I think the people made me feel safer
The city didn’t sleep
Even if there were creeps there were friends
Here there’s no one
No one to help if I needed it
More judgmental faces instead of

Anyways I was supposed to be talking about the trees
They’re sturdy and I need that
I wish I was one more times than not
Their arms are still and reliable
They change their hair on a cycle and it’s never not gorgeous
It’s like shelter
Safety in storms, they fall but only when it’s time
And they don’t have to get back up, because that’s where they belong after

I wish I had an inherent duty like that
To protect and then fall
Nothing else just to be strong

It might be all it is, strength
It’s complicated though
There’s so much to think about

I won’t end this like usual
I can be strong and I will, I don’t really have a choice
I’ve gotta buy new shoes soon anyways
And they’ll see it eventually, I don’t have to tell them
And then I’ll be a tree

Smother ground
Soar in breeze
Breathe them in
Release yourself
you have to change with them
natures known what’s best for awhile now
the cycle keeps you alive
turn orange then yellow
make your descent to the floor
Make room for fresh motion

I am but a fragment of everything
But apart of it
Iridescent and shifting
but I am here

I’m out of practice but I have words
I am tired but I am in the midst
The moon keeps me up at night and I can’t seem to make the morning

I am scared and bored and happy and so very lost

I make no sense in my head hopefully it doesn’t pull together here

I hope someone sees it

I hope to feel again
Those hills and valleys are terrain on an otherwise deserted landmark
The most interesting thing about me are my words
Without I am blank

What comes and goes is the heart of it all
Sometimes living to write it down later is the key
Sit like you’re being observed by an artist
And speak like all your words mean more
Like you’re being heard, loved, cherished


I wonder how to get back
When I stray from what makes me
Learning how to write
To read
To listen
How to act like art again
To see the beauty and to follow it
To the ends of everything I thought was important
To take the people with me that deserve it
And the ones that don’t
To not forget, but to release

And this is all very abstract
But I would rather describe a far away feeling than to have never felt it

Tomorrow will be different
I’ll put pen to paper
And I’ll feel the sun on my face
And I’ll call someone
Write about someone else

What would it take to write about something other than myself
All these feelings that come from nothing
An experience is nothing like they said
They said when you go, use it
But I would rather sit and wait

All of your music is in my head
So today I’m listening to streets you don’t walk
And people you don’t talk to
I’m hearing nothing but your voice
So today I’m talking over it
With no hopes I won’t bore it
I’m turning your fumes into flowers
Your screams that are fueling my noisy head
I’m walking faster and farther
And you are filling in a grave you dug yourself

The sun shines for me
She tells me when to bloom; when to turn toward; when to thrive
If I only listen to her then why is the moon so appealing
Why does it catch me and gleam; why do I turn toward; why do I bloom
I do not thrive in the moonlight
Deceptive light and warmth calls me in the cold night
Gullible I; leaving my fire
Must there be so many hours in the night

Life must be
I picture a desert, vast, dusty
A tent, or trailer. Stringed lights, some different colors but others a warm gold onion color
I have a dog, her name is something like olive or julia
I have many blankets. I make them, for myself. Sometimes friends. Sometimes travelers.
I have a lover. I see them every two moons. They know everything about me and they write songs of my peace. I hear of their adventures and I describe them back through poems so they see their world as I do.
I read, I know everything. I am a Master of Arts and trades.
I write novels of life. I see the smallest things and I tell everyone of their hugeness. The importance of those we rarely see are pictured in my library. There is a net over my spiral collection where I lay.
The train brings me to a forest where I sit and listen to the rain. I catch colds because I refuse to ever hide from her showers.
The air I wake up to fills me everyday. I never yearn for anything I cannot create. I am known and loved. My rose glasses have never left because the lenses of my cornea are the most beautiful shade of pink.
Life must be