She turned to me and said
I think you should write songs instead of poems
She said
You have a great singing voice
She said
Maybe you are taking the easy way out
She said
Poems are easier to write than songs
She said
Songs cannot exist if you do not perform
She said
You should perform your poems
Transform them into songs

She turned to me and thought
I see something in you
I see potential

And it has been such a long time
Since someone looked at me and saw
Something that could be
My heart exploded
And I smiled
Because who is lucky enough to have such amazing friends?

Hands are amazing
Hands express feelings, speak their own language
Hands have their own identities.
Hands also hold.
They hold yourself when you collapse
They hold other people to keep them close
Or to keep them from falling apart
They intertwine. Link. Caress. Touch. Grip.
They can be loose or tight
They can mean the world or nothing at all
But hands also disappear
Hands can be missed more than a person
Because hands are the reflection of our soul
And when a soul touches another soul
Sparks explode
And when two hands hold each other
Nothing can be more perfect
But perfection never lasts long
Perfection is a fleeting moment
An instant of pure happiness.
The emptiness that follows
Knows no bound
But no matter how long I must wait
I live for those moments

Funny, how sometimes butterflies
skip over your skin without ever landing,
how basketballs spin
around the rim without swishing,
or how things never seem to work out.
I’ve been wishing

for moments of high tide, gravitational
moons that would draw me to you,
in the middle of May on Coney Island.
I want you to pull my pigtails like it’s preschool.
I want to bleed neon, shout pop tunes
to accompany my words that sound like
a poem we all had to learn
to recite from memory.

Funny, how we store meat behind our popsicles
in the freezer, how we tear up things
before we throw them away,
or how defeated we feel when we wake up
to zero new messages.
I’ve been reaching

for the plug in the drain,
sipping champagne,
hearing your name,

when all I really want is lunchboxes,
the kind your mom leaves notes in.
I want to beat you in four square,
color on my Converse, catch crayfish
in the creek behind your house.

Funny, how we tone down our souls
to fit the mold, or interview each other
based on pieces of paper when we are
alive, and breathing, and it’s funny
how we save money for next time,
plan for tomorrow before we’re done with today,
count our accomplishments before our scars.

Funny, how all we ever wanted
was to finally be exactly where we are.

As I follow the path of destruction
and see the dead bodies in my path
women running and children killed
sick world we live in
where no one forgives
all there is **** and **** some more
old men are bullied and tortured to death
it an animal kingdom where the strongest wins
where is the peace and where is the mercy
shouldn't we only attack the people who attack us and leave the others with mercy
shouldn't we respect all living things from animals and plants
war is no more spears and swords
its a cowardly game where a bomb is thrown from faraway and kills who ever it kills weather they are involved or not.
people started to have their souls ripped fro them
they became with black hearts with nothing else than to destroy and concur.
all they think about is their precious seats and the money they posses.
not caring about the peoples lives that goes in veins and parish in the grounds with their family crying til their eyes bleed.
I wish this war would end and we would all live in peace as one units.
we are all part of this big planet called earth and we should all be treated the same.

I am a sunflower
None of my breaths are wasted when the sun
Is not there
You are my sun
You make me wish for warmth
And light
And happiness in a smile
I would turn my face up to stare at you
For hours
To breathe you in