i trudged through frozen rivers
passed through red oceans
i bottled up my feelings and tossed them into the wrathful sea
fishing ships skimming through the vibrant bay
caught wind of my hopeless message floating meters away from where they cast their nets
tiny thoughts floating through levels of salty sea foam, devoured by the vicious waves
breaking, scattering and tossing seaweed into the briny air
“land **!” they bellowed, tying a thin rope to the side of the vessel
wonder if that truly makes a difference or that the boats just don’t really desire to depart
with unwashed fingers and hands, they ripped the bottle from the ocean’s greedy grasp
observing it with curiosity, they tapped on the glass of the object
the bottle cap popped open, revealing the suspicious contents
pouring it out onto the dock, they whispered when they saw the small yellowish letter lying flat; my letter
the captain read it to himself quietly and deemed it unnecessary to repeat to the rest of the crewmen
“perhaps, it is time to rest. the moon is almost at her peak.”
the captain uttered a couple words, for he was astonished such a hopeless thing could float ironically in the most teeming ecosystem to ever exist
my feelings were daggers, and not knowing where they originated from worried the captain

but everyone rises and falls
everyone lives and dies
everyone hopes and becomes hopeless
water carries secrets,
and in that, it holds stories

  -happy ever afters don’t exist in the ocean

Some random people are stuck in my head. They smiled at me and disappeared. Just transient smiles. I don't know why I recall them ten years later.

The stars
look at me
they no longer blink
some thoughts
drowned by the night
half a moon peeks out
from behind the clouds
to adorn a little bit of
my dream
the shooting starry trajectory
such a beautiful poetic scenery
some people wake up at night
some go to sleep
staying up with you
day after day
dream after dream
when the sky is full of stars
that hide our mutual dream
holding your hand and walking with you
into the distant horizon
would have made me
the happiest person
beneath the heaven.

I don't need help changing my tire
I need your political support
to put out this fire
set by the angry mob of course
and there's no way I can force
you to see from the high horse
you gained from light chores
so keep your random acts of kindness
as long as you cure your blindness
I think we could find this
more profound niceness
embedded within the social construct
so kindness is required and not luck
because our intermittent charity
won't achieve economic parity
making our situation scarily
here to stay apparently
so don't tell me to be civil
from behind the American sigil
that sits on a swivel
with **** symbols
and those that swindle
a nation of marks
pushing shopping carts
in a lockstep art
dividing us from the heart
so even if you mow my yard
we'll still be miles apart
separated by a canyon of cordiality
that a river of oppression runs through
carrying away our ordeal reality
as fast as guns do
when they're held by the sightless
who convince themselves they're righteous
through random acts of kindness.

god you self-righteous, idealistic ****
I don’t like your old poetry
it all feels too cheesey— and it’s overly emotional
write something fresh, publish something better
get the anger out (you can’t bottle it up)
if you’re going to explode then do it through a pen
or at least, leave yourself out of it
there’s so much wrong in this world
write about that
I know you have at least 10 poems
angry, political ones
just sitting in your notes app
waiting to be jolted to life
pull the lever, Dr. Frankenstein
This Monster Kills Fascists.

would it be easier if i was prettier?

it’s been a while so take it easy on me
while I introduce myself to 2022.

A mix between Adam, and Moses
would be the first man to walk through an ocean,
A Miss who knows all information;
can't be trusted for being misinformation.

A pen seal dropped on the floor;
gets picked up to be a pencil,
A high school dropout learning how to
smoke at school; is in high school.

The whether on the weather;
could be the forecast of doubt,
and this poem was so random,
I guess I'll just end it here.

Maşa birincidədir,
Nə gözəl forması var!
Nişastalı önlüyün
Dik qoysan, dik də qalar.
        *   *   *
Önlüyü qırçın-qırçın,
Paltarısa büzməli.
Qiyməti də “5” olsa
Olar tam səliqəli!