Take me up high but drag me

    Down
Low
My starry eyes look UPon you
But with no |glow|

I shrink and shiver with YOUR BREATHE upon me

I want to feel safe
Noone come near


Me

Take me away
Somewhere more         [safe]
I was a fool to ever have faith

My starry eyes shatter
Underneath my heart

it's a pit within my stomach
It makes me want to lie
underneath you and *****

For i was a f l o w e r
Blooming and ~colorful~

Now I'm a puppet

Dead and miserable

Advice from mum,
For my little ones,interesting some.
A hug and a kiss when they cry,
Will make their tears dry.
Always take time to listen,
See how their faces brighten.
Children have fears,
Just hold them tight dear,
Soon their tension will disappear.
Young minds love to explore,
To be messy they adore,
Your anger turnoff,
Dirt washes off.
About anything when they question,
Answer them without hesitation.
Be good in your attitude and speech,
For them to have strong characters you will teach.
Housework will never end,
Be silly, open up and giggle and be their friend.
Cherish every cuddle,
They won't be with you forever after all.

after you've mix two souls
combine the brightest blues
with the deepest reds
but it becomes all too heavy
and you're ready to go
lace up your shoes and turn off the light
how can you tell which bits are yours
and which are theirs?
is it ever possible to be entirely untangled
or do you leave holding pieces that don't match?
left with gaps that feel hollow
can you get them back?
can you grow anew?
the feat truly feels unfathomable
it seems as though
when you walk away from love
you’ll always be carrying too little
or carrying too much

We had plans
We got barriers
We took times
We own thoughts,
and egos.

We always wanted to win the fight
but tonight we did something right.

We know things moving forward
but (whatever!) we are happy afterward.

/'kriːˈeɪtɪv·mɛs/
noun

1. it's that flash
of inspiration
adding colour
to your blank thoughts.

2. it's that exhilarating feeling
of creating something -
of actually creating something -
with your endless procrastination.

3. it's your canvas
being filled with splatters
of paint and glitter.

4. it's art.

- v.m

How do you tell if she’s a lady,
When she’s turning eighty five?
She doesn’t wear much jewelry
No furs or fancy styles.

She doesn’t play croquet,
But likes to root instead through dirt.
Her uniform’s a crumpled hat,
Old shoes and a muddy shirt.

You can find her on any sunny day,
Outside in all weather,
Stacking stone and hauling hay.
Collecting white stones & robin feathers.

But don’t dare swear or she’ll object!
Don’t watch **** TV or
She’ll tell you what to do instead:
“Rake some leaves or sweep this floor!”


She might strike you as old Rose Sayer,
Prim, proper and cold.
And to God each night she’ll say a prayer,
“Jesus please, don’t let me get old!”

Dedicated to Mom, Who Believes in Living Forever

i cannot write.
i cannot think.
i cannot sleep.
i can only work work work work work
until i drop dead.

i read your poetry every day
searching for myself
in every syllable.
but it's all about me!

i
i
i
ineedsleep.

i
i
i
iamamess.

just like this poem i think i am good at writing.

(amessamessamess)

i
i
i
iwouldtakeasleepingpillbut

it­ would only result in a mess.