Green all around
nothing but trees
flowers blooming
buzzing of bees
squirrels running
under your feet
sun blaring down
blistering heat
nothing for miles
can't find your way
must start a fire
tonight you must stay
the wind chills your body
down to the core
and here comes the rain
a torrential downpour
what started as happy
a nice nature hike
turned into horror
and a fight for your life
so the torrent falls
and you shiver away
hoping and praying
to be found 'fore it's too late.

What shapes do you think of
when you sit under trees?
Blunt corners, forgiving curves-
a fluctuation that never seems to ease.

Do we circle in repetition?
Or is self defeat
a mirage of an inhibition?

The lines sometimes will never touch.
But this lack of closure
does not discount your right
to an ameliorative crutch.

Water has no color
Water has to scent
Water has no texture
Water has no taste

No color paste can be made without water
No aroma, perfume or sweat, can smell without water
Rough lands are soften into soil through water
All meals are cooked and all drinks are made through water

It's the most simple words
that create complex worlds

In plainness lies poetry.

it's crazy how much
you spend time
unmasking every single detail
about one person
who makes you feel so insane inside that you start molding a world for them;
not knowing you are just a void in theirs.

"do you love poetry?"
"yes, and art and books."
"so you love all the beautiful things, do you love yourself?"
"no."

*and i thought she loved all the beautiful things.