I really should be studying, I know,
but I can’t help logging in.
I’ve done some work today already, though,
would one episode be a sin?
Just to check on the friends with the apartment and the purple door,
or maybe the ones from the Scranton office who sell paper.
I also want to know what Eleven is up to,
and definitely Rory and Lorelai Gilmore.
I’ll curl up with a blanket here and i’ll make some popcorn later.
I think this was a good decision — it does say “Recommended For You.”
Thank you for showing that out of every storm comes
something so inexplicably beautiful that we often stop all that we are doing to admire you.
Thank you for being a bright light at the end of every struggle.
The day that you don’t shine after a terrible storm is the day that I give up.
Thank you For your every hue.
Larger than life, your bright colors streaming across the sky,
Thank you for being a beacon to all of our allies.
I reach for you and your beauty.
Thank you for being the symbol of an identity I hold so dear
For your colored stripes are ever so often my only hope.
Thank you for giving me strength when I need it most
You tell us, not to give up when life is unfair, to not succumb to our despair
Thank you for being this, Mirage of heaven
The prettiest woman, a reborn Marilyn Monroe
Thank You For I can feel your hands guiding me
Down every bumpy road
Thank you for standing tall
Like paint trickling down from the sky
Thank you for being the bay and meadow
While the clouds fly high above your head
Thank you, for defining all my colors
All the colors of my rainbow eyes
Thank you for your rare kind of beauty
For, heckling the rain
Thank you, for brightening the sky
The vibrant shades of the world
Thank you for cheering me up
Even on the darkest of days
Thank you, because after the world glistens with rain
It's fun to explore what lies beyond your end
It left me on a cold night where I couldn't close my eyes,
When the moon was low in the sky,
Morning broke like fine china and the sun brought fire above,
But birds didn’t carry their same beautiful tune,
Colors didn't paint things as they once did,
Laughs couldn't escape my heart the same,
Smiles never played on my lips,
They just pained on the inside.
It left like a dreaming sailor,
Slowly it escaped further away,
Until it became a small dot on the horizon,
It was bound for a better life,
Disregarding its holder because it knew better,
Needing someone who cradled it like a first-born child,
Aching for a holder worthy of its potential.
It was chased away by my burdens,
That placed a weight upon them and forced them underwater.
It’s feared of being polluted by the clouds above my mind,
Combining with the dreadful darkness.
So it fled on a golden stead with not force against the front,
With moonflower horses and servants replenishing its cup,
As if it were too good for me.
I wasn't able to chase down the gleam that soared away.
Sometimes I go looking in the depths of an overgrown forest,
Searching for the candle that illuminates the night,
Burdens become heavier than then the sins of humanity,
I travel with lumber as my legs crumble down,
Yet, I continue to press forward with a cavity in my chest.
One day I'll stop my quest,
And retreat back to the dark,
Leaving fixes nothing, but took the longing off my heart.
I still miss the silver platter of hope and everything tied in.
I wish to see the bright colors dazzle my eyes,
To find enough room to smile and create astounding joy,
But it's probably found a new land,
That's supplied with better fillers and gigantic love,
Living to it's fullest potential on a beautiful beach,
With someone who doesn’t deserve it.
Someone who doesn't need it, like the depression in me.
To Frank O’Hara (1926-1966)
The blues buzz and the reds rumble,
the yellows yell and the greens growl.
The morning sky shines like a leviathan lemon.
Diner signs screech like spectres in a spectrum,
as their rainbows roar, delivering their mundane message
of cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes.
These solitary signs scribble and sing
odes to fried fish and French fries and hymns
to castles of casinos. Pinks pule elegies of
women who sold their expensive bodies for
a handful of dollars, who will never regain
their childlike innocence again.
I’ll stare at these sonneteer signs
just like how O’Hara did. I’ll scroll these streets
just like he did, for me.
A bucket of freshly picked wildflowers
rest at the mud room door
the hum of washing machine
eases almost into a state of permanence
he wet himself again
he can't change himself
his bed is on the first floor
because fear lurks on the second
demons patrol every staircase
he's created his own Alcatraz
to keep himself safe
we do a puzzle
we read the sports section of the daily local
"I like this guy"
the only words i hear this day
the washer is still running
we look out the window
i see a fall day so beautiful
nature could not interact with itself
he sees something else
something tragic and discordant
something evil that is always at his side
this ancient child
this hurt hermit
whose suffering remains unsung
saves me from despair
every time time i bask in the purity
that is his smile
and when the wildflowers are gone
and the washing machine stops running
a new meaning will be brought to
On suffocating nights,
trees bow to you,
whose loyal subjects wave
with every sweep
of silent command.
The meticulous knitting
of my heart’s poem
comes undone with
When the deafening lullabies
silent swing sets,
grains of sand littering the streets,
and corroded lies
beneath your fingertips,
The moon seems inferior in your presence.
that your reign isn’t over
the last tornado brings
the last broken girl
to her heaven on earth.
And the last poisoned summer breeze
finds it’s way out of your lungs
and into mine.