Writing

“You don’t like who you are?

You don’t have to be her anymore”

Her brown eyes

wide

and the sparkle went out

And ships sailed

To and from the port and

Her brown eyes were

red

I am reminded suddenly of that time in like 2015 or something when the "President" said,
"I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn't lose any voters."
I think he knew what he was talking about.

People have hurt me before,
A sting that fades with the years,
A bruise that eventually clears,
The closing of one heavy door.

Flowers of songs are arranged in bouquets in my brain.

Not by genre 

or artist

But by which dance from my life they transport me back to.

The daisies,

Mom. 
There's this girl I've been avoiding. 

I've known her for a long time, 
And we were close some time ago. 
But at some point we just grew apart. 

what do you do when you cross the sea without me? 

on this warm night, I stand outside in the blue dark. 

I wear a bathrobe over my pajamas 

and old crocs that are faded purple