Popcorn

My city, my city

It takes many forms

In people and plants

Vines and beggars

Angry men and sour women

The worst of the best people 

And the best of the worst

Poets and great minds

the good girls club

where the happy girls cry

and the strait A students have some down time

where the perfect act falls

and the sad girl comes in

for a moment or two 

Steam rises from the chimney
with a G-rated "come hither"
into the cerulean blue sky.

You feel drawn towards it
like a moth to a porch light
on a warm June evening.
"Come hither."

I have a long page on the notes app dedicated to my Incomplete poems

And Google Docs full of recent Incomplete stories

Old notebooks filled with Incomplete songs

And yet older stories from my childhood

The gentle sway of trees in the wind, golden locks of hair blowing in the breeze

Syncing with the cattails in the shallows

This is what peace is.

her hands are chapped and raw from anxiously 

peeling away her skin

so she goes through every fidget she can find

and wears them down until they break.

her lips and nose are red and cracked