I sit alone by
our open
window.

With eyes shut, I feel
a slight breeze
come in.

It’s nearly silent
out there now,
so still.

I sense a fey chill
as a cloud
passes.

Drops begin to fall
leaving a
strange scent.

I fear that one might
splash into
our home.

So I close the sash
to shut out
the world.

Again closing my eyes,
I pray for
mercy.

i lost my youth in quarantine;
my mother died and i turned nineteen.

and now the world is bigger than it's ever been,
(but the grass was greener in oregon)

In this hollow white space
Its been two five seven days.
The sky dusks again.

I can’t tell anymore.

Being outside                                                          ­                 Being indoors

   ***** laundry overtakes my drawers.two days dirt saturates my
  pores.texts and calls being ignored.avoidance of all commitment.
          
I’m scaring myself.
                                                              No­ one around to help, to witness.
            What to say of                                     i s o l a t i o n  
                                                             ­   If it gives me a different sickness?

It's never too lonely here
with a soul which has
a thirst that even the
oceans can't quench,

with a heart that holds
secrets dark and deep
where roots of the oldest
trees too can't reach,

with twinkling eyes that
dream the biggest of dreams
which even the shiniest
stars can't match.

It's never too lonely here
while I take this journey
inward, beyond walls and
boundaries to seek myself,

there's a light inside
you and me, so radiant
and warm, take its
hand and follow it,

ask it all the questions
you've always had and
the day you realise the
answers are within you
is when you too will say -
it's never too lonely here.

I’m going to each of my suitemates' rooms. One at a time, methodically. I pause, for dramatic purpose, until I have their full attention. Once I have it, I rushingly, excitedly, breathlessly say, “I’M getting pizza later, for the GAME!” Like a seven year old child.

Now, my roommates KNOW we're ordering pizzas later. They’re all “on board,” everyone’s submitted their order and venmo’d their money to Sunny who will actually place the order for delivery at 5:30 pm. But I’m excited. I LOVE pizza (and American, NFL football) and I love being childish.

My roommates, like my brother, sister and parents before them, know this and love my manic, overactive way of excising tedium. Besides, I won’t do this more than once or twice - ok, maybe three times today before the pizza comes.

Since you’ve read this far - allow me to opine, for a moment, about “self restraint.”

Have you read about how they’re using familial DNA to solve old cold-case murders? I think they should use familial DNA to track down whomever it was that invented self restraint.

It was probably some old Protestant. I mean, Catholics only have sin - it’s yes or no - binary. So without researching it (at all), I think we’re dealing with someone born after the protestant reformation of 1555 - but I’m flexible.

Anyway, they should track that person down, dig them up, beat them with a stick, and then rebury them, in unhallowed ground.

I hate self restraint. It’s so.. restraining.

#restraintsux

We’re busy all day long with studying and chapter summaries,
we’re stuck in quarantine. Luckily, I like my roommate's company.

We know that we have work to do as prep for upcoming classes,
but we know that it takes more than work to make young lasses happy.

So I talked my roomies into getting, a steak-n-cheese delivery,
instead of working fact-sheets, for our next term chemistry.

Dueling playlists cave-rave from the echos in our suites,
we’re having all the fun we can on opening quarantine week.

Some guys try for invites, like we’re throwing a private wingding,
but those texts go unanswered ‘cause we’re genuinely quarantining.

With the COVID blues proscribed - get that frown right off your face miss,
our studies are on schedule - and it’s time for some serious play *****!

I have always longed for peace like
how I have always thought of peace:
Calmness, stillness, and serenity
all at once after a raging storm.
But I have taken for granted another form
that has always been there before:
—a piece of peace in my favorite tune,
a piece of peace when I look at the moon,
a piece of peace in my covers’ warmth,
a piece of peace that gives the heart
a chance to fight again, to love again,
a piece of peace that wills me to stand up to live again.

Trapped
In a box
In a cage
In a prison cell

The lonely spirit rots
Treasures given away
Puzzles night and day
The spirit cannot stand it
There must be a way out

Alas, the spirit cannot find it
And thus she withers, with her puzzles
In a box
In a cage
In a prison cell

The spirit's own vessel a prison in itself
She longs for an escape
The greed of the selfish
The hunger of the spoiled
It swallows the world,
and strengthens the lock
The spirit must stay
In a box
In a cage
In a prison cell

The cradle offers no comfort anymore
Instead only harsh reality

The only window of freedom the spirit has
Is her fellows, locked away as well
Separate cells, separate prisons
But captive all the same

Most her friends are happy with something
If nothing else, they take comfort in their own vessel
But this cannot be for the lonely spirit
Flesh is binding
She can never be free

The room's light flickers
desperate to hold onto what little she has left,
the lonely spirit sets to work

In a box
In a cage
In her own
Personal
Hell.