Rolling mounds of earth
Flowing through a valley
Blanketed with a cover of growing grasses
Short and tall
Medium and small
Little splashes of colors
Bloom in spring day
As April showers bring May flowers
The rain washes over the hills
The wind rustles the stalks back and forth
The plants fighting the wind
Flying every which way
But always staying still
Rooted to the ground
Gray clouds tumbling through the sky
Crying over the loss of the sun
And the plants press close to their home
As the wind hurdles at them
Threatening to take them away
Dots of color float in the wind
The petals that lost the battle

I have missed my poetry
these past few days

I've been too busy
to write or read
it was strange
without poetry
I felt like
I had lost love

Moments are like scoops of ice cream
One minute they are there and solid
The next, they begin to melt and mix
Until you can’t remember the taste
All that you know is that you had
A scoop or two
Of ice cream

As she saw the rain pouring down on the street
She prepared herself for the flight
And the different problems she would meet
She shook of her doubts and flew out into the night

She encountered monsters, she ran into rivers
But no matter what she continued on
Through the journey called life that just blurs
Experiences joining as she is still running to reach the light of the dawn

Magical is a word.

I look out the window
Into the yard
I see a fluffy Junco
Sitting comfortably on the fence

I see him look around
Then fly over to the feeders
I watch as he gets some seeds
Then goes back to the fence
He puffs back up
And then out of nowhere
A baby Junco
Crookedly and excited
Flies in
Sits next to his dad
And his dad feeds him
And then his dad is off again
To get more food
For his baby

Over the weeks
I watch the Goldfinches,
The Grosbeaks, the Finches,
The Doves, and
The Sparrows.
All gathering on the fence
With their families
To eat
And I am reminded
Of my family
Gathering around the dinner table
Everynight
Chattering, coming and going
But then I think
That those birds must have it far easier
Than we do
All they worry about is surviving
While we have discussions on
Politics, school, wars
Gossip, rumors, things of unimportance

That's when I think back
To my childhood dream
“I want to be a bird when I grow up”
Because they are worry free
Unlike me

In her room, she looked out the window
Seeing the evergreen tree swinging in the wind
The raindrops pelting the window
A few birds, swooping for cover
A little girl standing out in all the gray
Brown hair pulled into pigtails
Wearing bright yellow and red
With a blue polka-dot umbrella
Jumping in puddles
Not even using the umbrella
Unless she was trying to collect rain

Driving to a new state
A new home
Leaving friends
She watched as they drove through a puddle
The water collecting on her window
She imagined that little girl
Her pigtails drooping
Her umbrella dragging
As she walked through the muddy puddles

At school, daydreaming blankly
Looking out the window
As the teacher droned on
About fractions, and decimals
Equations and graphs
She imagined seeing herself
Jumping out the window
Into the puddle on the ground
Splashing water onto the grass and plants
She saw herself
Wearing her favorite yellow raincoat
With her shiny red boots
Her blue polka-dot umbrella
Filled with holes
That the water just ran through
Her hair up in pigtails
With her favorite pink bows

She saw herself as she used to be
Before school was hard
Before she moved
Before she got older
She wished she really could jump out that window
And relive those moments
Before she could dream any further
The teacher called her name
Yanking her out of her red rainboots
Leaving her pink bows laying in the mud
Sadness pulling at her eyes
As she was taken from her happy memories

My pink mechanical pencil
Is sitting right beside my computer

The brand and lead size
is worn off, from all the use

The eraser has been changed
Countless times

There is graphite dust
in a few places in the grip

My other pencil
the same but purple

Lost its clip
I wiggled my pencil too much

Which is why the purple one
Is out of order

When I'm bored
or anxious

I'll pick up my pencil
Spin it, wiggle it, open and close it

Take apart
and put back together

Anything that can be done to my pencil
Will be done

Thanks to my constant need
for motion

Thrown in the garbage
Without a second thought
Years down the road
Found washed ashore on a small island
Among thousands, millions of other pieces of garbage

Poisoning and killing the native birds
Who have lived there their whole lives
Relying on the fish in the water
The bugs on the land

But without great sight
They can’t tell a lid from a squid
A wrapper from a fish

The trash ends up in their stomach
It doesn't go away
They can’t and won’t be able to get it out of their systems
Staying until the bird dies

Millions of dead birds
All around the island
Never moved, never touched
Dying and decaying
Their bodies turning to dirt

But not the plastic that was in them
It takes hundreds, sometimes thousands of years
For those pieces to finally break down

The few things that do decompose
As they’re floating in the ocean
Are still out there
Turning into microscopic spheres of plastic
Collecting toxins and infecting fish

Other plastic spheres making their way to land
Mixing in with the sand
Eventually instead of rocks
The sand will be made of plastic
And that will be considered normal
Standard

A prediction for 2030
Based off scientist’s studies
There will be more plastic in the ocean
Than there will be fish

The fish that  we eat
And what’s going to happen to us?
Is the plastic going to **** us too?

All of these things
Just adding up
Like a big cycle
We throw it away
We **** the animals
Pollute the waters
And in turn
Our garbage will **** us

For some reason
No matter the brilliant imagery
And the shiny diction
Poems always end up sounding
And feeling
Sad

If I write about
The glorious rays of sun
Like pure drops of gold
The days of summer
Hearing children's laughter
Splashes of the pool
Staying up late outside
Listening to the chorus of crickets
The taste of fruity popsicles
Stickiness from the giant slice
Of watermelon
I could go on and on

But as hard as I try
There is always a sadness
To whatever I read
To whatever I write
And I wonder why

Is it because they are memories?
Things we long for?
Unattainable dreams?
Even things we have now…
Are they tinted with what all the ifs?
I have not once read a poem
That made me feel happy
I haven’t written a poem
That has made me joyful
Sure some have made me laugh
Some have made me feel proud
I can relate to some
But I don’t think
A poem will ever make me happy.

Running was our thing
My connection to you
Now I have to share with her
She who always is trying to best me
And is ruining the fun
And relaxation
That comes from so many of my favorite things

Reading was our thing
Something I could relate to

Our shared sense of humor
Is now being forced into stupidness
Because I have to share with her

We didn't have much in common
But the few things we did are gone
Because of her

My friends that are closer to my age
I'm gone one time because of a conflict
Now they're not my friends at all

They say I'm a role model
She looks up to me
She doesn't
She just sees it
As a competition

I try to be patient
But I can't
People say we are so similar
But we are nothing alike

She is loud and commanding
She wants attention
And has different sides to her
That no one else sees
Because she is so fake around others

People are disappointed in me
When I dislcude her
But when she does that to others
No one cares
Or is disapojnted in her

Because she isn't supposed to be mature
And I'm supposed to be setting the example

All scattered around
Some lined up
Some thrown around
Sandals and tennis shoes
Flats and flip-flops
Big shoes and tiny shoes
Showing the busy life
Of  family
Coming and going

I love the moments
When everything is so simple
It's just you and your friends
Being weirdos on the trampoline in the dark
It's you in a moment of truce with someone
Who has hurt you countless times
When you're out on a run
And all you see and think about
Is the things going on around you
Or the next few steps to take
To reach your goal
The content feeling of sitting in your backyard
For ten or twenty minutes
Feeling the sun shine and hearing the birds chittering
Being at a party
Not talking to anyone
Just looking around
At all your friends and thinking
*Wow, I have a great life

I’ll look out the window
Oh look! Its raining!
And I’ll want
To go dance in the rain
Sometimes
I’ll grow restless
And think
I need to get out!
And I’ll want
To go on a run
Sometimes
I’m cold
And I’ll think
I’m going to curl up in a big blanket,
With a book and
A cup of hot cocoa and extra marshmallows
And other times
I’ll be sad
Or in a,
I’m going to watch a sad movie
With ice cream
Mood
Just do it! Eat that ice cream!
Cry in that movie!
I’ll think

Sometimes I’ll want
To do some of these things

So I do

All around me
I hear sounds
My neighbor's radio blasting
The tv downstairs blaring
The kitten on chair purring
My knuckles cracking
My sisters bickering
The floor creaking
That slight ringing that is a constant in my ears
If I focus on what I hear enough

And to block it all out
I pull out my earbuds
And go to my hiding place

Life is like a piece of gum
You unwrap a new piece,
Like a fresh start
You start chewing that piece,
Learning how to live

You can blow it,
Let it expand and expand
Until sometimes
It explodes in your face

It might be hard
To clean it off
Sticking everywhere
Making problems
It might take a while
But as you learn
You’ll get better
Through trials
Until the whole piece
Is back in your mouth

Sometimes the gum will get bland
You’ll get bored and sick
You’ll want something new
Something exciting
Something different

So you’ll spit out your gum
Wrap it in a wrapper
And toss it in the garbage
Where it will stay
So you don’t have to remember
Unless you want to

Then you’ll buy a new
And exciting pack of gum
An exciting flavor!
Maybe cinnamon, maybe fruit
Maybe even a mystery pack

Then you’ll start over
A new chapter
Filled with new tastes
And experiences
Like a fresh piece of gum

I studied that face
For as long as I could remember
My first semester
I should have got an F in that class
Because I could not comprehend
What I learned
I ended first semester with a bad attitude
About that subject
I could not understand
The paradox that was shown

How could someone
Be so mean
And so nice
So harsh
So judgemental
And so kind
And thoughtful?

Second semester started
I decided to start out
Un-biased
I would analyze everything
But not let it affect me personally

As I studied
Constantly
Even away I was still thinking
And now I think I understand
You.

I know that you are proud
Of the things your father does
I know you are not knowledgeable
In most worldly things
And you’re alright with that
You hate being teased
But it's so easy to
You are quick to judge
Yet you reprimand others for it
You like arguing pointless things
You like being right
You stand up for those you care about
Your face turns so red
When embarrassed
You aren’t as rude
When you’re around people
You don’t want to impress
You’re funny in a weird way
When you laugh
I always think of a gurgling river
Or an exploding geyser
You do cute things when you think no one
Is watching
I could go on
And on about the virtues
And the imperfections
That are you

But after this semester is over
I think I got an  A+ in this class
And I have learned so much from you
This isn’t about a crush
A teenager love
This is me
Finally understanding
Someone who has always been around me
Someone that has always confused me
That now makes me laugh
Whenever I realize
What he’s doing
Or trying to

As I lay in the grass
Tall and short
Wispy blades
Shuddering in the wind
Waving back and forth
Some blades
Bent and folded
Where I lay on top
Eventually if I ever get up
Those bent blades
Will make a silhouette of me
At least until
They get their strength back

But that might not happen
Because as I lay there
In the summery green
I can feel the rays of the sun
Warm and comforting
They seep through my skin
Swirling and swimming
Slowly melting me
Like a pretty little creamsicle
That was left in the sun
Melting until
The orange and white
Meld together
To create something beautiful

I am like that
As I lay here in the sun
Melting, mixing and swirling
The vibrant colors of who I am
Rare are the spots of black
But mixed in
With the rainbow of my soul
It creates a calming picture
Filling in my form in the grass
Showing the hard and good
Of someone
The hard and good
That make us so beautiful

Then the colors
Start seeping into the ground
After only a few minutes
The blades of grass stand
You could hardly tell I was there
Until
I come back the next week
To my favorite spot
Underneath the tall willowy tree
Its leaves swaying
But before I sit down
I look to the other side
And see mounds of flowers
That hadn’t been there before
I climb the tree to look down
And see
The flowers creating a beautiful girl
Basking in the sunlight
Created by pure and simple
Happiness.

Sometimes I imagine
The wall I would build around my heart
If I needed to
Maybe it would be made of red bricks
Maybe sticks or straw
That a wolf could easily blow down.

Maybe it would be a huge concrete wall
Solid and hard
Maybe it would be made of metal
With bolts connecting the rounds
Maybe it would be hard to get through

Maybe my wall would be made of glass
Easy to see through
Delicate
Easy to break
But beautiful in the light

Maybe I won’t build a wall
I’ll be easy to read
Easy to break
Easy to hurt
Vulnerable to the outside storm

There were whispers
Gossip and rumors
Did you hear about that?
I heard that…

How can you expect people to be happy
When they are being talked about
Behind their backs
Rumors being spread
When no one even knows them

embarrassed
uncomfortable
solitude
withdrawn
apart
empty
secluded­
excluded
reclusive
Isolated
deserted
different
strange
peculiar
­unliked
alone

Green crooked straws
******* water from the ground
Supplying the leaves
The thorns
The petals
Helpful and delicate

The thorns
Taking
Not supplying
Anything
But blood
No beauty
Just pain

The petals
The flower
Beautiful
Colorful
Fragrant
The reason for the stem
For the thorns

The thorns protect
The stem provides
The flower blooms
Then the flower dies

The thorns once again
Useless
The stem
Preserving
Until the thorn’s time
Comes again

I rarely talk to you
I try not to think about you
But when we’re in the same room
My eyes unwillingly
Drift to you
Then my thoughts
And once again I mentally hit myself
Saying
That can not happen again

Wake up late
Miss part of school
Come home
Mom’s out of town
Dad’s on a run
Four younger siblings
To take care of
One needs a ride home
Running around at track
One is in a weird mood
Strange emotions
Of a fifth grader
One keeps asking
Where is dad
I told you little man
He just went on a run
The littlest
Complaining about
Having to get off the x-box
After playing for almost
Two hours
The new kitten
Running around the house
Constantly being watched
By the kids
And here I am
Wondering
What will tomorrow bring?

if only I could
give you everything
that you would need
to fly

fly away from here
to get somewhere
where you can be free
to be who you’ve always
longed to be

soaring on the wind
with your beautiful wings
you wouldn’t need anyone
or anything

I wish I could
break the chain that holds you
but that would mean
you wouldn’t come back to me

I got three hours
Of sleep last night
And the one day
Something new
Or exciting happens
I’m too tired
So when I notice you
Starting to stare at me
From across the room
Watching you find ways
To touch me
Brushing my arm as you go by
Moving your knees
Back and forth
Until ours touch
But I was too tired
To think about you
All I could think about
Was my cozy bed
Waiting at home for me
And now
Writing this poem
I realize that maybe…
I should try to get more sleep

Sometimes, I just crave poetry
I crave writing it
And I crave reading it

Although I may not have any ideas in my head
I’ll get on my computer
And let the ideas flow
Into a poem

Sometimes I’ll look through
The books of poetry I have
And find something that suits my mood
And sometimes I’ll even emulate it

I feel like poetry is a living thing
You can connect with it
And share your feelings
There is so much more to poetry
For me
That is hard to explain
But I’m sure other poet’s understand
What I’m trying to say

When writing stories
Authors can create a whole new world
A place that they wish to be in
A place they would run away from

They can create perfect and imperfect people
They could make the people they want to be
And know

An author can run away in their own world
Choosing what they want to be and do
Making decisions with movements from a pencil

Ideas swirl frantically in their heads
Unorganized and chaotic
When written out on paper
They are more focused
And they blend to make
A story.

The reader can choose to read
Or not.

But when they do,
They experience what the author wanted
They feel what was written,
Said, and hinted at.

Because the writer writes for the reader.

The reader reads for adventure, release or excitement.
And when done, those characters continue living
Through the reader
Through the writer

Hoping one day that people will realize
That those who are being made and created
Are the ones our society needs most
The people we want to keep us from falling apart

But until then
We as writers
We are readers
Just keep waiting
For someone to decide that they want to be good
They want to change things
And they’re not afraid of what people will think
When they begin to change the world.

As I sit by the window
I watch the rain pour outside
I see the lightning light up the sky for a split second
I hear the thunder as it rumbles through the valley
I think of all of the things I’ve done
And all of the things to come
And inside of me
I feel the storm start to brew

Like a puzzle
Frustrating, beautiful,
And in the end fulfilling
Finding the right words
The right thing to say
That helps you express
The way you want to be

Like a bestfriend
A confidant
Pouring your soul out
Because you can
Your fears
Your desires
Your problems
Your choices

Like a snowflake
Always new
Always different
Always unique
Not one is alike

Like a child’s dream;
An ice cream shop
So many choices
Too many choices
You want them all
You hate them all
You can’t have them all

Like a piece of art
Whether paint or clay
Different formats
Different colors
Different shapes
And different sizes

Like an orchestra
All different sounds
Coming together
To make one big,
Beautiful, enthralling
And emotional sound

Because poetry is poetry
Everything works
Everything fits
Nothing is wrong
Nothing is right
Just freedom
In words

Small, different hues of brown
Little black eyes and tiny pink feet
Junco
Eating the seeds on the ground
Inspiring something inside

The next day,
Clear tubes with red perches
Showed off the mix of seeds
Waiting for the first customer
Disappointed when nothing came

The next week,
Losing hope
Still looking, but not as often
Nothing, the one single Junco
Gone

Then that one day
There were two
Hopping off the fence
Onto those little red perches
Draining the tubes of the food
That had been waiting for them

Slowly but surely
More started coming
New birds
New numbers
Sparrows, finches, thrushes, doves

New feeders
New house

Getting the birds back
A new feeder
Filled with nectar
Waiting patiently
Now knowing it could take a while
And then

One day
Watching out the window
Hoping
That one just one might come
Then not one but three!

All in that one day!
Male and female Anna’s
Male Rufous
Zooming and glimmering
Light reflecting off gorgets
Creating the otherworldly hues
Of purple, red, green

In the days that followed
More feeders
More birds
More knowledge
Much more learned

A new hobby
A new love
That will continue
from that day on
Thanks
To that little
Junco

meaningless things drifting in your mind
they don't matter
they can't change anything
they say
sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never harm me

thats not true
words hurt
through and through
they make you shrink
inside yourself
smaller and smaller
until there is nothing left
and nothing left for you to do

I look out and see the city
All the shining lights
The cars coming and going
The people living
And think
Wow.
I live in a big world

I look out the window
As the world
Whizzes by

I sit there
And create this poem in my mind
Miles away from the earth

Me with my head in the clouds
Constant ideas and constant dreams
Being born in my head

I used to try to write those ideas
And express them in a story
With my own characters

That was before I discovered poetry
Now I have no need
For all the uncompleted stories I have made