Month: April 2022

Why must you stare?
Your eyes always scare
You judge my every move
Like I have nothing to prove

I can’t even write
Without facing your might
My clothes aren’t enough
For you’re too rough

When I’m feeling down
I hide my frown
For you’ll think I’m weak
And won’t hesitate to speak

I can not live
Without something to give
And I can not be
With all my glee

Why must you judge,
Do you hold a grudge?
Is it something did?
I am just one kid

No, I know why
But it makes me cry
You’ll always be there
Always in your glare

For you live in my mind
Cause no one was kind
And you won’t leave
So I guess I’ll grieve.

Love is like soft flowers
warming your heart and soul
no feeling overpowers
when they leave it’s like a hole
questioning your every movement
wondering what you did
ignoring your broken heart for amusement
bottling it up with a lid

Especially when it’s your own mother
betrayal and confusion
the one who’s supposed to love you like no other
her pretending as if it’s not an illusion
nothing but heart break left
left with only abandonment issues
stealing hope from your little girl like a theft
crying with only the support of a box of tissues

leaving her own daughter for years
thinking it was her fault all along
drowning in her own tears
when she was never in the wrong
still wearing hello kitty PJ’s
hugging her teddy bear
years later in her bed she lays
trust issues leaving her in despair

His bright pink tongue sparkling in the sun
His little black nose glimmering in the light
Shadows all around but where he is
His fur shining
His dark brown eyes shimmering
With little sparks of sunlight

His small body just sitting there
With rays of sunlight beaming onto him.

Paws, like velvet they are
Fur, feathery and soft
Eyes that are diamond

Grass parting, fireflies shining like diamond
In our backyard you are,
Running to give me a kiss, gentle and soft

Your hugs are always soft
Wouldn’t trade you for a million diamonds
My dog you are

You make me soft, better than gold and diamonds, my dog you are

Fast and high
slow and low
on the beach,
or at home.
you will find it anywhere,
but if you chase it.
You’ll never find it.

The cold breeze of peace
An aurora as bright as the sun
The glimmering of the lake

How the birds chirp on the lake
And the sleepy sun
Wakes up in peace

But it was all a dream, the sun
Blazing and the chemicals burning the lake
Pollution. Loss of peace.

Find peace. Salvage our sun. Love our lake.

To write or not to write tis the questioning of reality
the faults of the universe
plains of existence
home of words only known to gibberish
tis our mood, our feelings
tis our insides, our free time
What do we do with this free time
Well I personally use it on poetry for I am a poet as well as a writer
poetry is our rhythm, writing is the glue that holds us together
Poetry breaks that bond, freeing our minds
it bursts through like a bull to a wall
That’s why we write
The feeling of being free feels like water in a flowing stream
We cherish these moments to write and be free even though we have an abundance of them
They still are what we love and how we want to spend time on
Writing, even though this is a school class, is freer than learning
Poetry is the medicine to my illness, the solution to my problems
Poetry opens my mind
it makes me relaxed and relieved Once you find what you love, follow that passion
For me, it’s writing and poetry,
for you, it could be engineering being a nurse or vet or being part of a non-profit
As long as you’re happy, do that
Don’t mind if you’re made fun of For those people only envy your braveness and your courage to follow your dreams
All writers/poets love what we do “tis the way we write ”

I live in a castle made of wide open space and more mysteries to uncover by the day but it’s the fun ones, not the scary ones and there is light but not to much and it is cold when it should be and warm when it should be but never too much just the right amount of both and all the rooms are just ever so slightly off and as i sit her it disintegrates and there is no more wide open space and there are no more mysteries that are fun but not scary and it is no longer cold when it should be and warm when it should be and there is no more never too much of both and there is no more light but not to much and there is no more all the rooms that are just slightly off there is just nothing and it’s ok that way too.

I look to you, poem, that I am writing
To be miraculous
To be powerful
To be award-worthy
To be a deep, interesting, true-self-finding experience
To be a literary masterpiece
To be something that blows the reader’s mind
To be something that surpasses expectations by thousands of miles
To be something that even the toughest of folks break down into sobbing puddles
To be fun to write
To not make me want to bang my head against the table wishing from the bottom of my heart that I could write something else
To be something that I’m at least a little bit happy with