Poetry

Poems are birds in the kingdoms of languages

Always flying towards each other and paradise

***

Together, perhaps

We hear the sound of the universe

***

The sunlight comes in

i had a dream
last night that
we were

running 

the alarm had rung, the
sky had darkened (or maybe it was still pale blue),
and people were 

yelling

I yelled at my father.

they                       went                           farther

than everything 

we know of

I had a dream

I was at the high school

I couldn't carpool with a buddy

we were late

it was dark outside

I didn't know anyone there

I didn't know my schedule

I didn't know what was happening

if i ever own an orange car i will be delighted in being other people's

delight; playing the rainbow car game

on long drives without ever making it past red

is never a good idea.

My mom doesn’t hold my hand on the airplane anymore.

Not during taxi, takeoff, turbulence or touchdown.

some people say that every time you make a choice, an alternate dimension is created where you made a different one

this may or may not be true in the real world, we might never know

it's certainly true in my mind

But at least I

still see the everlasting stars

sparkling in my eyes and

the constellations that connect them

to me.

I learned early how to take up less space,
walking on the balls of my feet
so the floorboards wouldn't groan.

I thought love was a transaction—
a prize for the cleanest room
or the highest mark.

Writers are those who spin tales from nothing. 

Writers are those who build worlds upon what they came up with. 

Writers are those who dig deep into others—what they think or do. 

The only place she could truly feel comfort and peace was alone. 

Down in her room, replaying old records, that her family would kill her if they heard one more time.