Posts
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That smile
I play for a lot of things.
That smile is one of them.
When we're doing something right
And you take fast four into two
And you're smiling and grinning and in full control
And we're not falling apart
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With you
I want to
Run into the shallows
Splash in the stream
Lay in the grass
I want to
Play in the forest
Race through the ocean
Be anywhere with you
At any pace
At any time
Anything
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The silent stage
One flutist.
And empty auditorium.
A silent stage.
I can feel the silence reverberating around the space -
I can feel the lack of an orchestra at my back,
The invisible audience before me,
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Alone, but not lonely
I'm alone here,
And I can feel it -
In the silence that fills the table
In the void of few words
Separated, closed off
Away from everyone else.
Around me,
Tables talk.
I hear Uno and chess
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The End
The thrum,
The pulse,
The ever-increasing
All-consuming
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Counting down
The end.
The
End.
We all know it.
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To be a teen
To be a teen
Is to lose your sense of self
Completely.
What is right?
What is wrong?
What is cool?
Why do some feel so drawn to popularity
While others are repulsed by it?
Loves
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Spring Rain
I don't believe in leaves in March
but here I am, showered full to bursting in May's nakedness
I didn't believe, but I knew the truth, they would come.
I rage,
I weep,
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oh, my momma
momma,
you know,
i was so pretty today.
i woke up on time
you didn’t say anything
before you left
but,
my glasses were clean
my nails were painted,
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For old times' sake
I don't know you.
I knew your laugh and the way your eyes crinkled,
I knew that you loved chocolate and hated shrimp,
I knew everything about you,
But I don't know you.
Not anymore.
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Group Chat
Half a dozen pink hearts
Strewn across glowing white screen
Girls guessing at identities
Of secret beaus
A link to Spotify
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The Bathroom Mirror
Give the lights a sickly yellow glow
Let me reflect
The scribbled-on stall doors and brightly-colored posters
Framing her face, to remind her
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Vulnerable
At school
we're doing a poetry unit.
"Oh cool, we write poetry all the time!"
My friend says.
What we didn't realize, though,
was that the teacher turned on the tap
to our inner selves