A picture says more than a thousand words,
but it needs a poet to paint that picture.

why do i crumble
fall into pieces of
oats and sugar
something beautiful
in a white bowl, but
a mess on the floor
when i wake up
in an empty house
why do i wither like
brown leaves
under brand new and
borrowed boots atop
autumn sidewalks
when i’m alone,
i’m alone,
i’m alone
it is not enough
to eat breakfast
however small
to wash my hair with
coconut milk
to not step out into
the busy street;
i freeze before the ice
touches me
i do not allow
the chance to warm
my own hands
i lie down, on
***** sheets,
and wait for someone
anyone
anything
to awaken me

My mom always asks me if

I write my poems somewhere that they can be copy written to protect

my stuff.

Usually I just laugh.
I mean, it's not like it matters.

For me, a poem is like a drunken tweet that I send away into the wind.

Or in this case,
the internet.

And even if someone wanted to copy me
I would see it as flattery.

Before coming after them for a credit.

All I know is I can come up with

poems,
upon poems,
upon poems.

My new years resolution is to write everything that comes to mind.

No more wasting time or saying I'll write it later.

Because I never do.