Poetry

Every night I dream of a door that would take me back to my past...

A door that would lead me to the old me, the me I used to be...

The dark winter months

How much longer will it take

For spring’s warm sunshine?

Waves crash on the shore

Roaring up with a large splash

Shoot all the bullets your cold visions desire,

shoot your anger away

to reel in the reputation you'll live with

until you die.

She wakes in the early morning

And stares at the wall across from her 

A sense of fear overtakes her

Beginning in the pit of her stomach

And spreading to each limb

Coating her in feeling 

There are some in this world who long to be gargoyles

grotesques and Gorgons with rough, jagged claws

hides thick and tough as stone

silently soaring through dark clouds

When someone is sick, we say they're on Death's doorstep.

But aren't we always?

People always act like we're so far away from death.

But really we're not.

as im writing poems i fall in love with them

but as soon as i stop it’s all gone

and i feel like im copying someones work

some idea

i have a zombie face

some don’t understand what that is

i consider that it means that my neutral face is grumpy

that i am perpetually angry or upset

First step:

Come up with an idea

something you spiral

circulate around

carve your name and your life into a treble clef

what inspires you?

Second step:

Google note patterns

you are every eyebrow raise

every smile

frown 

and concealed smirk 

you can't help but show 

on your canvas of a face

when observing you

Dear, Venezuela and Greenland,

A couple months ago I wrote

A poem apologizing to Canada,

And saying that they DO NOT

Belong to us.

I’m deeply angered,

Saddened,

And heartbroken

I was never allowed in the basement, 

there was always a lock on the door,

and my parents avoided telling me why.

Great parenting strategy, 

not even making up a lie for me,