We are most stripped bare
when we await catharsis.
Our hands weaken,
and our faces grow serene.
We are like the fragrant, blossoming flowers of spring
that soon wither,
yet their bulbs emerge again
to bloom anew in another spring's flowers.

I felt like nothing was changing
Day after day
Of school
Sadness
Anxiety

Then I look up at the clouds
I looked at them for a while
And I saw that they were moving

Please
Take me with you
At least for a ride..

"So, you think you're a poet?"

"I write stuff."

"You'll never make it writing the trash you do."

"Define 'making it.'"

"Selling books, winning awards."

"I've already 'made it.' I write."