Poetry

Spotted, spoiled-milk; 

Look beyond these grimy walls

And see the horse tail

Brush into existence fierce vermillion stripes,

Goldenrod veins clambering upwards…

Houses that are green are one step ahead

From the ivy that will destroy it someday

I think that ivy is one of my most favorite things about life

Six apples in front of my eyes

Waiting for their greater purpose

Each painted a deep, glossy red, reminding me of the perfume that sits on my desk

The world is alive, screaming and whispering with color.

Color is subtle, averting appreciation.

Color is outright, a shout against the night.

 Color is everywhere, within us, beside us,

I want to write,

To let my words pour from my fingertips,

To allow my imagination to run free,

To gift my ideas to others,

To simply put pen to paper.

After all this

The shame

The guilt 

The tear between friends

The loss of sleep

The burning of bridges

I still love you

If your sailing

And you feel like your failing,

You might want to think about bailing.

For sailing 

With uncertainty 

Is most certainly, 

You squish,

You squiggle.

What a fine dish,

The way you wriggle.

Your flavor

Your sweetness,

Should be savored.

Dear Mom,

I forgot to buy you something again. I guess I couldn't find anything that expressed my gratitude enough, so I've decided to write you something until I have time to buy you that wine you like. 

Dear friend,

your presence in the present moment is the best present I could ask for

ironically, speaking of presents, it seems I've forgotten yours

so I'll hope praise and prose will work until I can buy you candy

The gum sends down a burn to my throat,

I argue with myself if I love it or not.

Its spice is grown from lifeless pleasure,

and distaste has become a full dinner.

Is the rush to my head still worth it?

Looming over your shoulders

Each stack higher than its former

Every thought and every scrap

Of an idea too scared to ponder

Every moment that hurt

Each minute that lingered longer