Poetry

The clock is broken

It stopped ticking a long time ago

stopped counting how much time has passed.

It's an old grandfather clock, oak wood, and sculpted to perfection

carefully crafted by hands

that belonged to men

You’re pretty like sunshine and roses

But also like orchids in moonlight

Like water reflecting the sky

Like tired nights when the wind heaves a sigh

There are 

two roads

under the weight 

of war:

one paved in iron 

and blood,

brutality met 

leaves let go

each one a page ripped out of summer's book

each one a memory that hasn't been remembered since 1969

each one a fragment of what was 

why care? they say.

Astronomy room.
post storm; window open; wet. 
cooling Earth soaked air.

Can I-

intrude into your fantasy?

Can I tell you a shocking truth?

Can I become everything you hate

so that I can love myself?

Can I dream of a job with impactful meaning

i’m aware of what

feels like an

unbreakable addiction,

but i try

and i try

and i try

as i ironically agree

with every instagram reel

saying phones

are ruining this world

the leaves will start falling soon

and the ground will crunch under my feet

and i'll stop and stare 

forget where i am going 

pull out my phone and snap 

a million photos of the trees

When rain bounces off the windshield 

In patterns, 

Drumming to the sky’s heartbeat 

In soft thrums, 

I begin to think and 

am I free

will I ever be

is the meaning in the trees

will they ever be pleased 

as I fall to my knees

does someone hear my screams

when I join everyone leaves

I wish I could just breath

Sea breeze blows my hair

The waves crash onto the beach

Maine ocean in fall

she came up behind me one day & tapped me on the shoulder

i spun on my heel, unsteady, a dumb american consistently

ashamed of my language

she pointed at my face and drew a heart in the air with her thumbs