Dec 18

Sky Candles

Do you see the black under my eyes?
Do you see the bags under my eyes as if I have stayed up
all night trying to fit the night sky beneath my lashes?
Do you know who makes the sky again each night,
teasing me to fit it all in and keep it till next time?

How I cannot yet fit the moon, but how someone is
taking bits each night and it's not me, I know that it's
no use, the moon glows back every time. It's a perennial of light,
you could carve away at it all night and it will still come back.

While someone was rewriting the stars,
they spilt their ink and the milky way was born,
another spill and they were credited with the
birth of the moon, yet they still try
to mop it up each night, I know it's useless,
it spills again and again.

The black pools under my eyes are ink,
when I cry, tears fall to the page and become beautiful.
When I poor out the bags of stars,
Dec 14
poem 0 comments challenge: Tomorrow

Pleas For a Tired World (take 2)

Tomorrow I hope all people will be seen as people.
Tomorrow I hope will treat us like the future presidents,
senators and CEOs because that is exactly what we are,
Tomorrow I hope children will not have to fear for their lives.
Tomorrow I hope that everyone will wake up, see the sun
and it will dawn on them that it's getting awfully hot.
Tomorrow I hope children will get to wish for summer break
and good grades instead of making it to school alive.
Tomorrow I hope children will be eating lunch instead of
wondering if they'll make it back home for dinner.
Tomorrow I hope that kids all around the world will unite
and fight for justice instead of living in fear that
they might be bombed by one another.
Tomorrow I hope children will not have to line the streets facing
oppression but instead line the streets celebrating confession.
Tomorrow I hope kids will not have blow out birthday candles
Dec 12

Confusions of Feelings

You say your not a romantic but all the songs you listen to are about love.
You say you don't like anyone the way feelings sometimes do,
yet every time I look at you... your looking back at me.
You say you hate poetry, you don't understand it but for some reason you listen
to me behind the door to a room that might as well be a deep blue like
your eyes and my eyes and sometimes I get distracted...

Sometimes words still fail me, sometimes I still wake
up and wonder if this life I've lived was a dream...
You say you don't feel those icky wicky feelings and be those gross thoughts
yet you understand me when I explain my heart to you...
How more difficult can it be to take on yours?
What heavier cargo could you hold other then my poetry?
What childish flirtation could bring me to letting go of this fire.

The sea is also a fat woman, beautiful as well as the new moon.
Dec 11
poem 0 comments challenge: Tomorrow

Pleas For a Tired World

Tomorrow I hope that hate does not grip the world in it's hard fingers.
Tomorrow I hope is much better then today but didn't I wish that
yesterday and the day before that and even before that...
Tomorrow I hope will not eat truth and put lies on it's thrown.
Tomorrow I hope will be more like shout then whisper because no one can hear our screams.
Tomorrow I hope will not tell us that things will get better because things should be better already,
Tomorrow I hope I will need not do anything because nothing need being done.
Tomorrow I hope can finally rest because at last everyone is tired of war.
Tomorrow I hope I will not have to hope for a better tomorrow...
Dec 08

Short story chapter 3

Dec 08

oldest sibling

So yet again I'm stuck washing the dishes while the other two are fighting over who has the most candy... and trailing after them all day long picking up the chaos they leave in their wake and stuffing it back into something other people had to deal with... and cleaning up the table while those two call me "mom" and then laugh when they see I'm not "mom" and still laugh even when they see I'm not sharing in their amusement... and there they are fighting over who is the "contributing to climate change while I take out the compost... and the recycling. So yet again I'm wearing headphones while I do my homework because if I don't I'll have to listen to screaming children... and doing the laundry while the other kids jump into the piles I had just neatly folded while playing "cowboys"... and helping mom carry all the groceries while the other children whine about how hungry they are. Being the forgotten, ever helping, selfless oldest child is hard...
Dec 04

a collection of words spat out

some          times
     I                          am
well   maybe   not
                          can't say

beautiful      flowers
     wither       and
    stroke                 the
  of        bright

 I      don't      like
well         maybe   not
   answer           forgiven

taken back
back      into    some    thing
other   people   ask

humanity       is
   well   maybe   not
          can't say
lesser            ideas
to   the     wind
bringing          need    to
well     maybe             not

shadows      unattached
to      their                frames
roaming   freely
a     world
                they now
Dec 04

Thanksgiving at MY house

Well it was one of THOSE days,
I woke up and realized I hadn't changed my pad since yesterday morning.
I go to the bathroom and see that I've soaked through my pad, underpants and leggings,
(which are, what I might add, white) When I finally untangle myself from the bloody mess,
I see that there's no toilet paper left. I mean who does that? then I realized it's MY bathroom.
I, embarrassed, call for mom to bring another roll, when she does,
I'm not joking, she leaves the door open on her way out,
where anyone in the house can see my naked-from-the-waist-down body.
I wrap a towel around my legs and sprint for my room, I change and go to see what I can eat for breakfast,
I soon see that it's what my parent's call "shopping day" which translates in kidspeech to "there's no food left".
I scrounge up some cereal that's been in the cupboard for 3 months and eat it without milk.
Dec 01
poem 1 comment challenge: CJP-Law

Creature In The Snow

Tears are nothing like blood.
They may be children of the sea
but they do not run in rivers,
not all rivers lead to the sea.
They both gush from skulls,
fill the city streets with admission.
There is no tide for tears,
most of the time at least.

Something tugs at my dress hem, I bend down to look closer, it looks back at me.
I call it my future because that is what it asked me to call it. I want to take it home...
feed it my ingenuity, tuck it in a bedtime and whisper stories of how we will, together,
defeat hate and overcome injustice. I want to. A large figure's shadow falls onto it,
covering it in a fine layer of darkness.
It steps on the creature
and walks away.
I hear every bone that held it's body up snap as easy as them snapping their fingers.
It's blood trickles a little... but I know it will never reach that salty sea,
Nov 29

Short story (chapter two)