Margaret's fingers clasped and still
white birds upon her window sill
silent doves that came to rest
sleeping now upon her chest
each settled bird that came to land
will fly no more from Margaret’s hands

I'm sorry I don't say this much.
I would like to thank God, Couldn't imagine having another Mom.

You see I been watching and thankful

Your sacrifices and your unconditional love

Today I would like to say
I don't know where I be if not for you

Today I couldn't stand if not for you
Showing me I was strong

Today and the rest of my tomorrows
I know that I have a loving mother
None the less doting to call my mum

For today let me just say thanks for loving me and having me as your son

                                               To Mom
                                               Your #1 fan

Ancient Fairchild Oak
Stripped away with saws and rakes
More room for the dead

whatever happens, promise
you’ll remember what it’s like

to fight for something even if
youre not sure if you’ll survive.

to beg for mercy, plead for help,
but no one bats an eye.

so take a second, “momento mori”;
remember, you will die.

"Why do you take photos of me all the time?"

Because someday,
You are going to leave me
And the only thing left of you
Is these photos
That will keep memories of you safe

Tomorrow I'd go to school to see you; I only had a mind for melancholy and romance, and no room for myself. This was me today, and perhaps tomorrow I'd switch for the organic, unplanned me or-

She'd switch for nobody, and she'd abandon the idea of "I", because she'd no longer understand what it meant to refer to herself, nor did she have enough thumbs to condense her being into that mysterious letter that everyone else seemed to use without conflict.

It disowned itself, ashamed of synthetic sense of self, its fabricated empathy.

Temporarily, until it wakes from its nightly slumber and tastes the sugar of the words, "Good morning". She'll find some spirit to fill her shell and deem herself human.

Thin as paper,
Green as a bush,
Doesn’t talk like a dictator,
Ground like mush.

Swaying in the wind,
Whistling like above,
Staying there as if pinned,
Swaying like a dove.

Crunchy for a bug,
Disgusting for us,
Running like a sparkplug,
Yet makes no fuss.

Reborn as if new,
Rustling as if happy,
A new place, it grew,
Not like a tree, not sappy.

Like a forest,
Where it blows with the air,
Singing a chorus,
That’s never there.