Zemira

Today,

I saw a poster on my math teacher's door.

It said, You never know what somebody's going through. A little bit of kindness can brighten up their whole day! 

Why does it feel

Like happy poems

Are harder to write than

Sad ones?

Like when you're feeling good

The inspiration

Feels minimal

And harder to express

What do you think?

Big feathered wings 

Almost alone

In the middle of the ocean

Soaring through the sky

Or maybe swimming through the waves

When I grow up,

I want my own house.

Not to big, not to small,

But enough for me and a roommate.

When I grow up, 

I finger a rich, dark green leaf, dappled with sunlight. Running my fingers over the rough bark of an oak tree, I lift my head towards the sunlight. The sun warms me down to my toes, and I scoop up handfuls of dirt.

What is a world without its Sun?

Without.

Warmth to lead seasons into a dance?

Without.

Gravity to pull the tides into longing?

Without.

Light to rend the dark?