When the floating moment passes
Everything crashes down.
A second, a millisecond, a microsecond
It’s short and long and short once more.

Nobody expects the end.
But we know it is coming
Because it always does.

The wind whispers to me:

𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒷𝓎𝑒

I’ve already done my ten-thousand hours
Under the light of the moon and the sun.
”Self-made” contains its own divine power
In the minds of the Americana.

My bootstraps, I’ve pulled
Until they tore off.
I admit, I’ve been fooled
In this Land of the Lost.

And still yet they shout, at Forefather’s behest:
“Give it your all! And then give me the rest!”

123
What the heck is wrong with me?
456
Why can’t my problems just be fixed?
789
All of this seems like a sign
101112
That I should just stop,
And think outside of my own self.

How the heck
Am I supposed to say everything
That’s in my head
When there are only 171,476
Words in the English dictionary
That are still used?
How am I supposed to say
What I need to
If there are not enough words
To express it?

Sometimes I feel
Like artists got it easy.

I really wish
I was 23
Because then
I’d finally be free
Not really
I’d be pinned down
By worries
College degrees
Apartment fees
Anxiety
Oh wait
I have that already

But still
It’d be better
Or so it seems
Than being a kid.

250 poems
Now it’s 251
Who knew I had so much to say
I thought I’d only make one!

That was a complete and utter lie
Guess I didn’t know
That it’s so addictive
To write poems on HePo!

Im much too tired
To use my brain right now.
Sorry.
“404 Brain Not Found”
“Try Again Later”

I walk on the four-est floor
With three scrapes on my knees
Two hands clasped together
As we climb one tree

One sky almost as blue as her eyes
Two clouds that look like sighs
Three times I trace a scar on her thigh
The four-est floor below me

It’s a beautiful day
The sun is out
It’s a beautiful day
To be out and about
But we shouldn’t do that
Fearing we will get sick
It’s only 30° F anyway
To my bones the wind’ll lick.

You are not the same on the inside
You wear a mask
Why won’t you let me see
The beauty you keep from me?

H hope
U understanding
M meaning
A anxiety
N niceness

What makes humans
Human
Is emotion
Is kindness
Is the things
Held in our hearts

S snow
N never gets
O old
W winter is so pretty.

The gentle flakes of snow
Caress my nose
And land softly
On a high bough.

F-flippantly finding four friends of mine praying
I-in cages bound wrists floundered hopelessness
N-nevertheless, the day after was flaying
E-everything, it was changing, don’t worry, I’m fine.

I look up overhead and see
A dark cloud that’s constantly following me

Others have nicotine
methamphetamine
Heroine.

I have poetry
You and me
Addictive words and you.

I’m a dreamer, a visionary
I see a future full of wonder
A fantastical fantasy
Where I might be free
But I can never be free
From me.

I live in the future
I dismiss the past.
Memories hardly forgotten
Rise to the surface
Just to be drowned out again.

I am a dreamer, a visionary,
But I am lost in my dreams
My thoughts scatter in various directions
And I can’t find the present again
The past creeps behind me
Getting vengeance.

When a friend is sad
Under the blanket of sadness,
It is my job
To pull the blanket off her
And replace it with the warmth
Of my hugs.

That’s what friends are for.

Afternoon
After school
After lunch.

We settle down
And let the light
Filtering in
Calm us.

The adrenaline fades
And the tiredness catches up with you.

Yawn,
You say.

Yawn,
She says.

Yawn,
He says.

Yawns are so contagious.

For some people
It’s like a game:
Dance around Death
And hope you don’t get caught.
It’s like a battle game:
A game of Cat and Mouse
One day the game will end
And Death will prevail.

The future looks
So much brighter,
Is it really
As it seems?
Does your burden
Really get lighter
Or as you get older
Do you break at the seams?
All I want
Is to be free.
But will age
Be ties and tethers
For me?

So much all the time
I give so much all the time
I just want it back.

do you remember the time
when you said that you
wished you could send me back?
that you wished
you had never adopted me?

do you remember
when i called you a
substitute mother?

I was only 6
years old,
but i should have known better.

the first half of my life,
i was the problem.
i broke rules—
broke trust.

broke you.

eight years later,
everything was a fight.
i didn’t hate you,
but i hated our relationship
because it was a minefield.

ten years later,
and we’re teetering on the edge
where anything i do
can send us over.

i almost miss the constant fighting
because at least i felt angry
instead of scared.

scared of doing the wrong thing,
because i always do, every time.

at least then,
i did not have to live with
the knowledge of my guilt.

but i should feel guilty,
but it hurts.

but i should be hurting,
because you are hurt.

i want to scream,
“𝑰 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑨 𝑲𝑰𝑫”,
but you were just a mother
being dismissed
by a child who you only
ever wanted to love.

now, i am the one
whose every mistake
weighs heavy
because it is one
out of a tall, tall stack.

now, i am reaping
what i sowed,
and swallowing
the bitter fruit.

Me
My friends
Running backwards around the bend
Getting buried by cute kittens
Instead of socks, wearing mittens
Going sledding in late spring
Here’s the end of the list
Of wonderful ridiculous things.

I just want to let you know
Things are best when they’re ridiculous

As I breathe out, you breathe in.
As I breathe in, you exhale
And I watch as the breeze
Sweeps past me,
Tickling my face and
Ruffling my hair like
A loving father.
You’ve watched me grow
Watched as I cried and you thundered
A cacophony of sobbing
And shared rivulets
Of trickling water.
You’ve watched as my heart
Grew colder while winter
Crept in like a chill burrows
Inside your bones.
Skeletal trees littered the streets.
But then,
But then you watched my eyes light up
In wonder of the snow drifting
Down, a gentle blanket resting
On the dead like a peaceful burial.
A solemn rest.
And when the sun held
On to the day like a lover
Reluctant to let go.
When the buds grew again
And the world woke up
From its enchanted sleep,
You watched me, you watched
As I stretched my arms
To meet the sky.
You watched me stand
Just tall enough
To graze the clouds.

Build a tower
To watch it fall
Run and cower
When it calls.

Write a story
To burn the book
Take the glory
Take what was took.

Breath the air
To spit it out
Create with care
To be filled with doubt.

Amid the chaos
Of humanity
We try to fix
All of the wrong things
Convinced that
Fixing small problems
Will hand us
A small semblance
Of control.

You ask
Why I cause issues
All the time.
I don’t say
That I don’t cause issues all the time.

You ask me
Why I can’t be normal
I don’t say
I don’t wanna be.

You say you’re scared
I don’t say
I am too.

Almost too much, a cursed grail
A heavy stone rolling down a hill
Almost too much when I fell down
Almost too much when I hit the ground
Almost too much when the she-bird sang
A sorrowful song sodden with pain
Almost too much, too much when I failed
A heavy stone rolling down a hill

A look can do so much
When words fail to portray
Hidden thoughts and feelings
You feel from day-to-day.

That smile that you gave
To the man with a painted frown,
He smiled back,
Because you turned his day around.

That look of empathy,
You gave that girl who felt alone,
It made her feel not so alone
After years of isolation.

That glare you gave that person,
Because they were very different from you,
You made them feel hated,
Like they didn’t deserve love.

Use looks wisely.

As I write this poem,
Barrelling toward me are
College applications and
Dual enrollment classes.
Everybody dreads it but
For most of my life, I anticipated
Going to school with the
Hectic excitement that comes from
Imagination only a child can have.
Just like every year since
Kindergarten, I seriously
Lack confidence in
My ability to do what I
Need to do in order to
Overachieve as expected, but unlike
Previous years, I
Quiver with exhaustion earned by
Regurgitating information about
Systems that I will never
Truly need, but am tested on.
Useless, useless, useless,
Very, so very useless is how
We feel now, both the lessons and I.
Xanthan complexion, nauseous, nervous,
Yellow like the school buses I want to
Zap away, but climb aboard anyway.

Am I wood?
Sturdy but burns?
Am I glass?
Pretty but broken?
Am I metal?
Hardy but rusted?
Am I paper?
Pristine but fragile?
What am I?

I just realized
I say real a lot
Am I afraid of the fake
Am I afraid of lies?

I don’t know
Because I lie a lot
Sadly
I need to fix that
Am I afraid of myself?

A million stars in the sky
A million hopes of mine.

A million people passing by
A million people who are kind.

A million hearts beating for one person
A million brains battling emotions.

A million people
Yet only one
Can be you.

A million hearts
But only one
Is yours.

A million loved ones
But only one
You love.

A million lives
But you can only
Control yours.

A million stars in the sky
More than one
Lighting your path.

A mix
Of joy and pain,
Plain as day
On the lines of pages.

Like a roller coaster,
Poems rise high
As the sunset
But soon sink low
Almost touching the ground.

But the thing about poems,
Is that they take any shape.
Sad
Happy
Painful
Pleasant.

It doesn’t matter
If you just wrote a mourning story,
You can still tell a tale of joy.

I have said that rhymes are liquid.
I wasn’t kidding.
Liquids take any shape and fit the container they are poured in.
And when they aren’t contained
They spill and spread everywhere.
Poetry does too.

A muddled mind
Makes no sense
And that is why
It is the best
At seeing things
Illogical
And making them
Psychological.

A scrambled brain
Has the best ideas
Even when
It’s full of fuzz.
The brilliant
Have narrow scopes
They only predict
What they hope.
No one will know
What I am thinking
Neither do I
I’m just the one who’s inking.

One day
I’ll be blown away
And you can look for me there
I’m not quite sure where.

I’m not sure what you are
You seem like a Star
A star that’s dying
And becoming a black hole.
I know that if I get ****** in
If I get ****** into him
I’ll get ripped to pieces
Yeah, I won’t come out again.

I think you must have come
From a planet revolving around another sun,
Because when you speak
I seem to think
That two atoms have collided.
When we crashed it was like the Big Bang
Two particles floating, floating away,
But then you slammed into me
And you blew me away.

One day
I’ll be blown away
And you can look for me there
I’m not quite sure where.

I’ve felt many times a day
That I’m from earlier times
FAR far away.

I never really ever feel like I’m at home
I’m a triangle fitting into a square hole
I get in the hole, but there’s something missing.

I feel like I’m from a year
Way earlier than 2006,
It can be a giant advantage
Other times it is a...b-bomb.

If this is all a dream
A messed up fantasy
A nightmare set free
Into the real world
Why haven’t I woken up yet.

If you were an animal
You’d be a horse
Cuz horses are my favorite.

A noisy impatient fly
Humming by my ear like the fluorescent light overhead
Near imperceptible, but in the silence, grating
As it sung out, buzz, buzz, buzz, out of itself,
Always droning, never a pause in the incessant
Static.

And you, O my soul, where you sit,
Trapped in a cocoon of web, never quite alone
But immovably stagnant, perhaps once learning, chasing, dancing, Seeking that elusive something,
Till exhausted by the endless journey, only ever wishing
For a home
That you never found, but barely existing you continue, O my soul.

It is quiet
It is 𝘲 𝘶 𝘪 𝘦 𝘵 and I cannot fight it
I stare the sandy void
In its 𝘦 𝘺 𝘦 𝘴 and I
And I
And I 𝘴 𝘤 𝘳 𝘦 𝘢 𝘮
At the endless dunes
The grit in my face and my teeth and my hair and I
And I
And I wait for a boon but it’s not coming soon
Who knew that the moon looks like a cartoon
When you 𝘨 𝘢 𝘻 𝘦 at it too long
I could write a song
About it but I’ve ran out of music
Choose it, I would have to choose it
But I can’t make decisions when I have this incision
Visions, they cut with surgical precision
The wind 𝘩 𝘰 𝘸 𝘭 𝘴 at me so I 𝘩 𝘰 𝘸 𝘭 back
And I’ve lost track
Of where I am
Of who I am
But I still
I still
I still must 𝘴 𝘵 𝘢 𝘳 𝘦 the void in its eyes…

Oh, but it’s just another desert night.

If I had to choose,
If I had to win or go lose
I know it wouldn’t be long
Before I chose…wrong.

Victory, it would be mine,
I’d triumph in every fight
Each goal, each plan
All in my hands—
I’d rise to the greatest of heights.

And yet, a price there would be
Trading wisdom and progress for ease,
In your tears and your scrapes
You’d grow stronger each day—
In motion, while I sit idly.

Is this a real fantasy
Lost in my own ecstasy
Convinced this is reality
But really it’s just a dream.

I feel to much.
Oh, it feels wrong to say that,
But logically, it could be true.
I tend to let my feelings
Get in the way
Of thinking.
But it feels to wrong
To not let myself feel.
But it seems the only way
To not make mistakes
Is to not feel.
I have been taught
To feel, but not to much.
Or to take a stand, but only if it’s uncontroversial.
They say be yourself, but only if your are normal.
Society tells me that no one can be perfect,
While also telling me to not make mistakes.
What do I do?
Which is right?

The loveliness in the sky reminds
me that these clouds do pass with time.
This morning, it was dewy and dark—
drearily doomish, sullen and stark
but now the sun’s rays bring out the gold
in every crevice, to banish the cold.

You tried to burn me down
I was wood in a fire
I was kindling drowned
In gasoline.

You tried to burn me down
And you did
You burned and burned
Until I was reduced to charcoal and ash.

What you didn’t know was
Charcoal makes art
Charcoal inspires others
Charcoal is art made from ashes.

i don’t even know
what to say.
all i know
is that i want to say it.
i’ve got words inside—
i swear i do—
but i haven’t felt
enough to stir them
in a while.

i suppose there isn’t any
poetry lying within the cracks
of daily life
when every day
is the same.

“𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢?”
“𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.”

i don’t even know
what to say.
all i know
is that i want to say it.
i’ve got words inside—
i swear i do—
but i haven’t felt
enough to stir them
in a while.

i suppose there isn’t any
poetry lying within the cracks
of daily life
when every day
is the same.

“𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢?”
“𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.”

I’ll be a seashell
Floating in the time of your tide.
Take me to places
I’ve never been.
I don’t care—
I’ll follow your waves.
I don’t have a direction,
Destination,
Home.
So grind me
Down
Down
Down
Pieces of me
Turned into sand.
I don’t care—
Toss me in your waters.

Lift me up
And let me fall.

𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉