“..And just like that,
Emotions shifted faster than the changing seasons-
Undoubtedly as the leaves did on my favorite tree,
I seemed to be falling-
Falling a little bit more in love with you during each passing day,
But unlike the trees and the seasons-
I don’t see an end to this decent...”


                                  Alysia Marie 2018 ©

This cigarette stays lit
You are warm and sore
The frogs croak & the cayotes howl
The fire stays lit
The only thing illuminating the night
Besides the astounding stars

Lately, I've been writing
whatever comes to mind
dividing it into
short and choppy lines
writing what I please
as long as it takes shape
no rhyme
or rhythm
or meaning
just words
stale, rancid
words already spoken
tales already told
and I write in the hopes
that someone will glance
upon the poor writing I produce
and say "me too"
is this even poetry anymore?
or am I just ranting to a community
of people who see my work and say
is this even poetry?