Have you ever held your hand still
Just above a river’s passing water
Liquid rushing by reaching for your skin
Jumping up; eager to commune with you
Beckoning you to dip a finger in

Where do poems go when you lose them?
Blurred by tears,
Swept out to sea,
Past sharp rocks,
Found by lonely fishermen,
Their fingers tracing waves.

“a puddle!” I thought while
Walking
next to the water.
Only
when I focused
With
my eyes did I think to
Myself
“oh wait, that’s a pond”

every day following,
I
walked by this pond and
Realized
one day that  
The Reason
i am always late
For
class (and for
Life
in general)
Is
stopping to see the
Beauty
everyone else passes by.

The soft heavens above
gently let their children
fall to the ground, small
sparkling baby diamonds
land delicately on top of
one another, cuddling together,
sharing all they have
to give; their icy warmth
and soft touch
before the sun wrenches apart
the protective clouds and
turns her heated gaze
at the resting newborns

I wish I could leave this world
in a blur of beauty:
red paint like blood
slashed across a canvas
white as porcelain skin.
There is something
in the terror of pure destruction
that appeals to me.
The scene of my suicide
will be my masterpiece,
a parting gift to the world
that gave me too little,
a chance to make things right.
Everything will be right
in the end
because I will see
the beauty.