Poetry

The black and white tapestry on my ceiling

paints a subtle reflection

of the personality of my bedroom,

holding the insufferable weight

of millions and millions of stars,

some bright, some dull,

Who is my hero?

My Mom?

My Dad?

That doesn't sound right 

Maybe a Mobad.

But wait-

What has he done for me?

Except cause pain and misery.

My hero is a woman and girl,

The spark started small

In a 17 year old student,

who made friends with the artist. 

She let it grow in her heart,

and then passed it on

by showing kindness to the outsider

Feeling my soft shoes 

Impacting the ground

My calves and my lungs,

Burning from effort 

But it feels so good

Because even though 

& it was the tensest last period class I've ever been in. Well, for me, at least,

and maybe only for me - when the announcement came on to secure

the school, no going outside, continue as normal,

Genesis,

Happy birthday

You would have been three a few days ago

(or, you did turn three then, wherever you are)

I used to know you

every little kink in your brain

how your eyes would flash when you were upset

and your glasses reflected your anger

you were an open book to me

and I can still read it - here's the hard part

Wanna know my truth?

No you don't

The world's a hard place but right now it feels so much harder

there's people actually hurting but I'm hurting too

fake hurting

fake fake fake

There's this random office building across the Cinemark downtown.
Sometimes, when I go there,
I'll watch a dumb movie at the theater,
Then tiptoe past glass windows of desk workers.

after i die,

i like to think

that someone will plant

a tree over my body.

couples will carve their

"everlasting" love

Oh science class

Sitting in our schoolish chairs

Trying to write a poem 

A poetic poem

And R. says

Right now

you just want to play in the snow

but your snow fort melted

your tunnel is gone

your snowsuit is caked with mud

the world is gray and dreary

and here comes springtime with the illusion of warmth