Poetry

She is filled with more beauty than anything else 

She is made in the very image of God 

She is crafted by His hands, formed and fixed to be divine 

She holds flowers and bugs and skies

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

When I didn’t write for weeks

I was asking for help

When I stopped smiling

When I stopped laughing

When happiness became fake

the permanent marker squeaks across the page black sharpie mimic the scream rage & awareness & hands off hands off hands OFF MY BODY you call this democracy?

To commit atrocities 

In the name of love

Such monstrosities 

Causes steps of

A cautioned hush 

The presence of those returned 

Warriors- gentle brush 

Run for your lives 

The night will catch you 

You can run faster. 

 —

Problem with living 

Commitments to the dead

Cannot be escaped

What a fickle thing

The touch of a friend 

To be left- just a fling

Leads thoughts through the bends

Of life, and Death

No matter the love you may feel

No one will escape their last breath 

To define

Rapture

Reverence 

A marble marvel 

She is 

The Muse

Ghost White 

In the Night

which touches her. 
 

Shadows with light 

I am no poet—  

but they write of Lovers,  

the ones who endured,  

the ones who vanished,  

leaving behind only tragedies,  

hello my love

i am far from you

but not for long

yet in this short time apart

youve left me…

hollow

i crave touch 

your touch 

i miss our talks 

our walks

The little kids

Ask for advice.

"What's middle school like? Seventh grade?"

They ask what to do and

Where to go and

What they should prepare for.

I could give them a list

Like my teachers gave me.

Downstairs in the kitchen

Stars are great wheels in a machine sky.

Heaven is above in the metal dome.

You pour yourself a cup of Water.

I'll push my dull heart down

Anytime you need me to

And you'll never hear me

Beg you under my breath 

Not to leave me

You looked at me

Like I'm a horrible 

Burden just now