An empty swing hangs from a tree
Drifting in the airs varying touch
Vacant in his mind,
Where light shines upon the grass,
Stretching and leading
While shadows kiss the base of it's warm bark
This tree has a memory,
As the swing longs in its drift

This place
Where she used to reside,
Radiating magic and captivating flowers,
Remains dormant

The swing longs,
The tree mourns
The light, slightly dimmed and muddled

While remnants of her enchantment
Leave the scent of life and beauty embedded in every space
Her words once touched

your music starts and eight counts leave my mind the magic of artistry blends together as twelve individuals move as one months of preparation for a taste of euphoria passion exudes from every pointed toe as their bodies tell the stories of their hearts an honor to behold the wonders of a dancer's soul you run to the wings, overflowing with joy wishing us luck as we admire your performance our team embraces before entering the stage hands outstretched as our music starts

My notes are filled with little snippets of thought a scribble of letters, genuine but unrefined it seems that when I feel passion I lack the motivation yet when I sit down with a glass of lemonade laptop in hand and cool breeze running through my hair my mind suddenly seems to lack a single coherent thought discouragement turns the pink sugar water to mud I question how I can declare poetry my love when I have not showered it with affection in months maybe I try too hard to turn pretty what's meant to be misshapen maybe each word doesn't have to flow like a steady stream divulging the meaning of this world or the secrets in my heart maybe it's alright if a poem feels more like treading over rocks than drifting to sleep on a giant fluffy cloud maybe this is enough

my dad used to say all of the songs were about being seventeen young and sweet, wind in your hair, excitement in your veins and I thought wow, that means seventeen could be my year will my fairy godmother spare a wish? can my rags of hopelessness finally sparkle? maybe seventeen is the excuse I need to be brave to take the shot in the dark if it means finding light to cross the unbeaten path even though tree roots are out to get me to express the love flowing in the canyons of my heart to stop closing doors as quickly as I open them my age is young, but my dreams are old with this next chapter comes stories untold
I've had 536,457,600 seconds of air and don't want to waste one more

she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could

~
"Why is there only one chair in this room?"

"This once was an island." She replied.

"You favor this place then, I take it?"

"How can I not," said she. "The dawn here is quiet."

"Not on this floor, you are much mistaken! The stairs are like an avalanche."

Looking down at herself, she quickly changed the subject. "There are barcodes on each breast now."

"I see. Were you nervous?"

"Only when focusing on the morning break," She confessed. "Otherwise I was much like you--killing what keeps us alive."

"Is that so bad?"

"I wonder. Sometimes I still feel the bruises." She stated. "But I am told this is normal."

"What else did they tell you?"

"To quit worrying about not being built to scale," she stated in displeasure.

"...and?"

"For me to prepare to fall again for the apocalyptic things written in the sky," She admitted with a wicked smile.

"What's so funny?"

"I recognized your handwriting long ago," She uttered into the centrifuge.
~

I had a dream
I was sitting on grass
Talking with old friends
About current events
That I haven't seen
In fifteen years
Then a giant walked by
Controlled by AI
We just looked at it
And continued to sit
We laughed and told jokes
I said for a smoke I would ****
Then saw a stall selling smokes
And paid with a hundred dollar bill
And as I was about to go on my way
They said not today!
The bill is fake
For heaven's sake!

Solitary life can feel like a curse
but I choose not to complain, cause I know
I've had it worse
There's no shoulder to lean on and cry
No one to bring me down when I get too high
I do it myself, using every means possible
I poison myself

I smoke and cough, drink
and wonder what turns people off
To be fair I wouldn't want to stay with me either
I would say go away till you're sober
Love can be tough
But never cruel
Love is not a blind man leading a fool

Months turn to years
I've yet to conquer my fears
I wonder about my future
Feeling unsure
But I know I'll stay
It's all I know anyway
I kinda like it this way