It's hard to be a hopeless romantic
In a sea of hell-fire and friction.
Maybe I'm in the wrong place.

We're two feathers from the same bird,
tail and wing.
You can't tell when we're floating together
Which fell first, and which followed
Or even
What happened to the bird.
All we know is that some young thing will grip us in his tiny hands,
Pick us up from the ***** ground
And hold us together in-between two pudgy fingers
Imagining he can fly because of us.

First, an introduction
As you know my name is Kasey Shores. As you don't know I'm a student at the University of Arizona. I'm fairly studious, love to write and am a serial intern. I love to work.
I have been so blessed to have so many wonderfully talented people on this website follow me, like my poems and encourage my work. For that I thank each and every one of you.
Now, a note.
One of my many jobs is as a campus representative for a great company called Serengetee. They buy fabrics from around the world and sell them as pocket shirts. "Frocket shirts" as my good friend calls them. This company is charitable, supporting over 50 causes in 50 countries.
A Request
As a representative I'm asked to complete a rep project. I wanted to do something I could excel at. I wanted to incorporate poetry.
So I've created the collection Words of the World, which is under my collections and is entirely public. Each poem I post is inspired by a fabric and a cause.
I would very much appreciate if you would all consider following the collection and contributing based on your own Serengetee inspiration or any act of kindness. It's a collection about the world, for the world, helping the world.
Thank you all!

Arrows raining down on our feet,
And yours aren't covered.
None hit our heads but the bottoms of your feet blister.
So take my sole to save your soul,
Because we can't control these arrows or how far we have to walk.
We can't tell our feet to stop blistering and moving
When there's work to be done in places
That aren't here.
Thousands of tiny arrows make their way from our feet to our shirts,
Just over our left *******,
Where we thought our hearts were no longer.

We floated down the river with aluminum in our hands and the sun
burning our hearts.
Left the day roaming the streets in heels and shorts by the light of the moon.
Jumping off cliffs and laughing at the stars lighting up the sky.
How silly we were.
To have loved like we were sixteen again but with minds knowing that we're not sixteen anymore.
And that summer will end. Bills have to be paid. Work has to be done.
Love is not a priority unless you're sixteen.
But everything feels so real floating down the river in the Arizona summer.
Even dreams.

I'm not sure whether it's your name
Or the voice surrounding it that makes it so beautiful,
But it is as close to perfection as I've ever seen.

You, with your bed of thorns,
Broke the fall from my throne
And tangled me in your chaotic glory.