Writing

Is it still America?

The same freedom and liberty our founders fought for,

Now being stripped away by the murderers of our government?

Our Constitution, now no more than ink on paper;

Oh, but they’ll laugh at my blissfulness,

As if it’d affect them more than an ant would a herd.

Oh, to feel felonious for such innocence,

Caused by others—wasting their arrow on a valiant bird.

Dear sun,

Dear winds,

Dear world,

If you hear my plea, I ask of your help.

I’m losing my grip,

I’m falling,

I scream at the top of my lungs, overcome with annoyance. I lift a flipper, and shove my brother splash into the icy water. Serves him right. That greedy guy would do anything for the last silverfish.

There is so much poetry about oranges

And it makes sense

Because they are perfect for sharing

Because the act of peeling an orange

Some things are just instinct

like when I just ran to you

as soon as I saw you

and hugged you for -

oh yeah -

the first time

very very platonic of course

you're my big brother.