the body of water i appreciate most
is the stream of consciousness;
drop me in yours, set me afloat,
tell me about a dream you had,
one that took place among the mountains;
make me feel the stone cold shadows,
make me live right inside of it.
or the time you saw a rowboat,
how the blue cracked paint
looked soft and peeling
against the relentless lakeshore.
make me smell it with your words.
the soft pine in the wind,
singing along with hotter breaths of air.
make me walk to the park;
meander along the path,
and off towards a bench
with initials carved in it,
messily scribbled by decades of schoolkids,
living love stories around the same time of year.
autumn's leaves;
gold brown and clear,
the ones that turned to dust elegantly,
crushed beneath the feet of the passerby.
make me laugh,
make me cry,
do it with rhyme,
i don't care;
but do it honestly,
please,
not with a fake personality;
the wolf-smile wide,
eyes black inside,
cold and alone,
only pleading with clicks to buy.
putting yourself
out on the screen,
i know everyone can be so mean,
uncouth,
and honestly a little judge-y,
that it almost doesn't make sense,
to look through the window
seeing if the light will shine back in.
but if the light you have shines through,
well then it's worth it
on its own,
to see the cracks hidden in everyone's shadows.
now get out there, kid, go write a poem.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 7:30 AM UTC
the body of water i appreciate most
is the stream of consciousness;
drop me in yours, set me afloat,
tell me about a dream you had,
one that took place among the mountains;
make me feel the stone cold shadows,
make me live right inside of it.
or the time you saw a rowboat,
how the blue cracked paint
looked soft and peeling
against the relentless lakeshore.
make me smell it with your words.
the soft pine in the wind,
singing along with hotter breaths of air.
make me walk to the park;
meander along the path,
and off towards a bench
with initials carved in it,
messily scribbled by decades of schoolkids,
living love stories around the same time of year.
autumn's leaves;
gold brown and clear,
the ones that turned to dust elegantly,
crushed beneath the feet of the passerby.
make me laugh,
make me cry,
do it with rhyme,
i don't care;
but do it honestly,
please,
not with a fake personality;
the wolf-smile wide,
eyes black inside,
cold and alone,
only pleading with clicks to buy.
putting yourself
out on the screen,
i know everyone can be so mean,
uncouth,
and honestly a little judge-y,
that it almost doesn't make sense,
to look through the window
seeing if the light will shine back in.
but if the light you have shines through,
well then it's worth it
on its own,
to see the cracks hidden in everyone's shadows.
now get out there, kid, go write a poem.
Thank you so much to HelloPoetry for being a place to land after TheStarliteCafe closed down so long ago (IYKYK). Poetry is life, and I love you all and the hearts that you've bared over the years!
