Poetry

My funny little friend

appearing at my door

day in and day out

to say hello to me.

So intelligent

yet so stupid

chasing after fallen leaves and blades of grass

laying on the doormat

I see the way you care for everyone else,

More than yourself.

Picking up every broken piece of glass

Because you know that if you don’t

Who will?

I see the way you love,

Not just through words

I hold the photos
 of memories of the forgotten.

I sit, on an old shelf

For people to admire

I sit all day and night.

No other purpose in the world.

The people smile. But not at me.

The sky is falling 

Please look up

The sky is falling

I don’t know how you can’t see it

Wait

Yes I do

You don’t want to

You chose ignorance

And stagnant water

Over knowledge

smoke bleeds through the sky like marker does to paper

tearing, thrashing. 

breaking, bashing. 

the birds are sad.

it's hard to catch the people undistracted,

but they too are sad.

I heard from a guy who told somebody

Bout the deserts dry

And the forests muddy

But they forgot to tell bout the rainy skies

every time the

re is uncertain

ty in my life, i 

am extremely

calm, because 

i know that w

hen it is resol

ved, i will feel h

appy or sad and 

either way, i will

feel.

If you can't do it for yourself

Then do it for her

Do it for the girl

With big ideas

And even bigger dreams

The girl who would try to count the stars

But then sigh and say there was a lot

new school means new friends

i think as a stare across the table at the same friends.

but something seems different.

we're missing someone,

or many someones.

or maybe even a part of ourselves.

-and of course he’ll say he drank cow’s milk all his life. his heatwave-stricken palms will be bare

and they'll twine like rough half-grown saplings into the fabric of the cosmos.

Happy birthday

or more like happy belated birthday -

I'm a day late -

but still

you're fourteen now

same as you were a week ago

but older

You'll be driving in what, two years?

we're so old

Sometimes words fall out senselessly,

no meaning attached.

But because they want to,

not necessarily because

they want to be revealed.

It's as if my pen

has control over me,

writing whatever comes