poet
you just have to live

s.s

there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.

Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.

The instructor said,


Go home and write
a page tonight
And let that page come out of you—
Then it ill be true


Will it be that easy?
White, weird and sixteen
Growing up in New York City
Where moments flicker by like a dream.
Middle school says life’s ahead
While city commutes blend together.
With brief respites to a Vermont house
Having nature’s bounty out the window.
Though daily, I have only a poor rectangle substitute.


Though I see the world in its immensity,
What I’ve seen are mere trips from my city.
All the while striving to find meaning in this chaos,
But ending up being lost in the sauce.


I enjoy gaming, idle chat and to humorously play
Though mostly with friends who live so far away.
But after I go to see them,
My memories slowly fade away.
They come to see me in my abode.
Concerts, cards and killer jokes
To pass the time between visits,
I listen to a multitude of books.
Something is lost with them on tape,
I'm told.
But convenience is something that it holds
During art classes full of concentration
Where I can get lost in the rhythm of their words
I seem to think I lose touch with conversation
But I think to save it
For those I love the most.
To my friends who are my brothers
I look to them-
To give me hope: For a life to still have meaning.
Some have it inherent,
Others shrivel up without it,
Some find it in responsibility,
But for me,
It is in those people whom I connect with the most.


This is my page for English 6.