Have you ever heard of Planet B?

It’s the one with the beautiful blue oceans,
Crystal smooth water pouring on forever

It’s the one with the soft blue sky’s,
Dark star lit nights and clouds of all shapes and sizes

It’s the one with all the plants,
Tall looming trees, coral reefs hidden from your touch, and precious delicate flowers

It’s the one with all the animals,
Birds flying, fish swimming, cheetahs running

It’s the one without the humans
It’s the one we say we’re all gonna escape to when Planet A cant take care of us anymore

It’s the one that many of us say isn’t real
It’s the one many of us say we’ll never find
It’s the one we’re standing on right now
It’s the one called Earth

Batteries protruding out of my skin
Electricity stabbing me
Sharp like lightning
Shooting through my chest
My heart
My soul
My pen

I'm writing now
I'm poetically charged

We sit here waiting for the technology of the future
We write about flying cars and time travel

We create paradoxes in our heads,
as we dream of paradoxes beyond us

We learn about the past and worry about what's coming
We think we know what's in store and we think we're in control.

I wonder if they sat around waiting for Da Vinci,
in a pre Mona Lisa world

Today I felt professional because I put my apostrophe after my S

A simple grammatical performance caused me to respect myself more

Never once before, have I allowed myself to carry my apostrophe at the end of my words

I felt this a performance reserved for the greats

Yet for some reason today I let myself put an apostrophe after my S

And for some reason, I felt professional

Please don't press like on my poems if you don't like them

But please press like on my poems even if you don't like me

Please

When I was younger,
Fridays meant putting my bag in our downstairs closet where I wouldn't see it again til Monday morning.

Now that I'm older,
Fridays mean keeping my bag right beside my bed so I will never forget my overwhelming tasks.

"Did you just work very hard for five days? Well of course you did."

"But please, do us a favor...and work some more."

"Chicken" he called out, "don't you remember?"
"You like beef" she shook her head "It's always been beef"
"College" he smiled "In college, I always ate chicken"

She nodded
She thought

"Well, you at least crunched it up" she reassured herself
"You crunched it up and ate it like soup"

"No. Never" his smile began to fade "That was you"
"Do you not remember?" he asked
My favorite food
Our wedding date, our romance, our love

I watched from the hall
This fight isn't real
These problems aren’t real enough
At least now I know why I like chicken ramen
And why I like it crunched

Her name is dangerous but her face is a disguise
She's an enemy who fights with peace and rivals any previous jealousy

She's the exemplification of teenage relatability and she knows it

She's the movie you watch when your boyfriend breaks up with you,
You know she's bad yet you crave the cringe of all her qualities

She's enough to turn any girl into a *******

There was a brown haired regional manager on my tv screen
There was an empty Reese’s blizzard cup in my left hand
There was my mother still out front of the house in her car

And

There was my college bound brother sitting on the couch watching alone

I began walking up the wooden staircase
Making my way to my room

The place where I would
Shut my door
Grab my phone
And leave my family behind like always

I’m telling you this without a sigh
And I’m telling you this with no regrets
The story of a staircase

An after ice cream staircase
On an after ice cream night

A staircase my feet didn’t touch  
As I chose to sit on a couch
And spend silently spent and silently recognized time
With my silently recognized role model

And that has made all the difference

You consume me
I'm not stopping you

You're stabbing me
Because I'm asking you

I'm hurting you
By letting you hurt me

and i see it
i do
but im not stopping

Shall we
Shall we
Shall-ote?

Shall we
Shall we
Escape on mystery exits?

Shall we
Shall we
Drink banana slushees in the wake of our own highs?

Shall we
Shall we
Find meaningless strangers through meaningless music?

Shall we
Shall we
Roll the windows down and release our fears?

Shall we
Shall we
Shall-ote?

Miss. Shoe-wearer
In the house
Not this house
Not my house

Miss. Disrespectful
Scuffing up my floors
Bringing dirt into the carpet
Making loud noises as you step

Take them off, please
Take them off now
I said take them off.

Eyes drowsy
Mouth open
Dreams active

Mind stirring
Lips moving
Heart beating

Faster faster faster
A scream

It halts
Complete silence

What is scarier
Neither

It’s the words
Loose but meaningful
They escape an unconscious mind
The most conscious of souls

They get muffled and trapped between lips and a pillow
They get pushed and smashed until all of a sudden they escape
They travel the world in and out of dreams

Nobody will ever know
Only truth is the witness
Important wisdoms beheld by none
Aspirations and confessions you keep away from even yourself

Nighttime has no prisoners here
The golden sun a hot fiery ball of terror scaring away life’s true thoughts
In the dark and the quiet the much more peaceful stars set these thoughts free

Your bed is the key to their safety
Their haven is where nobody can see them
They have been let loose for now

You are more trapped now than ever
You’re words never spoken
You’re dreams never dreamt
You’re a sleeptalker

I hate Sundays,
with all of my heart.

Especially nights,
for they tear me apart.

My reflection is empty,
it escapes from my soul.

It warns me that on Sundays,
I have no control.

The toll it takes,
lying in bed.

Knowing tomorrow,
my dreams will be dead.

I really hate Sundays,
but didn’t use to.

Maybe I wouldn’t,
If I could have you.

Lately I've been walking with nothing to hold onto,
letting my arms hang from my shoulders like vines,
hoping that somebody will reach out and cling on,
even if only to use me,
to get to their true destination.

I have a brightness deficiency
Forever forgetting a world without darkness

My whole life is over saturated
******* all the good parts out until they are all that you see

I have a papery polaroid heart beating inside my chest
Its colors are faded, as they should be

I turn the lights on,
Brighter and Brighter and Brighter
All I see is dusk

I rely on stars and sunlight
Trying to open my eyes wide enough so they can see like everyone else

Maybe my flash is broken
Or I'm the one draining out all the light

Mary’s Mother is from Georgia, her Father from Pennsylvania.
A steelers flag hangs on Mary’s front porch, and every Sunday night in the fall means eating chicken wings while adorned in black and gold.

Mary’s Father has an office.
Inside of it lay a few rusting guitars, but the walls of the room are what truly catch your eye.
The paint itself, a dull muted gray is immaterial when compared to the dozens of plaques that enhance it.
Each frame carries a different piece of Groundhog’s Day memorabilia, many house pictures of Punxsutawney Phil, one is a certificate declaring Mary’s Father an “official Groundhog ambassador”, another an autographed photo from a Groundhog handler.

Mary’s Father claims that Groundhog’s day is America’s second greatest holiday.

Mary’s parents were married at Gobbler's ****.
Punxsutawney Phil attended the wedding.
Mary and her little sister stayed home from school every Groundhog’s day in elementary school, and in middle school they attended but came to school in matching Groundhog hats.

Mary’s kitchen counter has a small black speaker.
Each Sunday morning, Mary’s Father blasts the Polka Party Radio Show hours into the afternoon.
The whole family knows all of the polka songs by heart.
Each Sunday morning they came together to listen to the “Waltz of The Angels”, a Polka special dedicated to various passed loved ones.
Even the turntable in Mary’s dining room only plays Pennsylvania Polka vinyls.

Mary’s incredibly familiar with Hershey Park.
She and her sister have brought home various souvenirs from Pennsylvania’s notorious “Chocolate Town”.

Mary’s family knows Gettysburg like the back of their hand.

I’ve known Mary for over a decade.
I never knew her mother was from Georgia.
“The Southerner’s Handbook” sits in Mary’s living room, the only true mark of Mary’s Mother’s life before she surrendered her maiden name.

I think it is a beautiful thing to give up your culture for somebody else.
I think it is a beautiful thing to sing Pennsylvania Dutch folk music with your Husband on late weekend nights because you know it makes your children happy.

Every time your laugh breaks,
Mine starts

Every time I open my eyes,
They get caught on yours

Every time I dream,
You break your way in

Your words fit into mine,
they own me

Your voice is high where mines low
it soothes me

Every time you smile
Something tugs at my lips

Every time I walk
It's towards you

Every time you think
I want to read you

You're perfectly molded to accept me
I'm made just to be with you
Our personalities beat only in unison

Yet, something about us will always be missing

We're two puzzle pieces and I've lost one of my edges
I'm broken, but only where you break me

There were three floors in my house.
three floors all full of my gratitude.

The first floor.
it held my bedroom.
this floor was hours spent gazing from my window seat,
it was long warm showers in winter-
and making sure I blew out my candle before it could burn down my curtains.

My second floor.
it belongs to my mother.
her kitchen, her T.V, her view of our backyard.
she made her tea here, yelled at the news, and watched my brothers play outside.
her favorite living room carpet that has now become ashes.

Our third floor.
the safest.
after all, heat rises.
it was my father's basement,
my brother's bedroom,
it's where we watched movies, played boardgames, and shed monopoly's great tears.
now it's all that remains.

We weren't home when the fire happened.
When my candle caught hold of our memories.

Maybe I should have seen it coming.
I was the one who chose the crisp campfire scent.

Where others feel ignored,
I feel painfully visible

Where some may seem neglected,
I seem not worth neglecting

Where you might feel useless
I feel a use not good enough for using

I'd rather be invisible

this is the one with the good memories
this is the one with the awful tears
this is the one with the old beginnings
this is the one with the most fears

this is the one where I work to win
this is the one where we only lose
this is the one where I try to hate again
this is the one where my hate's a bruise

this is the one where you hurt me
this is the one where I let you
this is the one where I'm crazy
this is the one that always feels new

this is the one when my heart breaks
this is the one when things go well
this is the one when I find my voice
this is the one when I can not yell

this is the one where I'm pressured
the one where I want to scream
the one where if I express myself I'll lose you,
and everything we gained right in between

that was the one where I lost my rhyme
this is the one with you and me
this is the one where you're the real you
but that last one was the only one I see

The roar of the train grew louder and louder
A growing rhythm beating through my ears

The blood in my skin was growing
The lights racing towards me glowing

I went blind as it halted before me
I went deaf as the doors squealed open

My senses went numb as my nerves let go
I was on a track that no one could know

My ticket was clipped like a piece of my soul
My seat was found and welcomed me poorly

The train took off, not a passenger insight
The conductor disappeared and in came the night

The chair enclosed around my skin
The light at the end came closer

Most people are forced to see it without a say or a voice
I only was there, for it was my choice

I became one with the train racing to my death
And my problems became one with the passengers I left behind

First, of course,
you must preheat the oven
probably somewhere around 330-350 because I can't remember the last time I was told otherwise.

After that, you must make sure you have all the ingredients.
Check your pantry, your cabinets, even the smaller white fridge many of us horde away in our family garage.

You'll need a pencil or a keyboard.
Maybe an old typewriter if you're trying to make a true romantic.
If you're lucky, all you will need is some imagination, not even paper.

If you do need paper, try and find some with lines.
A small piece of paper ripped out of some adorable Barnes and Noble notebook we all bought at one point or another.

On the paper, you'll tell a story.
It doesn't have to be good, but it must be true.
True not in a way that it actually happened, but true in a way that it flowed from you with honesty.

Once your story is finished you can crumple it up.
Put it in a bowl, probably a metal one made for mixing.

Then you can pour in some water, to justify your creative thirst.
Add some spices, these are your flavor, your thesaurus.

After this grab something. Anything. Something you like or something you hate. Chocolate chips, ketchup, pickles, sprinkles. These are your characters. Or if you write nonfiction, maybe they are you.

Then depending on your abundance or lack of ambition, you will mix it. Mix it a lot, or mix it a little. Add in some imagery, similes, or metaphors and let your readers try to decipher your writing. Or keep it simple, orderly and clear.

Then, grab some oven mitts. Pour your masterpiece into a pan -whichever you deem appropriate. And voila, wait for your writer to cook.

The cooking time is unique to each of you. Some of us take much longer than others. But that's okay, no matter how long it takes you to bake we will all need to cool off in the end.

And then of course,
once you're cool.

You start all over again.

My desk is smooth because my mind is rough
There is no clutter in my working surroundings because my thoughts are cluttered enough

My computer, on the other hand, wears its years
It's colors faded and adorned with age

enfeebled and matured, it sits
my power button lies encrusted in dust

each key wears a red poppy pin,
demonstrating dedication at the latest hours of the night
the meeting of fingers in the roughest hours of life

only two keys lay shiny
a simple colon and parenthesis

two keys known by many to frown
forced to live in eternal sadness

here my keys reflect their youth and their joy
only ever being forced to smile

these keys will forever keep my writing eternally gratified  
they're my endless supporters
patrons of my art
looking at me with glee every time I sit down to compose
the only ones in my life always happy to see me

they're the smiley face on my keyboard

It was a hot day, not one kid in the school was not wearing shorts and t-shirts.
As least that’s what I expected

It was a boring day, not one kid in the school wanted to sit in class any longer.
That’s why I got a hall pass

It was a quiet day, I walked through the halls to find a drink in the hot peace and stillness of our school.
That’s when I saw her

She was a pretty girl, short brown locks and braces surrounding her smile
She saw me too

She was a nice girl, a year younger than me but we were somewhat friends
I smiled at her

She was a different girl, she stood there in jeans and a long sleeve shirt unlike anyone else
I waved in her direction

The water was clear, rising out of it’s silver not to pristine fountain that all the kids used
She bent down for a drink

The water was calling me, I watched her take a sip and walked over to the fountain faster
I was dying of thirst

The water was clueless, the only other witness in what I was about to see and it could know nothing
I bent down for a drink

She bent up, her sleeve got caught, it rolled up, she stepped back, I saw them, long and perfect, red cuts that decorated her soft skin protecting her delicate frame, she looked at me, I looked back, awkward eye contact that no one could forget, we both looked down, her sleeve came down as well.

It was a hot, boring, quiet day for two pretty, nice, different girls who turned around from the clear, calling, clueless water fountain and headed back to class.

I never even got a drink

The stars shine, light years pass
The birds sing, wings wide open
The sun blinks, darkness takes over

The sky supports the world
Atlas supports the sky
Strong, independent and alone
Or so we think...

People walk the earth
They breathe his air
They dance to his music
They take in his sights

Their joy is Atlas’s arms
Their happiness supports him
They hold up Atlas,
So he can hold up things to hold them

I've never been a feminist
I've always ignored any possible pay gap

I've never attended a march
I've always felt like inequality belongs in the 1800s

I've never been opposed to a man holding my door
I've always felt like I was better off ignoring the movement

I've never stayed updated on the Me Too stories
I've always felt like half of the women were lying anyways

I've heard of patriarchy
Yet never fought against it

But now I'm startled
Because it wasn't until today

that I even knew Matriarchy was a word

I wish I knew
How to feel
The way I felt
Before I knew
What I know now

In November, I settled into the holiday spirit.
I found my joy in coffee shops and bookstores.

In December, I steadied myself for the Christmas craze.
I spent my time at the mall shopping for gift wrap and mistletoe.

In January, I failed at keeping New Years resolutions.
I surrendered my hunger to restaurants rather than eating dinner in my own home each night.

In all of these places,
I looked for tables not by the front doors,
I hid in warm corners to read my books,
and I watched the snow fall from
closed windows
on second stories
where the blizzards
could never touch me.

However happy this time is supposed to be,
I still had to isolate myself to the indoors to stay away from all the twists and turns that the season brings.

And that harsh breeze you feel when walking by an open door in winter.

Have you ever walked out of a movie theatre and suddenly it was dark out?
Have you ever run your hands under cold water but they were so numb it felt hot?
Have you ever stared at the sun too long so you saw dots?
Have you ever woken up at 4 am and not gone back to sleep?
Have you ever ridden your bike down a road and felt like you were in a movie?
Have you ever thought of a person right as they texted you?
Have you ever truly had a prayer answered?
Have you ever taken a cold shower in the morning?
Have you ever ran your hand through your hair after getting it cut?
Have you ever put socks on and instantly gotten warmer?
Have you ever taken a nap and waken up thinking it was a whole new day?
Have you ever watched the same movie back to back multiple times?
Have you ever asked for a sign and then gotten it?
Have you ever gotten de ja vu from a book?
Have you ever been excited to open a letter you got in the mail?
Have you ever cleaned your room and felt better about your whole life?
Have you ever bought someone a gift and become obsessed with how perfect it is for them?
Have you ever hugged someone for so long you didn’t know when it was gonna end?

have you ever,
fallen in love with a feeling?

I love to watch the rain drip,
Down the leaves like slides

I love to feel the water,
As the trees embrace the tides

The moon wakes the wet,
And the sun owns the rain

The wind howls its guilt,
As the clouds shake their pain

I sit softly in the grass,
A book in my hands

The ink slowly blurs,
Following the sky’s demands

I never finish my story,
For Mother Nature I respect

But the tree above just soaks me,
When the leaves above have wept

I sit below the bark,
the wood that formed my book

I let the leaves cry wonders,
for it’s their life my story took.

It’s crisp and it’s shallow and it’s deep
It moves softly and swiftly
It disappears, it wasn’t made for you

The clouds disperse as planes and birds move transparently
Little kids spinning in circles
First elephants, then flowers then people

You grab onto your hair as you walk in the direction of the wind
The world disguised in fog, then a quick puff and everything changes
Even with just the windows open, you can see your breath

Somewhere three bears set their food out to cool
A scent fills the air
People are drawn to it, a girl with golden hair

You grow up and you learn
Stratus, cirrus, cumulus
Soft long fortune tellers

Your not a child anymore,
These clouds aren’t served with meatballs
You're on your rocking chair now

There’s lemonade and ice and a straw
You think money, you think friends, you think summer
The nice ones would pull over in their car and stop

It’s hot outside, yet when they roll down their window
They are hit and they feel it
Life changes when the sky breathes

If you find my poems,
Then good for you.

I sure hope you like them.

If you don’t find my poems,
Then good for you too.

both indoor and outdoor alike, I feel tugged upon.

I feel cheated of my own journey,
because my navigation has been purloined and rendered helpless by the sakes of you.

I watch as you rip the leaves off of trees,
stealing their last chances of life and replacing their final breath with your cool breeze.

The piles of death raked neatly on my lawn are recklessly thrown about,
and any garbage littering surrounding streets is forced to flutter in your wake.

My clothes are ****** and heaved in the opposite direction of my heart.
No matter how purposefully I march my soul in one direction, your soul will always best me.

I am trying to go right but you instead draw me left.
My dark brown curls are turned into thin wispy locks in all that is your power.

I follow the new direction pathed by my wandering hair, the new direction pathed by you that pulls it.

Frizzy hair and wide-eyed stares, and glares to stay the night.

Running streams and pretty things, and dreams to spark a fright.

I'm laying back down in the grass staring at the clouds,
Watching shapes swirl and swirl,
around and round and round.

My sides open and unfold
Around each person that I meet

The lies that shape me, the truths I’m told
My greatest strengths create my defeat

If you smile I’ll smile back
Your sorrow will bring out my toughest tears

Though if intimated, I might just crack
Your nerves will swallow all of my fears

I have a side one, side two, side three
I’m a fortune teller my paper white

All sides shape my reality
But each fortune changes in different light

Each flap folded down holds a different me
Every side makes up one blank sheet

A girl that changes due to what you see
You’ll write on it one day, if we ever meet

My sides open and unfold,
Those changes are what set me free

The lies that shape me, the truths I’m told
Each person I know shows what I’ll be

Clink Clink
A fork, a knife
A cork, it bounces
Soft velvet cloth

Sip Sip
A glass, a bottle
A napkin, it unfolds
Black leather heels

Vroom Vroom
A wheel, an engine
A key, it turns
Brown comfy seats

Flap Flap
A rod, a curtain
A moon, it shines
Person fast asleep

Scribble Scribble
A pen, a chair
A drawer, it opens
White lined paper

Our society is screaming
And you-you can’t *** here
Except…

You

Totally

Could