my poetry is a mess of unfinished thoughts,
tangled sheets
black coffee
incorrect grammar.

falling glasses

crumpled napkin, bic pen;
oversized sweatshirts,
early 2000s alternative bands.

my poetry is a string of multi-colored Christmas lights, all tangled — unevenly distributed

wrapped around a large problem,

but never hitting the center.

dull and boring
,
cliche and overrated

until you flick the switch
and see that it shines.

my poetry is a result
of sleepless nights,
hospital waiting rooms,
the fifth floor landing.

bored classrooms,
road shoulders,

books and stories

and novels and poetry.

my poetry is rain droplets, racing as they fall
from the ocean
collecting in a heap

in the deep, starry sky.

exploding on impact,
affecting everything it hits
;
leaving a temporary scar,

but not enough for permanent remembrance.

my poetry is an amalgamation of myself:
messy hair,

black nail polish,

too many earrings.

mismatched.

restless.

hopeless romantic.
mess of broken veins.

my poetry is a disarray of math classes,of numbers--
hard to interpret,

easy to understand,

impossible to completely follow.

simple but difficult
abstract but real
imaginary but rational
infinite.