Freaking books my skin is my cover Don’t judge me by it You peruse the shelves—stop Hers is golden
sit down my dears and I will tell a story wondrous—true. of life and love and all the things
it’s sad how well, our eyes don’t meet unless I want them to. I’ll always look for your——
You are a storm A fire A shatter in the dark Ripples on the surface Crack
nothing I have to say matters unle… Times New Roman. 12 point spaced and doubled pages’… all I gotta show em. Forget the creativity Forget the…
such a vicious cycle monster mashing in my face sleep deprived and bleary eyed my mind knows not the taste of understanding calculus
In the simililies and metaphlowers… a shred of truth grows up preened by the editor’s shears bouqueted for your enjoyment.
If I were a rose to rest beside y… the thorns that built us up. I want to be the one that guides y… I want our lives to touch. Young in the summer, younger in th…
Oh Mrs. Mary Kay— Mary May! Hey! Your boy’s not coming here this da… No, he’s farming hay—
I drag a metaphor too far into the dirt to pick up sticks and worms around the little trees little trees
I guess it was you all along. Why did I have to see it so late? No wonder I have glasses. Get some for my heart, too Preferably with bifocals.
Light surrounds the tunnel Of every future yet Darkness fossilizes What I would soon forget. I look into the future
I see our names on checks in black… an address peers below a simple home of warmth and light that everyone would know. I wonder—
Light surrounds the tunnel Of every future yet. Darkness fossilizes What I would soon forget. A child I would dip my hands
Poetry is a fight. We slam the words with our fisted… shouting the counterrevolutionary,… to hook your faces into shock Go to places where time no longer…
