the next page,
so thrilling.

a paper filled with letters
though when you're reading, you must turn the paper
for what is reading a book backward?

pages will change but will forever remain,,

timeless

as watching the leaves turn orange from green
receiving a hug after a long, hard day
leaving the aroma of safety to the smell of rain

always turn the page.

trying my best to keep myself composed
trying my best to do things on my own

engulfed-

a wave is coming
holding a future of sorrows
consumption
i swim away.

another day is coming by-

i only seem to sit here and waste my time
only wishing i had passed it
doing something that would have felt right

always attempting to motivate myself
as it comes and goes
through different flows

trying to find peace in mind
to only end up doing the next thing right

realizing-

that its okay to take some time
to sit and let it pass by

as long as i reflect and realign

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

Precious earth
Orbiting the sun
Being killed by its people
Who will soon turn to dust

Temperature's soaring
Glaciers flowing
Fires glowing
The world transforming

The atmosphere is small
And is about to fall.

beauty is said to be on the exterior

but i wonder why many miss the beauty in the interior-

i sit staring at myself looking at the mirror

wondering if i'm considered any "prettier"

in the end, it's all on me

to understand that beauty lies underneath.