Poetry

the frost on the window

spreads like wings on a bird

my hand cools

as the warmth melts the fog away

the rare gift of marks

if anything

marks aren't made enough

at least not for good

i draw

Duet

starting together ending together

weaving around each other's sound

adapting tuning

instinctively fitting into the tone

the way we want to do this

the contrast

played so perfectly

My favorite type of writing

is when I'm in the zone

I'm typing

no hesitations

just plugging in all of my honest thoughts and opinions into my somewhat-anonymous profile

spinning deeper and deeper into my spirals

The agony of the human race

simple creatures

snickering at my poetry 

banging their fists against their heads

stalling work

reading mushy parts of books they pretend not to enjoy

saying stupid things

In my mind

"Thanksgiving" has warped definition

twisted and mushed and changed by lots of different people

it used to be a holiday of celebration;

now it's harsh and revealed and true

it's cruel and violent

I never wanted him to let me go… I just wanted the old him. But I guess letting me go was the best option for him. Still, it hurts to think that those times are now just memories.

Your ego brightens my day

like a tumor on an x-ray.

Please dim it for the greater good

since you have not even earned

it's value.

You bought it out of your father's wallet.

Does he know that?

Anticipatory joy – the feeling of knowing good is coming.

i know it isn’t for sure yet–but i can almost feel it

the way the snow whispers down my back 

She cares

It’s like she felt the pain

In my heart

And understood it

All at once

She listens as

The words fall out of my mouth

Living in today’s world is like living as an addict of constant entertainment.

I find myself searching “screen-free activities”

Whispers of warmth drifting through the air,

The security of being understood,

Such a great feeling,

If only it weren’t so fleeting.

Gentle laughs and puppy kisses,

Light squeezes of a hand,

Fall

is yawns and

a general

slowing-down of time.

The world is dipped in molasses

and comes out 

stickier

but sweeter than ever before.

And we,

in the world,