Hand-me-down novels with bent corners

Piles of clothes and towels scattered on the carpet

Food stains on flowery bed sheets and blue pillowcases

A broken lamp on a single night stand

Gray suitcases filled with evening gowns

Closet mirror covered with fingerprints

Charging electronics underneath the bed

Popcorn ceiling and smooth beige walls

No clocks, no monsters, no tooth fairies, and no memories

It's rather....*practical

Hope for better is overrated
                      Pity is the latest trend

The greatest of magic lies in our naivete and innocence.

For Fin's Mother (read the new poets)

I have not seen nor sipped
your adoration for Fin

no ma'am,
I have gotten drunk on it

the duality of motherhood,
essence caught and captured,
fathers too, but different
not lesser but concocted
in other ways

I go to battle for you,
I go to battle with you

it drives home the greatest truth
that took me years to fully appreciate

the best poems are not of nature
or love or sadness,
of fear and fates cursed,
tho all these here interspersed,
in this dominating, forgiving song,
pure ode to Fin, and every child

But something that is beyond complicated,
so multi colored, so beyond my elementary,
that I revert to something simple -
a summation of creation

God bless the child that's got his own

A mother and child union
that celebrates its reunion,
nay, it's unity,
in every kiss, touch and even,
even in every memory -
if that is all there is,
for the memories are just as real,
as if it but an instant passed

Let’s write a poem
For the fun of it
Rhyme, combine, design
Thoughts, phrases, words
Stanzas absurd.

Let’s use alliteration
1st, 2nd, 3rd person narration
Let us not forget
Capital letters, commas and full stops
To crop,
Our faults.

Let’s write about love, loss and heartache,
Let’s make mistakes
Relationships, politics,
Let’s get lost, in this;
Wonderful world of ink and paper.

Let’s dangle emotions
Delicately of straight
Lines, text, worth
Thousands of pounds
To someone.

Let’s dribble prose across the page
Lead rhyme
Into an organised,
Coherent line

Hold hands with demands
Laced, not closed,
Of errors dispose.

Let’s write a poem
For the fun of it
Watch it age, as the pages, discolour.
But remain as beautiful, if not more so
Than it were, when first composed.

People online say I'm fine

Is it fine that I am depressed?
Is it fine I hate myself?
Is it fine that I hate every, and I mean everything about myself?
Is it fine that I'm suicidal?

No
I don't think it is
Whether or not it's my fault I'm not sure

But I'm not fine
I'm not beautiful
Not in my opinion

I was anemic and you were O-. Life was draining from my eyes and you were my vital oasis. I needed you. You were right for me, right?

You were the universal donor to alleviate my sadness, and I accepted you without question. I let your blood consume my own. Because your blood was simultaneously filling me with oxygen, without you I couldn’t breathe. I needed you. You were right for me, right?


But for every drop of blood you contributed to my body, a new tear drop fell. Every drop of blood whispered a new insecurity. You filled me with your own self-doubt serving to emphasize my own. But not once did I wince at the pinch of the needle, or cringe at the sight of the IV. I needed you. You were right for me, right?

But so often times we fall for O- when we are AB+, because they feel right, because they seem perfect. And we fall because without those 6 quarts of blood we may cease to exist. We forget that our heart can beat alone without someone else’s name pumping through our veins. O- blood has common side-effects of insecurity and sadness that overpower the feeling of limited livelihood.

Wait for your AB+. It’s worth it. I promise.

~m.k.