I hate the way we teach English in schools
it's so structerd
and rigid
and every paper is a carbon-copied version of a paragraph template we all learned in the fourth grade
I wish I could break that system
show students its okay to use personal pronouns and to stray from the example
that not every writer needs an outline, rough draft, second drafts, etc
That you can and should just sit down and write
don't think
just let the words fall from your fingers
I wish I could show students how incredible writing is
that poetry is all just big anlogies
that books give you better screen time than televison
that grammar and wordplay isn't hard if you find a love of language
I want to indulge every child that way I was with nights filled sitting in my mother's lap reading books instead of watching cartoons
I want to give every child the opportunity to grow and express themselves
I want to show people that writing can be and is so therapeutic and that paper and ink are much better listeners than most people could ever be
that words are so much more than they ever thought they were

"back to a wall at the broken glass ball where ones fed up with it all not just feeling small

a twitching of cheeks it's been this way for weeks and is this what he seeks? the cellar door creaks

bed fully-clothed you and your betrothed and the people you loathed a stones-throw from homegrown despair alone

i take no time to finish this rhyme exorcising the grime accruing in the back of my mind pure stream-of-consciousness line-by-line at 12:29

need a passport to get to the kitchen sink need the friends i don't have for a chat and a drink need to turn off my brain in order to think need a rope and a stool pull me back from the brink

i'm collecting read receipts today. thanks for your help."

*Seen Mon 14:42

It's 3am

I'm on the phone
No one's awake and I'm alone

It's 3am

The radio's on
Songs are played on lonely station

It's 3am

I'm in my bed
My eyes are open and sleep has fled

It's 3am

I'm on the balcony
The sky is dark and just quite scary

It's 3am

Some windows have lights
Could they also not sleep tonight

It's 3am

I'm still awake
When will life ever give me a break

why must time progress??
i need to take a rest
each falt'ring sentence brings
me closer to my death

She smelled of old books and great stories
If you looked upon her you could see all the lives she lived through in all the pages she read
Like the ink left the paper and found a home within her skin
She was a walking novel with hidden stories living inside her head
When she spoke the world grew silent just to hear the untold words she held tightly within
As if her words were oxygen and without them no one could breathe
Her eyes the color of stormy skies
If you looked close enough the black in her eyes was an endless void, a doorway to the world she hid inside.