I wish I could show you my world of writing.

I wish I could be in the tall purple-glazed mountains with Shakespeare and Harper Lee,

I wish I could say I don’t pay a weekly visit to spell check.

I wish I could write like my mother, the queen of the world.

I wish I could dive into wet words,

Instead of hitting my head on the concrete of writers block.

I wish I could tell you this was a poem,

If only it were such a beautiful thing.

I wish I could say I write as much as Suess

Or as frightening as King

Or even as published as... E. L. James...

I wish I could say my world of writing is filled with happy thoughts,

That flow gently through the streams,

As opposed to the real thoughts that pollute the water throughout the world.

I wish I could say I could write an untainted, uncliched romance novel,

Or write of mysteries I could answer.

I wish I could tell you this isn’t my first poem my world has seen in weeks.

One tree
Doesn't make a forest.
A fallen leaf
Doesn't make it Autumn.
A drop of water
Does not make a lake.

The forest shivers when a
Sturdy tree falls.
It reminds the twigs of trees,
Anything can
Snap.

And when that last little leaf
Falls to the dirt,
It seems to say,
"I just couldn't hang on any longer."
And the leaves worry as
Winter falls into place.

When a rain drop hits into a river
The whole pool silently echos,
Saying,
"You don't belong."

But if that tree hadn't fallen,
The forest would be complete.
If the leaf hadn't hit the ground,
It wouldn't have gone through winter with the others.
And if that droplet of rain was absent,
You would notice.

The little tree I've looked at fondly
Is now grown.
Its roots now touch its moss-covered mother.
Its leaves now shine of emerald.

You wouldn't notice how much it's changed,
If you hadn't seen its good side.
You wouldn't know how the acorn really fell far,
By just a glance.

Some of its siblings are close,
Others are miles away.
But even as sturdy and strong as they are,
I came to the forest for this one.

I want to hug you
If only for one last time.
I miss your ribs pressed against mine
In an embrace I can lean into
With you always catching me.

I miss your deep brown eyes
Whether surrounded in perfect eyeliner
Or bags painted on
From worried nights.
I miss looking into those eyes
Trying to figure out
How I can calm them.

I miss your long thin legs
Sharing a seat with me when no one else will
When there are no longer seats for me to take,
They’re there for me.
I miss how every girl was jealous of them,
I miss being jealous too.

I miss your fantasy lips,
Pointing out but softly.
With a deep valley separating it
From your nose.

The nose,
I miss that too.
I miss the way it slopes,
The tiny nostrils,
The little indent at the top.
The one that makes you slightly imperfect.

I miss your feet.
Not the feet hidden in high heels
Masking your shortness.
But the feet that wore those red sneakers
On a Halloween.
You were a ladybug.

I miss you comforting me,
If only I’m afraid of a ladybug.
I miss being able to crawl into your lap.
I miss having someone who will let me
Cry until I’m done.

I miss your curling hair.
Its confidence,
Unlike mine that is burnt everyday.
I miss its cuteness,
The way it bounces,
How for every hundred brown hairs,
There’s a blonde one.

I miss the way we can be so similar,
And the way we can be so different.
I miss your appearance of evilness,
But more,
I miss your hidden kindness.
The way when we were younger you’d grab my hand,
As soon as a teacher mentioned partners.
I miss that.
I miss you.