If my metaphors
were pennies in a jar..

I would have
       only a button

resting upon its side.

But though the holes
the sun does glimmer...

And four rainbows
              birth from those
hollow moments of contemplation ...

We don't need riches to show
             how colourful our words

can be..

But I do always wonder where the
                    button that held in my
analogies  
                              popped off too.
As  I'd eaten to many metaphors
                                             before lunch..

Guided by something heavier
than a final notice or a dollar sign.
It's a power, not for profit,
that's respected silently, without a like button.
It tangles my hair in the stars
as I dream of places that feel like home,
but never visited.
It whispers the names of people
that I know I've loved in another life.
The world is on fire, but
I close my eyes and hear its music.
It hums. I follow.
The world is on fire, but
I dance in its glow.

let me pause
these daydreams,
and wake up to a reality
where it was never as it seems,
and you were never there to begin

The first time I picked up a pen was for you,
They said I should write you a letter,
I did you one better
And sculpted my life in poem,
Wrote down my pains so you'd know them.
and sometimes you push "like".

The fact I can get it right away
The fact I can get it right away with the new version is better
The fact I can get it right away with the new version is better to be the first half of the year
The fact I can get it right away with the new version is better to be the first half of the year and I don't have a great way of the year

My grandmother gifted me a jar of buttons when I was little.
There were so many inside the jar that it was impossible she collected them by accident; impossible that she had collected them for the purpose of sewing old clothing back together.
Her button jar serves as a reminder to me, a reminder of how perfect she was that she never needed them to mend old shirts she had torn,
because she was too perfect to have torn any in the first place.
I wonder if she gave them to me on purpose, or on accident.
If she had given them to me as a keepsake of her, to show all she had collected,
Or as a precaution, because she knew I was going to need to mend so much of my future.

If there was a button to erase existence...

Good memories
Bad memories
All that lives within existence
Everything you care and lack care about
Gone and devalued...


Would you press it?

There once was a woman with thumbs;
thought everyone's poems were dumb.
She'd click on the "like" with a vampire's strike,
till her ego was comfortably numb!