Poetry

My 30th year.

Poor, living in an apartment,

With a childhood friend.

Single,  but that's alright.

Never expected much of a love life, anyway.

Sitting at a desk.

A small apartment.

Peeling wallpaper.

One window.

Hair in a messy ponytail.

Typing on a computer.

Bags under my eyes.

Plants on the windowsill.

I have had so many friends.

Some may say I am lucky

to be surrounded by huge groups.

Always having someone to talk to.

I agree.

I am so lucky to have all these people.

        Going back 4 years,

You feel on top of the world,

You have friends,

Until you realized some of them were fake,

You clung to her like a lifeline,

Just for it to stop,

the window doesn't open cleanly.
it drags and resists against the frame,
like it remembers being shut for a reason,
like it knows what happens when things are left open too long.

when it finally gives,

not a cola or a root beer;

something in between

like a tortured machine—

it will power down soon.

that tang on your tongue

is from my chewed up wires,

lightning should show through smoke

One day, a young girl walked into a seaside meadow.

The sky was clear and could be compared to a robin's egg,

It was her favorite color,

Her mother said it matched her eyes.

Poems are birds in the kingdoms of languages

Always flying towards each other and paradise

***

Together, perhaps

We hear the sound of the universe

***

The sunlight comes in

i had a dream
last night that
we were

running 

the alarm had rung, the
sky had darkened (or maybe it was still pale blue),
and people were 

yelling

I yelled at my father.

they                       went                           farther

than everything 

we know of

I had a dream

I was at the high school

I couldn't carpool with a buddy

we were late

it was dark outside

I didn't know anyone there

I didn't know my schedule

I didn't know what was happening