a dried rose from a first date
lays on my sill
its been two years since then, but
ive kept it still

I wasn't born
To be
Soft and quite
I was born
to make the world
Shatter and shake
At my fingertips

I wasn't born
To watch
From the sidelines
I was born
To see dreams
Become as vivid and real
As my poems

you told me to send a picture
i looked another way
you told me to send a picture
i laughed it away
you told me to send a picture
again and again and again

i cared too much not to cave

i wish my **** form could be sculpted like clay
i tuck my necklace away
i try lip-biting, play with lighting,
hiding
my tan line from last summer

you tell me to send a picture
i have it ready
quivering, quaky fingers
quickly, quietly,
hit send

you tell me i did a good job

when the chat reloads, its gone.


you reply for two more days.
you ghost me.

Spring sings as do the birds, high in the tall trees;
Spring knits fluffy white clouds, laying them in the blue sky gingerly;
Spring plants the seeds of the delicate flowers,
And when she’s sad, Spring’s tears water her trees.

Spring’s dazzling smile brings the radiant sun after showers,
Makes skies burst with vibrant colours;
Wanting to feel the crisp air of the morning,
Watch the dew on the flowers.

Spring places golden daffodil flower crowns in her hazel hair;
Spring’s voice is sweet honey, dripping from the hive;
Dancing in light meadows, frolicking in the forest, swimming in the river;
Spring spins the smooth silk of the clear lake water,
Rippling as the frogs leap from lilypad to lilypad.

Dining on the sweet apples and berries of her green trees,
The fresh oranges and strawberries;
Friends with the robins and butterflies,
Squirrels and deer, blue jays and swans.

Leaves every year,
Only to be back again for three months;
Taking the torch from Winter;
Making way for Summer, and Autumn;
Watching as they make their way,
And thrive, in their own moment;
An endless cycle, bound to Time.