“I’m good at poetry, I just don’t like it very much.

It’s one of those things where if you do it enough for school, you get just as good as someone who likes it.”

I walked home the long way because I knew the sky would not be angry at me.

The moon knew what it felt like to be so tired you couldn’t even think

Of going to bed.

On Sunday night, you can find me empty in my full room.

Head cocked, half leaning on the arm of my chair,

Listening to the mechanical birdsong of my alarm clock.