the disease has already spread to your eyes
where its innocent twinkles have now been replaced
by a blazing fire of passion.
   it has reached your hands and feet
and has caused them to be horrified of inactivity.
   it has gotten so worse that the disease has also spread to your
lungs, where every breath
heart, where every beat and
mind, where every neuron is
for your dream and
by the hope that you have.
  
   i think that the virus is highly contagious
because now
i too am infected.
    it consumed my body
and has caused me to be
so sick
of the selfish and superficial
life that i once was living.
  
we are diagnosed with the dreamers disease and
no dosage of discouragement can cure us.
it has conquered our lives and together
we will start a pandemic
and conquer society.

Round and around
to the beat of the sound.
Smaller and smaller
circles bend together.

Words will go to war
The effect on me is bore.
Meaningless fighting
I end up laughing.

From correction publication
to abdominal muscle saturation,
I can't I can't, please I laugh,
my throat, my throat, it's like a giraffe.

Twenty five thousand, maybe a couple hundred,
the Wind puff on the roots, they're as good as dead,
bending towards the weight behind you,
giving within seconds too.

Rain, hail, sleet, and snow
Obviously no evidence of so called "Growth."
Not to mention impossible under
circumstances of watered fertilizer.

Now it's endless net jabbing
and a matter of quickly forgetting.
Living assignments, requirements, deadlines, and submission,
done for days, nothing left to say, I recluse to intermission.

Summer!
The weather is as warm as our embraces
And the sky is as bright
As our tomorrows,
Finally...

It's time to drive to the coast and
Bury our dark worries in white sand
And let our
Smiles mirror the million sparkles
That erupt as we splash
In the briny beach.
And then
Let's get ourselves chocolate tans
with a tint of oranges and strawberries.
Oh,
And sticky kisses
From too much creamy avocado ice creams.

But we won't let the fun falter
Even if we huddle inside
Because we'll finally have time
To read
Adventure novels instead of textbooks
And write
Poems instead of essays on
Metaphysics. We can now
Stay up and
Watch the stars fade into the sunrise while
Sharing ghost stories and secrets
Instead of homework answers.

Summer!
Let out a sigh of relief and then
Take in a gasp of excitement.
Finally!

Have you seen this girl?
Description?
Here.

She
is an acid-wash-jeans-and-
black-boots-wearing,
leather-bracelets-with-­flannel-flying kind of girl,
the kind of girl who would rather speak
only if spoken to,
because she prefers to tell her stories through
tubes of watercolors and reluctant poetry,
and her look,
she’s heard this a lot of times, can be quite the
back-off-you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me kind, but
once you’ve jumped that hurdle, the rest comes easy.

Gold
must be stuck in between her teeth,
because every word she says is wrapped in wisdom
******* together with strings of grace, and
sprinkled with good intentions for good
measure
the length of her hair
and you will find that there are still
so much more stories woven
into the strands, you
will see galaxies in her eyes
paintings on her lips
and there are flowers blooming on the tips of her fingers,
try telling her this.
She will blush,
or she will laugh, and you will wonder
if the broken pieces of mirror on the floor
were really just an accident.

But roses have thorns, too.
Some days are thunderstorms,
and there are times when
lightning does strike the same place twice,
and she’s had a lot of those days.
Maybe she’s gotten used to
having her hands burnt from
trying to heal the earth where
it was struck, and
despite the countless times she’s
tried to wash her hands,
she still can’t get rid of the smell.
One day she’ll see that there
is new skin growing from her old wounds.

Other days her lines
just won’t draw straight,
and the blues and yellows
seem to have confused themselves
for greens and reds, and she
forgets that she is being shaped
by someone else, that
she is a work in progress
and that her cracks are being mended,
being molded,
she only has to allow it
to begin.
She’s been building walls,
but it’s time
to tear them
down.

When you see this girl,
tell her not to be so ******* herself.
Tell her
that she is more loved
than she thinks she is,
that inside her coals
are diamonds
tell her to stop worrying
to stop thinking that she
doesn’t deserve anything, well,
she doesn’t, but
remind her of grace.
Remind her that she
is worth dying for, that
even before she was formed, blood
was spilled so that one day
she’d learn how to smile,
how to cross canyons
on an invisible tightrope,
how to hope.
Tell her not to forget that.

So, have you
seen this girl?

Description?

Here.

Take a good,
long look



in the mirror.