Sometimes,
When I write poetry,
I forget to breathe and eat as it consumes me.
Sometimes,
When I forget to breathe,
My head hurts
From lack of oxygen, possibly.
Then, my stomach screams,
"Feed me, please!"
So, this is my cue
To shutdown PC,
Leave HP,
Go eat, brush teeth, breathe in, and dream.

Gentle dawn reaches out lovingly
To the sleeping world below.
She must let go of night’s slumber,
And shine her light on everything.

My mind drifts at the thought of what it would feel like
To share your blanket with you;
Letting words cover me head to toe with your many layers.

Hidden pockets of warm down filling,
I’d get lost there forever if you’d promise to never let go...

What does it mean to be human?
Does it mean that your body is flesh and bone?
My body is made of plastic.
What are you made of?
What makes a person whole?
Is it fulfillment? Happiness? Soul?
Whatever the case, I am not whole.
Are you?
Are humans intelligent or ignorant?
I am both.
Which one are you?
Are humans kind or wicked?
I do not know which one I am.
Do you know?
Do humans get to choose who they are?
I have tried to mould myself as best I can, into the person I want to be
Have you?
Are you human?
I am, decidedly, not human.
I am that which I do not know of
I am that which I do not wish to discover
I hope never to know who I am.
Who are you?

It don't matter what I do
It don't matter what u say
Who I am
Where I've been
It means nothing
We all come to a end

I see clearly now
I am just a beat
Just a name
A number
I feel free
Don't expect anything from me

I am no one
I am nothingness
I'm not lost
The world is
It all comes to the end

Memory's
Life
My name
I'm Natasha mckay
But
we all energy
That will rejoin
Energy

The end
I'm not scared
I'm not dead
I'm just seeing
Like a new born child
I mean nothing

I am nothing.

But energy.

I see everything.

The old tree on  Maple Lane stood unwavering on the cold December night

that the young girl ended her plight

it creaked sorrowfully

as the child that once swung from its ancient limb

was buried on that evening so grim.


The old tree on Maple Lane danced to the rhythm of the wind

that glided all about, completely undisciplined

it flowered wonderfully

as the joyous winter that brought it innocence

was replaced with a warm immanence

The old tree on Maple Lane
had seen so much beauty
and so much pain

The old tree on Maple Lane
was completely beautiful and wise
Until it was slain.