Poetry

my name? what is my name?

death and malice behold thee, what pains of being are inflicted upon thee, those creatures in the water and the hills continue to watch thee, the wind in thine ears whistle around thee, seven eyes on a goat’s head stare towards thee, the

Redwoods standing tall and strong.

sycamores with mushroom-like foliage.

Maple with their sap soon to be syrup.

Willows weeping in the new dawn light.

Cardinals singing on the branches of a oak tree 

I should be nice to look at

Presentable

Effortless 

It shouldn’t look 

Like I spend hours in the morning

Getting ready

Because that’s conceited

And no one likes a girl

I wish for a day where my dreams do not change for each day of the week.

But perhaps I do not.

Because some days I wish for a future where I am always busy, in a city that sleeps even less than I do.

Based on the poem "This is just to say" by William Carlos Williams. 

I have drunk 

the tea 

that was on 

the counter 

and which

Her name was Violet, 

but she always wore yellow. 

I spied her from across the room as I hesitated in the sun-framed doorway, and she was beautiful. 

I’m put in a box

Here I’ll stay, as from the edge

I was pushed away

I’m angry, I’m furious, I’ll try to let it out by complaining,

by venting, by ranting, maybe to one, two, or even three people.

I sit in the corner, listening to the conversation,

started like it was just breathing to them,

I want that, but my heart doesn’t yearn as much,

or maybe it yearns infinitely more.

I sit in the corner, cradling a book, 

or laptop, or phone, or nothing at all,

I sit in the corner listening to the hum of chatter,

I focus on different voices,

I don’t care,

I’m failing all my classes, my life

I have tasks to do,

two of them, three, four, I’m buried

The weight is crushing me,