Poetry

I sit here, silent, staring up at the sky where the sun seemed to be seconds ago, 

a special kind of calm can be found in the sunset

I think. 

Thinking is not unusual, as thoughts, they never stop

You say we are ‘lazy’, ‘soft’, ‘don’t care’, ‘ungrateful’. You don’t see the hours we spend
Studying late, memorizing formulas, writing essays, solving problems,
Trying to be everything you expect us to be. 

today's air tastes like berries

and overused metaphors. the shadows run

across golden ground, and i look 

at our old stone wall like they would in farmers' days.

a boundary, a gate

the music of circus//it's deafening//but standing in the front//while people scream and sing//is definitely magical//considering that//a thousand songs about it all//are being sung//by the one//the only//one man circus//and right in front of me//a

10:32

i have a cold and i should be asleep.

but i wonder if anyone notices the way that

each stanza in my poems

have to be the exact same number of lines.

10:34

unfinished:

fractured ideas that i try to piece together into a full thought.

all things i've written about before.

him, school, pain, sleep, sunsets.

This morning, I am looking through this window

of the second floor of this lovely little house

and inside I see this person dancing

and breathing a joyed word to the Sun.

Bubu,

You haven’t heard our clacking in a while. 
What have you forgotten?

We remember all those tireless nights: 
swallowed by the game, 
the lively yells that you loved. 

I want to go back to that simpler time,

Where we ran through fields and played in dirt,

When we had an abundance of freedom, a million open moments,

Here's what makes

the music magic:

"Hit a wall".

He means get softer

dramatically

this has always helped me get it.

"Put the beat inside your body".

To minimize foot tapping

is more of a creek,

covered in yellow leaves and rotting branches 

that staunch the flow like a bandage over blood.

The river in the woods

probably used to rush

like its brothers farther north, shrieking

ywp is my 

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