Posts
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Through The Cracks
Words can be insignificant,
Simple and small,
With letters boringly built up,
Written in unflattering scrawl.
Yet
There are words so delicate,
So precariously arranged,
Their syllables just might fall,
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Gratitude Rushing to My Heart
I look at myself in the mirror,
Seeing every little detail of myself:
The eyes that have learned to seek creativity,
The mouth that has learned to leak laughter,
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Coils of Code
I trace my fingertips over my skin,
Imagining everything going on within it:
Each little protein being made,
Each cell passing through my bloodstream.
Every strand of DNA is coiled up,
Making me up,
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Numbers
Numbers:
Simple little things,
Tiny scratches on paper,
Spelling out equations,
Formulas to the universe.
Loves
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Connections
submission for next year's prompts:
Use the NY Times Connections as a writing prompt! Take all 16 or one line of the words generated in there (before it's been solved) and use them in a poem or short story.
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When the boys grew up on sun and waves
The sun didn’t kiss these boys
It hugged them
The way you would with your best friend before
Leaving for a long time
It hugged them and
It made their skin the color of a caramel
And their hair like the sand
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tribute to emily dickinson
they have taken her.
hope.
she is trapped in the great big house made of new money & keys
that open nothing anymore. it is named america.
you can hear her,
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Cliché
We are such a cliché,
boy meets girl,
fall hard and fast.
Our heads are a mess,
would you wait for me?
Obviously.
Too young to think anything through,
