Writing

She wakes in the early morning

And stares at the wall across from her 

A sense of fear overtakes her

Beginning in the pit of her stomach

And spreading to each limb

Coating her in feeling 

I can almost feel the warm Florida sand under my feet from last summer. The sweet sea air tickling our noses. My friends and I rushing to the ocean every morning, swimming for hours and talking over lunch.

There are some in this world who long to be gargoyles

grotesques and Gorgons with rough, jagged claws

hides thick and tough as stone

silently soaring through dark clouds

When someone is sick, we say they're on Death's doorstep.

But aren't we always?

People always act like we're so far away from death.

But really we're not.

as im writing poems i fall in love with them

but as soon as i stop it’s all gone

and i feel like im copying someones work

some idea

i have a zombie face

some don’t understand what that is

i consider that it means that my neutral face is grumpy

that i am perpetually angry or upset