We were born to be free,
not to be locked in cages.
Who will find the key?
It might take ages.

Stab the can with a key.
Hold it sideways, so it doesn’t leak.
One. Two. Three.
Tabs popped, cans up.

Gulp down that goodness,
Until your half crying from the foam and try
Not to puke.

I have a habit to turn people into poetry before I even touch them and for that, I'm sorry. Im sorry I turned your eyes into a haiku about the ocean, about how they crashed into me and dragged me under before I could even take a breath. I'm sorry I turned your kisses into an epic about the hero that saved the entire city singlehandedly with his lips of satin gold. I'm sorry I turned Your heartbeat into ink spilling out of pens and fresh sheets of paper. I could write a library full of stories about each second your skin touched mine and I felt like I was on fire. I could write a novel about how we first touched each other's skin for the first time. I could write sonnets about how your smile just made everything in the world seem to stop in motion. I knew I would spend forever trying to burn the feel of your fingers through my skin but that's not now. People write about love and how good
it feels. They write about the pain from heartbreak. Nobody talks about the crying in love or the feeling of heartbreak where it's like you're drowning and the feeling you get when you try to put your feet on the solid ground but there isn't anything there. Nobody writes about how some days you feel like you're flying and soaring and the next you plunged straight to the ground. Nobody talks about how love feels like it's magical at times and points where it's tears staining bedsheets and sleepless nights. I took a break from writing but the second you got me hooked my thumbs hurt from typing. I want to spend my entire ******* life telling people how your lips Against my neck felt like Sunday mornings and clean bedsheets. And how I felt so **** safe in your arms. My home doesn't have four walls and a bed, it's with you. In between your arms. You are the one place I don't want to escape
from. I want to sell twenty million copies of a book telling how you would ramble about your fascinations or how you get frazzled about the twins or cars. People write about love and lust and heartbreak. I'm sorry I am one of these people. There aren't enough powerful words to describe to you how I feel and how bad it hurts when I know it's can't work. I'm sorry for turning you into poetry when I met you. When a writer falls in love with you, you never die. It's constantly in their writing. And you're a person who deserves to be remembered for eternity.

150
I sleep more than I eat
my stomach is filled with pink pills and the air smells just like ****
140
molly makes me sick
so I only do it in honor of big events
like not getting invited to prom
130
I don't sleep anymore
I always have a ****** nose
I tell my mom it's allergies
it's really coke
120
my face has sunken like a ship
the black around my eyes is haunting
my dad says I look thin
he says beautiful
110
I tuck myself away with the rest of my skeletons
that's all I am
100
no sense in getting up anymore
I can't.

She was the only Non-Native
On staff in a parochial school,
Reservation in Montana...
The school nurse,
Working in her office,
Fighter of colds and flu,
Coverer of scrapes and bruises,
Pre-medicine expert...

A little girl stopped in to say,
"You gonna come to Mass today?"

"No, I'm a Protestant,"

Just then another student walked in:
"You going to Mass?"

"No! She's a *******!"
Said girl one.

And so it goes....

i stuck my finger in her clouds

she roared my hydration, said i was impatient

now i lick her leaves, bit of left over water beads

solar condensation, giggled saturation

i clasped her trunk, fingerprints sunk

                           **she says ive got her bark drunk