Poetry

In darkest nights upon twisted spires, 

Gather, thou devils, saints’ dark desires.

Now hearken here to those cawing knaves,

As this very tale from the grave reclaims.

When love comes knocking at your door,
you better run to answer it.
If you aren't fast enough,
it will move on to the next house.

As the sunrise grows on the ocean shore

I reflect on what I'm thankful for

I may be thankful for my mom or dad

These are things for I am glad

To be thankful is to give a gift

I sit upon this wooden bench, so still

The Autumn air is crisp and chill.

The Leaves drift down in hues of flames,

A fleeting dance, no two the same.

People have rights

And I am a person

To say my requests

Is my burden

I see people complaining

Hurting and shaming

I think we should be better

Since it's now sweater-weather

I am but a Nation of creation under shared, 

My words and actions treat me as though I am unprepared. 

I know these shoes are bigger than could ever meet my feet, 

Every day, I sit and stare

at you talking about what others consider nonsense. 

I'd call you a wordsmith,

Staged-like words flowing off the tip of your tongue. 

I hunch in the corner of the group,

I came to sit by you everyday,

Listening to your laugh,

Imagining what it'd be like if we were friends,

Knowing you don't feel the same. 

I have never wanted

Something more than I do now

The problem is

I don't know what

I don't know what

I long for

What I reach for

It's like a dream

Blurry and unrecognizable

I want this thing

There you go again:

Reciting beautiful words 

that no one cares about.

My broken mouth waits impatiently;

Your swift fingers sewed it shut 

Now I am a teen

Thirteen years old

Childhood has been left behind

My story has been told

I don't have too much time left

I think about it every night

So let me share my stories

I’d like to garden

My own heart,

To pull the weeds of sadness

And hate

From the foundation

I sprout from,

To plant seeds of hope