Poetry

Music lives here.

I can feel the rain unleashing behind my eyes

thunderstorms building beneath the keys

lightning strikes with each hit of the timpani.

Music lives here.

I don’t remember 

Was it real life or a dream?

Looked back; I was gone

Inseparable.

There was this girl; she and I had been friends since diapers. Teachers would ask where the other was when one wasn’t there. We were often mistaken for twins, our family sharing such a close bond. 

Leaves brush my neck.

Winter breathes and stirs my legs.

I taste the pebbles on my tongue,

blades of grass coat my lungs.

The gravel strains my curves.

I don’t have much to give

But please experience my tides

My entire being clings onto you tonight

As we dance under this midnight

Your gut curdles.

Your skull stays stiff.

Your flesh shakes,

your feet are wet.

The world can’t fit

inside your shell.

Your skin splits —

False memories might betray me but,

i think i used to look up this street, and dream,

dream about becoming one with the pavement

where the road met the sunlight

I could almost taste the harshness,

A secret 

A choice 

Back then, we were just so 

Oblivious and so insensible 

To the clear misunderstanding 

right in front of our faces 

October 17th, 2025. 3:35 pm 

I go to the woodshop 

Grab some cardboard 

Walk over to the weeping willows 

Find a large stick and 

Break off the uneven twigs 

Composed on a run

With autopilot turned on

And an old love song
 

Quick little poems

With no start, nor a clear end

Grown just in my head
 

In a cozy nook

Not unwritten, but unsaid

Hey, Mr. P,

I saw a paper airplane 
and remembered you.
It's been too long — 
my paper world rips;
these hands are painted with cuts.

When I hear the words cross-country

I hear tired laughter

The kind when you know you didn’t get enough sleep.

Bus rides early in the morning, sliding under the seats,