Poetry

There's an oversized panda bear sitting on my bed right now.

Normally I don't even think about it.

Why would I?

But right now I am.

And it made me think

can it see me?

does it think about me?

It's a band piece

weird, I know

it's from last year

and we only played it in concert once

but it means a lot to me

it reminds me of a lot.

Of Webtoons and authors and demented circuses

Far too often the piles cascade too high

I can't see the top of who I am

even though I chose each object,

each emotion,

and each action.

I can't understand the tip of the iceberg though

emptiness is sort of strange, isn't it?

when you've got

an empty piggybank

or

an empty backpack

it isn't much,

it's nothing really.

but to feel empty,

to feel hollow and frankly

The mirror

It speaks now.

Always talking, 

exclaiming, a

constant reminder of the things

that were.

Its image, changing,

sends me back.

This is inspired by and dedicated to Ilia Malinin, who found the possible in impossible, carrying himself with his dreams

True wisdom comes from knowing we

know

nothing.

It wasn't one moment

That made me fall in love

With snowboarding

I didn't stand at the top of the mountain

As the wind whipped my hair

And decided I loved to snowboard

It wasn't the moment when

I don't know why

but something in me loves

to dance just out of death's reach

to swerve between its fingers,

there, but impossible to grasp

letting an inch decide my next breath

it makes me feel

The brick blockade stands tall,

My love is severed by this wall,

My heart broken into two—

The only remedy is a kiss from you.

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Wait.

What?

How did that go up?

Logically

How

do others see me?

Do they see a girl in gray cargo pants and light blue thermal quarter zip?

Do they see a friend who loves them despite her crankiness?

Do they see a quiet awkward girl who prefers books to people?

I used to spin golden thread

thin and pure as warm sunlight

lighter than feathers

worth more than gold

Now it's murky and brown

chunky and stringy as grassy mud

heavier than sorrow