Poetry

People brush past me

Clouds shift across the sky

The sun inches down

The sky turns warm

I hear people

Yelling,

Laughing,

we're so close. 

I am wrapped in the touch of another 

suspended in a state of contentment

and soft safety. 

the lights in my room are warm

and in the mirror 

Walk up to the table

Tell them my name

They look at me

They look at my opponent

"Red" they tell me

Walk to the center of the mat

Put on the red anklet

Turn to my coach

"Lets get a win" he says

He is heartless, they say.

But why did he give the little girl

A piece of his meager bread?

He is calculating, they say.

But why does he not take advantage 

What would it be like

to see the rainbow?

To stand beneath it,

soak in the colorful

mistakes it bleeds.

What would it be like,

to have someone else

i blink at the screen.
after all the prompts ive ever read, 
this may be the most outrageous.

i am said to be a writer.
it is true that i think too much
and write too little

I came from mountains.
From the memory of تبدیل,
Of change,
Regurgitated from the depths of what may have been.

and when the sun lingers on the snow

and the moon instates itself over the dark horizon;

when the trees reach, grasping; when the wind curls in on itself, pleading 

Once upon a lonely time

The moon fell in love with the sun

And so you see they were lovers

Once when they were young

But then they grew apart, you see

I just want to do something significant.  I

want to write something that matters, something

that makes a change for the good, but

I also want to just be me: I want to dream

I've gotten pretty good

At pretending

Some nights

I fall asleep

And wake up with 

Red puffy eyes

But I go to school

With a smile on my face

And hope no one notices

That a bit of light

I’m tired of being told

Not all men

There's still some them

That’s enough of them

I’ve had a enough of them

If a dog bites you