Poetry

I like to think I smile more when autumn comes

I caught myself grinning out the window

Trees back home don’t look like that, so full

A tree skirt has a Christmas connotation

But the middle of October brings its own

I am so creative

So flowing

Expressive

And yet so literal

Precise

Logical

I am a walking 80's cliche

A walking contradiction

I stare at the blank, grey wall.

A metaphor on the tip of my tongue

"Shoot, writer's block."

I sit in front of this screen, fingers resting on the keyboard.

Again and again, I think I've run out of words.

The season changed and so did you

Growing cold and flicking me away

As if I was just a fly that flew 

Too close to your nose

And as golden leaves fall to the ground, 

Sometimes I feel like I did too

I remember back in those days

When kids were friends just because they wanted to be

Before trivial things designed social boundaries

Body nested in the damp grass, 
the sky gazes over my skin. 
Feet pulled by the still stars 
while the earth keeps racing. 

Create

writing

medium or genre

poetry

body

this is my routine;

come home from school

open to this the first chance I get

write.

Write 

write 

write 

I'm

confused

did I do it

what happened?

You were melancholy earlier

what is going on

what did I miss

was it me?

You talk in subtle hints

but what are you hinting at?

The world is muted

muffled

as the snow sprinkles your hair

lice,

you remember a friend calling it once in 5th grade

you got mad at him for that.

Who are we? 

Are we men 

in offices, yes that would still be 

us. 

But, I think we are also the boy who got a flag from the lady in the parade and waves it because he loves his country

I have people who will hold me 

Love me

Splash me in sparkles and giggles and emails

And I have people who will hurt me

Snark

Sarcasm

Never really laughing

Never really there