I am hungry, so hum me melodies Sing me seashells and Write me in as a rebel. I am hungry, so feed me infinities Author autumns and Ink in cottonwood trees. Goodness knows we don’t have enough Oxygen to breathe. Genie lamps Wasted stamps And a bottled blue moon River running Spirit coming Coming soon Coming soon. I am starving, so bring me to starlings Make me moonbeams Before the sun leaves Moth wings haunt me so don’t let light taunt me Let me run and Level jump and Cartwheel above the earth without turning upside down Let warmth wipe away my frown. Piano hands Come to dance In a sunset-gold sky. Pirouetting Treasure betting I will win I will fly.
see if you can figure out what went wrong with this poem ;)
If the stars dance They are pieces of light jeté-ing across the sky If the moon sings It’s light is pure strands of opera drifting across the Earth. If the sun
I don’t know what to say. Rest In Peace sounds so hollow being typed on my phone’s keyboard. You’ll never know how we mourned you Now that you’re Gone. You’ll never know how it all ended; What happens to the world now that you’re Gone? I wrote your life down on a piece of paper last spring And it still slipped away. Somehow I thought you’d still be there the day I died, Putting on your lace collars And dissenting. I’m not qualified to sing your praises, But thank you for everything you ever did. Thank you for doing something that made us cry now that you're Gone. I hope maybe You caught a glimpse of what we would do Without you Somehow, some way, But the truth is You made me realize Just as you were leaving How little time we have To stay. I don’t know what to say. I should have thanked you while you were still here To listen.
Maybe your mind feels like a tangle of worries, but there’s a web of invisible hands holding you up. Maybe your body is a little bit broken, but we are all putting ourselves back together behind closed doors.
You are not alone. Let that be your mantra when the voices in your head are screaming too loud. You are not alone. Whisper it to yourself when there’s no one else to whisper for you. You are not alone. Someone else is going through what you are going through and we are all putting ourselves back together a little bit at a time. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be mad. Let this be your mantra when the tears won’t stop rolling. It’s okay. It’s okay. Maybe it’s not okay. That’s okay. You are strong. You are all you need to get through this, to get better, to get there. But that wall of invisible hands is holding you, holding you,
Many people ride on trains. They have become so popular that we wrapped metal ropes around the earth to let them roam across it. Generations have made their living building these ropes; binding our planet so we can get from one place to another without breaking a sweat. Some trains send exhaust spiraling into the air, a dancing smoke signal siren who calls you back to Old England, and times before we worried a little more with every mile we chugged, or drove, or sailed. Some trains hum to the music of electromagnets pushing you forward, into a future of white metal and sleek cities. Some trains tunnel through dark, graffitied, underground hallways, sifting hundreds of people around a city through a claustrophobic tube. Many people ride on trains.
Twin bug bites stain my legs The spring breeze plays with loose pieces of my hair And my soul I don’t know if I like the taste of this tangy lollipop better Or the the way the orange contrasts against the blue of my tank top I have to take it out of my mouth to admire this every few minutes And to relieve my taste buds of its sweet tang. I'm proud of the way a scrunchy holds my hair almost in place A little smoother than it used to be. I let my legs revel in the feel of the air rushing past them Because they haven’t felt it in months The sun shines brighter than it did from inside Trying to solve the mysteries of tangents and parabolas I love the people I share the sun with And all I can feel is joy.
One pair of purple sneakers Jets attached, ready to launch. One smoothly-paved hill Asphalt rolling like a solid river runway. One dreamy Pastel, spring night Someone drained the colors from this photograph. One girl Eyes glazed over from staring at a bright, shiny, screen all day Breathing in the fresh summer air like an icy glass of water.
She is more than ready Now she is going.
She is sprinting down the hill Pushing as hard as she can go against gravity Flying towards the gray mother sky Who reaches out arms to her, then tugs away Teasing and daring her To come farther Faster
She is faster than speed. She is light.
She is flying It is freedom It is wind It is joy
She loves the wind. Her heart is bubbling up with joy.
I wonder about the people who are desperate enough to enter a crowded room while our governments are telling us not to leave our houses. Do they need food? A job too crucial to risk losing? Is it something that makes our world work the way it does? Are you the silent cogs that keep this clock turning? We see pictures online, on TV, one woman head bent, mask surrounding her mouth, walking quickly across the deserted city. I don't think she has time to stop and see how beautiful it is, the silence, the empty places always filled by bodies. If it weren't a health concern, I would love to see the world this way like a movie set, like you could lean against a wall too hard and the whole thing would come toppling down. Are these people like that? Only thinking of themselves but not of their health, or the rest of the world? I don't think so. I hope they stay safe.
