Poetry

There’s a quiet beauty 
in the things you know won’t last,  
moments already fading  
even while you’re inside them. 

She will never stop moving
a sailboat restless at the mercy of great winds,
forever pulled by currents
no harbor can persuade to stay.

Dear Mr. Shabazz— 

I knew you were going to be my hero 
The moment my APUSH teacher scoffed at you 
And dismissed you as "violent." 

That's how I knew you were important. 

here i am,

foolishly trying to describe

the feeling of sitting up

high in an oak

and writing poetry.

here i am,

watching the sunset

above long green grass

and typing into an ugly

I am a poet. I take the words and I turn them on their heads until the juice runs out. It is red and sweet, like strawberries. I sit cross-legged on lilypads, watching meaning watercolor itself onto the pond. I rust like clockwork in the rain.

I'm sorry—

Sorry that I keep getting stuck in that well;

Sorry for always relying on your rope;

Sorry for putting all my guts on display;

Sorry for influencing you to decide like me;

I don’t know

If there is one thing

I can thank

For getting me through life

I can thank all the people who

Stood beside me

Once upon a time,

A woman won a lottery.

But she did not keep

The tens of thousands of dollars.

Where did they go, then? 

1)

I think that when he looks at pianos, 

The keys are stained and worn in 

With grooves and dents,

In the shapes of his fingerprints,

Trapped in a cult

like father, like son.

Bowing down to prejudice,

is this really what won?

The day after the election

all my eyes could pour

were endless tears,

crying hope for no war.

a rock sat atop a ledge

on the side of the road,

its home.

sometimes people would

kick it around

on their daily runs

to who knows where,

a frivolous action according to

the little rock.

Pledge your life to liberty and justice,

raise your hand and take an oath to serve and protect,

who are you protecting though?

I watch the news and see agents hurting the innocent,

children,