Writing

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