Writing

Do you ever grieve something

that isn't even over yet?

It's like you know

that's it's going to be gone anyway,

that you're going to miss it

so much,

To have survived this long 

despite the world’s penchant 

for beautiful dead girls,

Is that not magical in itself?

The heart is an arrow

It demands aim to land true, 

it leaves us

You trap me up

Like you could chain

My beaten heart away.

You build your walls

And sorrow calls

To say that you have changed. 

The prison now

Stands still and dead

No matter how far I run

how loud I scream

how hard I try

I'm never fast enough

never loud enough

never good enough.

Because even if I am,

I'm not.

Two tributes

each to my past

both to my future.

The first is a remembrance of what still lies in my room

A token of childhood

a pile of anthropomorphic animals in outfits

It's been two years

Since I moved here

One year

Since I called it my home

Home is the place

With more dirt roads

Than paved

And the dirt roads

Carry the name

Of your friend's grandfather