Poetry

Look upon the king

Sitting high above

The cardboard throne painted gold

With the lies of hate

Held up by the bodies of those killed to make it

I bring my nose close to 

the Lilac

as I smell it's like I'm smelling a universe of

peaceful trickling streams,

birds softly singing,

The thrum,

The pulse,

The ever-increasing

All-consuming

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Counting down

The end.

The

End.

We all know it.

To be a teen

Is to lose your sense of self

Completely.

What is right?

What is wrong?

What is cool?

Why do some feel so drawn to popularity

While others are repulsed by it?

I don’t love school.

I don’t hate it all the time

but I hate it enough to say

I don’t like it.

I like one class

and goofing off during study hall

I've been to the desert 
Following something 
I cannot blame

See the ghosts by the water 
The horses in the rain 
The man lying by the river 
Hearing god call his name

Why?

 Why are we scared?

 Why is fear overwhelming our delicate bodies?

 Why are we letting it?

 Why can’t we instead of being scared 

fight for others 

I slip through the house

tiptoeing through the hallways that loom over my sensitive ears

I enter the kitchen

where a pitcher of lemonade is sitting on the counter.

Yes.

I'm in love with the way you walk,

The way you talk.

I'm in love with the way you sing 

If you texted me,

I'd light up.

Just because of the little ping.

It never happened

that everything was beautiful and nothing hurt

but if it did it would have been

lying in the grass

the kind that surrounds you like the ocean

and flows like a river

The beginners of the beat,

Just learning the ropes,

Figuring out their instruments -

They come in, 

Wide-eyed,

And regard the older kids

With awe.

I love to be looked at this way

I write a lot of stuff

About my friends.

I write a lot of stuff 

About anything,

Everything,

Under the sun I could

Possibly dream up or

Imagine.

But you?

Somehow