IT IS IMPERATIVE TO LOOSE TO WIN YOUR LOVE!

Ashes and wind
Dust and sand
In quiet and wishes and yet to knows

Just as with a snowfall your nothing begins
And happens upon our truth by happenstance
It is with melting direction which we flow

Unseen until our steady decline has since passed us by
We are all rivers in the sense of I
Attempting to lead ourselves to an ocean somewhere far below

skool alert (a short poem)
school starts in 13 days.
A thousand kinds of torture
in a million different ways.
You work and have a boss
who's awful hard to please
In school, have 6 bosses -
you think that that's a breeze?
Virtual school's the worst
like school without the fun.
No flirting, dates, or parties
It's good training for a nun.

Corona virus pickup lines...
Hey baby, I'm still employed.
What's a girl like you doing anyplace? Seriously, ***? Go home!
You're hotter than medically recommended.

thoughts..
Don't fall so in love with sad poems that you become one.
Today is both the oldest you've ever been and the youngest you'll ever be

I'm sure waterboarding is all they say it is but try and take a rubber band out of your hair you used for a quick ponytail.

That old monster school is rearing its ugly head.
School (11th grade: virtual) starts in 13 days. sigh
School doesn't teach life skills - but I can solve a parametric equation.
Age doesn't define maturity any more than grades define intelligence.

Friends joke with one another:
‘Hey, your dad’s dead.
’Hey you’re poor.’
That’s just what friends do.

Watching my mom on the computer and thinking
Why did you do THAT?
Why are you using Internet Explorer?
Your caps lock is on.
*** you're so SLOW.
You don't need to double click THAT  sigh
Is this is going to take ALL DAY.
MOVE AWAY - LET ME DO IT.

I keep searching
for the line.
A line that
straightens my
posture,
unsnarls my
eyebrows, and gives
the bathroom mirror
a better
reflection.

I keep searching
for a line that
stops the midgets
from crying,
that heals the
lame dog's leg,
and slow the
ticking clock.

I keep searching for the line,
one that gets
me laid by
the librarian;
that takes the
eagle from the city;
that gives the
****** hope, and
the hobos a home.  

I keep searching for the line...

Come and lay your body
upon my empty bed,
and pour your
scent on its sheets

Whisper of your pain
and glee to my pillow,
and leave a lock of your
red-brown hair under it

Only then will I
be able to sleep,
and my eyes will
no longer weep

Changing directions.
Shapes speak with points of bending.
A journey of lines.