Poetry

when they say copying is the sincerest form of flattery,

they mean art.

when I say copying in the sincerest form of flattery,

i think about how your voice

has the same cadence as mine,

I'm holding your frail body by its throat.
Ribs showing, spine poking from your back,
More skeleton than flesh,
You stare back at me.

it seems i have somehow lost my flair for poetry in the midst of college

the words bubble up and then fly away before i can write them down

i really do wish they would come back

after all, i’m having to hold in everything

What do you hope to do before you die?

Love

I hope to love

I hope to love so thoroughly 

So constantly 

So deeply

When I was six I longed to be twenty five

My mother had all these rules

All I wanted was to leave my home

To live on my own

To stay up late

It is a joyous day 

amidst a burdened world.

We cluster around stand mixers like crows

to telephone wire, make holy messes

Do I have a voice?

Bombs are falling constantly on cities

Children are lost to the other side

Meanwhile monsters hide in their mansions

I had a funeral yesterday.

A quick goodbye to

the person closest to me.

I can’t quite recall when she died.

It has been so long

since she was alive.

Why have I held on to

her lifeless body?

Summer heat engulfs

Fireflies darting through oaks

Memories died here

My friends are all getting old

Getting their permit

License

Their own car

Getting boyfriends, girlfriends

Getting jobs

I don't understand why "ghosting" is so normalized. 

What happened to communication? 

Time wasted away

On small,

Trivial things

I only have one life

And no way

To undo the things

I’ve already done