Jun 20

Where I Went

I lay in the forest;
a tree grows from my heart.
The roots wrap around my veins, 
and infuse my blood with sap. 
My body falls into the earth, 
as my soul grows up towards the heavens,
and blooms with dull colors. 

 
Jun 03

Talking With an Alien

2200 A.D

So you see, there’s this thing called Earth.

Is it a food?

What? No, no, it’s a planet. In the Milky Way. It’s where I live. 

That is hundreds of galaxies away. Why are you out here?

Why am I out here? I don’t know, to pick flowers? No, you idiot, I’m here to explore. 

Exploration has already been completed in this galaxy. What is so bad about your Earth?

Because Earth is already explored. 

Interesting. I have never heard of this Earth before. What is this planet like?

You really want to know what Earth is like? 

Was my question unclear? I can repeat if it is required. What is this---

Yeah, yeah, I heard you. It’s just---Earth is so boring...Well, actually…

You have stopped talking in the middle of your sentence. Did you fall into slumber?

No, I was just thinking about Earth. 
May 12

Why I Write

I’ve always had trouble with words.

My whole life, they have gotten stuck in my throat,
my mind whispering to shove them back down,
where they get locked in my heart,
never to be heard.

I don’t know why my mind does it,
why it has trained me to think that
no one wants to hear my words,
my thoughts and opinions.

The only time that the lock is opened
is when I write. For whatever reason,
once I have a pencil and a piece of paper,
all those words are set free.

From there, they spill out, dance along the page,
poured from my inner self until they are their
own being. They roam where they wish,
and my heart is finally light once more.

This is my reason for writing.
I cannot speak and be who I am
without my ability to write.
What is your reason?
Apr 16

A Tree's Memories

I.
The darkness is warm and heavy, comforting almost.
I can feel the sunlight upon my tough shell, so unlike how it felt to drift down, spinning and absolutely uncaring for the world, before settling here at my mothers feet, upon the hearty, green moss.
The tough but gentle hands that intricately selected me off the ground carefully peel back my outer coat, leaving me bare against the open air. Then the hands gingerly close around me, again encasing me in blackness.
When the fingers unfurl once again, I am only free for a second before they dump me into a tiny hole in the soil, and cover me with it.
It was there that I took root, there that I was watered and nurtured.
And it was there that I grew.
Feb 03

Angels Without Wings

What is an angel
without its wings?

An angel without wings is a mother,
wrapping her only jacket
around her sleeping daughter’s
bony shoulders,
a tiny shield against the
frigid winter nights.
Her stomach grumbles,
but she doesn’t mind as long
as the resting girl’s remains silent.
Her wings were spent
buying her childs warmth
and life, even as her own ebbs away
with the fading sun.

An angel without wings is a man,
shifting through the trash
to find the half-full water bottle,
murky and brown as it might be,
and gives it to the lame boy
leaning on the heap of trash.
His tongue was dry, but if
he could talk, he would
say thank you.
His wings were spent
by the cuts on his
hands and feet, after moving
sharp pieces of trash.

An angel without wings is an old man,
pushing his way through knee-high,
raging flood waters,
Nov 14

Once More

“Yes, I will say hi to Mom for you, don’t worry,”
I tell my sister, squeezing her hand in assurance.
The nurse smiles sadly from the doorway.
“Don’t forget to tell her I miss her a lot, okay? It isn’t the same without her.”
A raspy breath rattles my dry lungs.
“What...what isn’t the same?” I cough.
She scrunches her face in thought.
“Everything, Sissy. She isn’t here to kiss me goodnight, to give Lucky a bath, to---”
A searing, burning pain slices through my stomach. The world tilts a little bit.
“Sissy! Are you okay? You’re okay, you’re okay…” she tries to convince me.
Slowly, the pain trickles away. I open my eyes to her small, rotund face above mine.
The corners of my mouth tug up weakly for her sake.
“You can give Lucky his baths now.” A pause to catch my breath. “You’re a big girl.”
She takes my sweaty palm in her own again. “I’m not a big girl, not like you. I wish… I wish I was like you.”
Oct 25

I Want To Die

The title got you, didn't it?
It is such a depressing phrase, 
and yet it is used quite a lot these days,
especially from my generation, from what I've noticed.
How sad is it that kids' lives are so horrible that they 
want to be rid of them forever?
You might brush it off, call us weak,
"just suck it up, your life isn't that bad".
You have no idea of what is going on in their life.
If you believe that you get the 
right to say things like that,
about someone else's life,
then you should put on their shoes
and really see what they are going through.
These days, stress is getting piled on teenagers
about college, homework, jobs, debt, life in general.
And sometimes, it becomes too much,
so they take the only way out they can think of. 
The problem with this world is that we have normalized
the wanting of death, to get away from here and all this stress.
Sep 24
poem 0 comments challenge: Portrait

A Discreet Description

The face that is in my dreams and
thoughts, squared and set,
eyes seeing things real and yet not,
is the one that I love without
claiming it, my mouth yet to
utter the words I so much long
to say, to watch those beautiful blue
eyes and sly, smirking mouth, move
in surprise and delight as the
three tiny words would slip past my lips
and reach your big, framing ears.
Everything that you are comprised of
is the definition of my love, from the
bouncing, blond curls around your
boyish yet manly features, to the long
stride of your legs, so much farther than
mine, to the strong, callused hands that
steady and create wonders for the
world.  If the Sun could take on an Earthly
form, it would be made into your smile,
as when you feel joy, the whole world lights
up, the whole world that is mine,
just because you are in it.
Sep 17

Steel Hearts

Either fortunately or unfortunately,
we are here.
By forced methods,
we are chained to the ground, 
our wings clipped and broken.
They don't need to put us in cages
if we are already in one.
Restrained and earth-bound,
they took our spirits, our lives, our hope.
Tell me, please,
what is keeping you down?
When they took our flight, 
they only left us our fight. 
So let me tell you, darling,
that the only way you can
regain your freedom
is to fight back. 
Whether with a sword or with words,
nothing is small in the rebel heart.
Come with me, you who I can so clearly 
see has a heart made to rebound,
bounce and bite back, like mine.
Let us join together, hand in hand,
and conquer our captors,
make them regret the day 
they took the knife to our wings
and our hearts,
letting them bleed out until they thought
we were empty.
Sep 07

An Otherworldly Ending

The wind kills them
all, a wave of death that
isolates and singles out
one, only one.

Do not deem them dull
when they die.
It catches them all off guard,
no place safe, except

for the moon, the astronaut
alone all the way from home.
His lifeline goes quiet
and silent as the downwind

carefully carries the whisper
of the lives leaving the world.
Out on the moon dust terrain,
he watches the dead planet

move slower than molasses
stuck in sticky honey.
He watches as he becomes
an orphan to everything

he ever knew, his life
the lone survivor of
all things living. He realizes
that isn't really a life, but an ending.

Pages