Words do not flow in logical sentences--
They create towns and political systems,
Going about their days with no regard
For how I try to organize them. I am the
Tyrant instigating taxes and cutting
Down trees, suffocating my people in 

An attempt to build the perfect society.

Dear celebrity crush,
I wish that I could clone you
so I could have my own you,
my creepy devotion
would fill up an ocean

I am an empty guitar case,
Sitting dejectedly at the feet
Of an unshaven busker,
Lid open and velvet interior
Begging for something to
Be placed inside it—except
I never wanted crumpled
Green bills or rusty coppers.
I wanted a well-loved guitar,
Filling me as if it were molded
To my shape. I wanted silent
Melodies humming under a
Closed cover—life that sings
Internally and is not meant  
For other’s entertainment.