Poetry

  • To The Haters

    Sunflowers have secrets

    Roses riot

    We all have spirits 

    We won't be quiet

     

    Lilies lie

    Poinsettias have power

    Flowers die

    We have the strength of a new and blooming flower

     

  • A Philosophy on Glitter

    What you think is a great rock

    over your head is

    actually a great ball of glitter;

    when you think you're about to be crushed

    by a massive rock, and

    it has become too heavy to hold, the

    ball will pop, and

  • Me

    Who am I?

    I don’t even know anymore.

    I’ve shed the person I once was in favor of a new one.

    Yet, I’m still that person.

    I’m both at once and neither.

    So who am I?

  • that's amore

    "when the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie"

     

    dean martin's voice booms throughout the house

    as I lay on the living room couch

    basking in heat from the wood-stove

    to the tune of an over saturated

  • Ours

    There are vintage looking posters in the windows

    And they’re probably not old

    But I’d almost believe you

    If you said they were.


    They’re next to organic candles

    From the raspberry farm down the road.

  • Walk into a Book

    Imagine if

    Every book came with a key

    A key that opened a door

    Into the book

    Into the worlds

    That are your happy place

    Escape from reality

    Taken to a new level

    The joy found in between the pages

  • I'm not a poet

    I'm not a painter, 
    but if I were, you'd be my muse. 
    I'm not a sculptor, 
    but if I were, I'd only sculpt you. 
    If I were a singer, I would never run out of songs, 

  • The Brave

    I am four

    and a self-proclaimed 

    hero of bravery.

     

    The plane whirs in my ears,

    loud and incessant and monstrous,

    but I sit as soundly as I can.

    Solemn and stoic,

  • Writer's Pledge

    As an author I now pledge my allegiance to a free space, to not judge others for their fascinations.  

    I wish to allow others to dream and bleed mine out on paper; A dream is no longer a dream with me, it’s a story.

  • Can We Be Friends?

    Why don't we become Friends?

    We can carry one another through storms,

    and catch each other when we fall,

    The only thing is:

    I'm weak

    and no matter how much I want to lift you up

    I don't think I can

  • Colors I hear

    Aimee Carty. 

    She's my favorite artist.

    Her name is a swirl of blue and pink in my mind,

    but her music-

    oh, her music is such a beautiful blend of all the colors you can name.