Poetry

Another word for happiness is Drakes Island

Drakes Island makes me calm

Happy

An escape from reality

Just for the summer

The warm, sandy beach makes me want to stay forever

But I can't

I have to go back home

Waiting through fall, winter, and spring just for summer

Counting down the seconds until I'm there again.

Sitting on the warm sand,

swimming in the cold ocean

Just for it to end again

Every year

A loop:

winter, spring, summer, fall.

Or as I like to call it

My feet slip into the filthy, stinky, caves

Filled with mites and dust

Dirt and grime and sneaky must

It is unfortunate

How my feet require

Such a cushion from the tires

And the other anomalies

That litter the ground

They smell like poop

They’re worn in a loop

One day they will be filled with soup.

Another word for grandmother is trapped.

Trapped stopped singing her lullabies.

Trapped goes to bed at 7 pm without refusal.

Trapped has no memory of a minute before.

Trapped has the bones of a newborn,

brittle and delicate.

Trapped does not know the difference between me and my dad.

Another word for trapped is kidnapped.

Kidnapped are her memories and thoughts

lost in a sea of darkness

never ending

never coming back.

Kidnapped are her words, stuck in an infinite rotation.

Kidnapped is her mind,

wrapped in a trance

a parallel universe.

She is gone,

but her body remains

an empty shell,

as if an evil spirit stole her mind, memories, and personality, but left behind the casing of her body,

unknown to her family,

a stranger.

Grandmother

Where did you go?

So I know that everyone just loves being the main character

Is it either that or am I just being too sure?

Consequences, problems, they all do not care

Only if they saw the truth then would they have such a careless stare?

I’m dying of hunger, oh, please help me

Said the one who is full of jealousy

They could not speak, and they had no eyes

But they had an empty heart and so did the lies

Would you please give me your lungs, I cannot breathe

Your hearts and parts looks fine as well, so please give them to me

Bash your head into a wall, still can’t see from side to side

No wonder there’s so much violent effort in supremacy 

I bet they all just died

I hear the screams, the painful sanity

The wonders of make-believe

Oh, so I believed

But then you came and I started falling down

The blank cold stains

I couldn’t escape my chains

Can you not see that I’m not free?

Your blindness keeps you from what you always can be

Unpleasing memories and stories, quite a tale, now you tell me

Everyday was such a feast with all this agonizing tragedy

Little drops of blood cut away from my melody

They could always tell, but I wasn’t what they want to see

Crying in shame ‘cause the doctor say I can’t be changed

Out the door, they ought to say, but in my head it’s all a game

Fantasy and life are two of the same

Bet you can’t catch me, oh well it burned all to dying flames

And they just feel jas

Your sanity, it’s not real to me

It never was, so why don’t you agree?

The static noises just get louder, you will all see

I’m running out of time

Always picking fights,

Is that how you make your heart grime?

They took it all without even making a rhyme

Get up now, you really are made just to die

Fly away, I can’t believe you’d always try

Throw it hard, but hey, it’s no-sense in this play

Metal parts, how wonderful they are when they’re my prey

I feel just fine, no need to hide

Everything is broken and it cannot be denied

Painting the world black and white, how awfully they tried

Nice poker face, can’t you take it all away?

The silent halls of dismay

No need to be okay,

The world is made to be betrayed

Fury is a song. 

A deadly song, one of piano, and silky bow strokes. 

A controlled song, full of stiff fingers and a teasing power. 

Fury is a poison. 

Clinging, and grasping, the poison sinks into your soul.  

Gripping you until all you want to do is to destroy the person who made you so

furious. 

Fury is ice. 

Controlled and calm. 

Deadly and silent. 

Fury is

frost. 

To be optimistic, it is all about the exclamation points. 

In your writing, in your words, in your head, and in your smile.

Optimistic is smiling. 

At your friends, at your family, at your peers, and at random people you don’t know. 

Optimistic is hoping for the best, no matter how slim the chances might be. 

It’s about making yourself and others believe that 

Everything is fine. 

Better than fine!

The finest and okay-est and greatest and not at all not fine-ness. 

Optimistic is laughing even when you don’t feel like it. 

Optimistic is smiling even if it hurts. 

Optimistic is telling everyone else 

that your world is filled with rainbows and sunshine and happiness. 

Optimistic is wearing a mask until you believe it. 

Optimistic is a beautiful lie woven of colorful rainbow threads. 

To be truly optimistic though…

Is a feat only some people can achieve. 

The Hunt

They stalk in the darkness tonight. 

A flash of teeth, a twitch of an ear.

That is all they ever see. 

They never see them coming. 

A flash of teeth, a twitch of an ear. 

Hidden in the night. 

They never see them coming. 

The wolf pack hunts tonight. 

Hidden in the night. 

The deer graze in peace. 

The wolf pack hunts tonight. 

The wolf spots the one. 

The deer graze in peace. 

They don’t notice a thing. 

The wolf spots the one. 

And the wolves attack. 

They don’t notice a thing. 

That is all they ever see.

And the wolves attack. 

They stalk in the darkness tonight.  

Wrath is a sword. 

Swinging wildly out of control. 

Wrath is scream. 

Enraged and ferocious. 

Wrath is a python. 

Taking your time until your victim succumbs to your grip. 

Wrath is the child of rage and fury, of fear and pride. 

Wrath is fire, wrath is ice. 

Wrath is a dragon opening her jaws and turning those she hates into

ashes. 

My Name is Brave 

Brianne is my name and my name is brave

I am brave and my name guides me

Brianne means brave and I am 

I know I am because that's my name 

My name is what my parents gave me

It's  something that everyone has 

Whether  nice or mean 

My name is brave

What's yours?

     Red

Red is the color of a burning flame,

Over the night and through the rain

Red is fear,

Almost like a shiny tear,

Red is blood, 

Pain and love

Red can shape your heart,

And tear your mind apart,

Red is roses

      Love and desire,

     Red is the Anger of a burning fire

Intro:

So I’m game

If you’re game

No one’s gonna step on my aim

Verse One:

Fly like a bird

I wish you the worst

If anything it’s really absurd

You keep stalling

And watching

Pre-Chorus:

Play it like a card

Fight you really hard

I see you all warm

As the referee warns

“May the best man win”

Chorus:

So I’m game

If you’re game

No one’s going to step on my aim

I can do this all-day

Everyday

Verse Two:

Watch you like a hawk

And I see you laugh and gawk

I can find a strategy

If you just won’t indulge me

And see you tumble

Pre-chorus:

Play it like a card

Fight you really hard

I can see you falling

Even when you’re just stalling

As the gun fires

Chorus:

So I’m game

If you’re game

No one’s going to step on my aim

I can do this all-day

Everyday

Bridge:

I can see the light

With all of my might

Even when I might lose sight

Of the goal at hand

Get ready for the final match!

Final Chorus:

So I’m game

If you’re game

No one’s going to step on my aim

I can do this all-day

Everyday

Even if it’s just a game

The Pretty Beach

Slant Rhyme

Huge waves soak the beach

Crash

Small rocks roll with the water 

Banter 

Staying on land

And 

Tucked away in a home 

Alone 

A feather floats in the wind

Bland 

Breeze brings clouds through the sky

Fly 

Birds search for food in the big blue 

New

Boat sails, slicing through the salty sea

Breathe 

A dolphin surfaces, replenishing its air supply

Dry

Sand sticks to a crab as it scuttles by

Fry

The sun beats down on the pretty beach 

 Camp

               Camp a place that is only open eight weeks a year. I am there for only part of that. I cry when I leave the friend I have only known for the last two weeks;  yet not one single tear is dropped when I say bye to my sister who is going away for her gap semester in a country that is in an ongoing war. I cry when I am holding that candle walking into the moonlight while stopping every once and a while to have someone relight my candle because drips of water put it out. I am not mad, though, because the best candle is lit by a friend. I walk past people I wish could be in my life all year, until we are in a circle of light that will never be the same. Though all promise to come back next year, sadly not everyone is truthful. When I say bye my eyes are red and puffy. I walk away but rivers follow me. I cry up the Pacific and then the Atlantic because I am leaving my favorite place that is filled with my favorite people. I know next year I will walk into a random cabin with complete strangers with my candle in hand ready to make memories for a lifetime. With these strangers who will soon become my new best friends who will light my candle in the sun's heat and winter’s bitterness. I cry when they leave more than if a friend from kindergarten were to leave. I am somehow more connected with people I have known for two weeks than people I have known since I was two. Camp is a part of my personality and is an emotion for me. I smile on the first day when I see people I haven’t seen in 352 days, 16 hours and 21 seconds. I cry on my candle, extinguishing it, because I know I will have to wait another 352 days, 16 hours and 21 seconds to see them again.

            I smile, I sing, I laugh, I yell, I cry

            All for Camp

I know I will sleep on the bear ground that night 

                    All for Camp

Blue, like a gloomy day, you're calm, 

You are tears rolling down, 

Like the face that makes a frown, 

You are here, and you are now. 

Blue, you're all around. 

Like a blue jay in my dreams

You make me gleam.

Like the oceans you are rough

Like a boxer you are tough.

Like the sky when you say goodbye

Blue you are true.

blood spills from my heart and yours

creating a stream,

then a river,

then like an ocean,

made up of our blood.

we are divided by an ocean 

of our own blood,

and the blood of our children

yet to be born.

we stand on different sides,

cross our arms,

cream and shout.

we are enemies,

we scream,

we are divided,

we scream.

but we forgot exactly what is dividing us.

In all of us are empty threads

that should have been full

of love and life and brilliant, tangled webs

of happiness, where

nobody

goes to sleep

with their heart empty and

eyes

aimed 

down,

closed.

I’m telling you this, 

because when there are 

too many empty threads

too many for a single heart to contain,

they knot together,

and make

empty

people.

What we don’t see are our hearts

fluttering open

looking to take in more

than empty threads,

expanding its bright, beating

life

life,

wanting, desperately

wanting

wanting to reach,

 reach

reach

the empty threads

heart-to-heart,

I’m telling you

my heart wants to unknot where

they have said to just 

knot, tie, tie,

knot, but never connect,

touch but never feel.

Empty threads,

so empty, I just want to reach,

and touch the life that 

is there

in every empty thing.

For in all of us,

there are empty threads

that should have been full of 

love and life and those wonderful things,

but are so empty 

you could see a hundred miles through them,

and think

that there is no wonderful thing left in the world.

But all empty things

have one wonderful thing left

when all else has broken away,

and that is hope

that those empty threads hold so tight.

The hope that they

would brim again with all the things that make life 

wonderful.

Even in the greatest abyss

and the smallest pocket of nothingness,

there is always

always

something.

No matter how empty the threads look.

I just want to unknot where the knots

once where,

just leave them there

so that 

someone

out there

can pick up

the empty,

empty threads,

their empty threads

and breathe their own life in

there

one

more

time.

So that someone 

can pick up those 

empty threads

that knot together

Because only then will I believe we have some semblance of humanity left in us all.

i heard once,

that when you dream,

your soul goes places that your body can’t go.

they say that your soul floats above,

and lives in the veil between what is real

and what is not.

between what is ‘alive’

and what is ‘dead’

they say that when you’re dying,

your soul lives in the veil,

just like when you dream.

they say your mind reaches for what lies beyond

and the veil lifts.

if you ask them what is beyond the veil,

they will say that they don’t know.

perhaps they are lying.

neither you nor I will ever know for sure.

because sometimes, i don’t need to be afraid

of either side

or the in between

because sometimes,

i don’t need to know what lies beyond

because sometimes,

i don’t wish for the veil to lift and take me and my body away

because sometimes,

in those happy moments,

i can be content with where i am.

and only then, can i ever truly be at peace

A yearly tradition I take my family. 

I yearn each night I stay. 

To hope the snow is as perfect and peaceful as my family. 

The morning, the smell, fresh pancakes.

The kids and parents gather to say grace.

The bright blue sky and snow everywhere. I can't see much.

But I know I will be dashing down those trails. 

The squishing in the car, someone in the trunk, and someone on the roof.

Tightening my ski boots so tight my feet will be bruised. 

The ruby on my cheeks.

The frost in my hair.

I smell hot chocolate and snow everywhere.

I give ear to the crinkles and pops from that crimson fire my dad constructed.

I smell the scrumptious smell of my mom's cooking. 

I want to go to a nice burning shower but must wait since my lineage is long reining.

This fierce fire I sniff is just as heartwarming as the ski slopes.

And this trip we take every year. 

On Christmas day to February break

Is when I am surrounded by the people I live to love. 

Year Round

I went to dance camp

Swam the shores of Nantucket Beach

Glistened at the ocean

And watched my doggy, Vivi, grow up

I love the summer 

I love the winter 

And I love the fall

Year round I enjoy those around me 

Winter’s for skiing

Summer’s for swimming

Fall is for the leaves.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the last time you 

cuddled with your plushie when you were scared.

it was the last time you put on that elsa dress

and screamed ‘let it go’ at the top of your lungs.

that was the last hug from grammy and grandpa,

and the last kiss goodnight from mommy and daddy.

that was your last sip of danimals,

and your last bite of lunchables.

that was your last time cuddling with mommy,

and your last time being on the shoulders of daddy.

the last time riding with training wheels, 

and the last time mommy picked out your school clothes. 

that was your last time hearing the repeated words,

goodnight moon,

goodnight room. 

goodnight kittens and goodnight mittens.

that was the end of blue's clues,

sesame street,

octonauts

and little einsteins. 

that was the last game of tag,

your last drive in your car seat,

and the last singing of old macdonald. 

you didn’t know it then,

but you carry it with you, and linger for it now. 

Alone - Almog Keshet

They say treat people the way you want to be treated

Well that's all fake

I try to be kind to others but

Many don't reciprocate the feeling

I complimented her

She said she doesn't need compliments

I comforted him

He said he doesn't need comforting

I helped her

She shrugged it off saying she didn't need the help

I connected with him

He broke it instantly

But whenever I need comfort he pretends he doesn't know me

Or if I want a compliment she never cares enough to want to

Or when I want to make a connection they ALL run and leave not want to get near

I feel as though I am alone

Why

do humans burn down our forests and cut down our homes?

Why

do humans throw their trash in our oceans and ruin them with pollutants? 

They tear down our homes

and slay our family. 

They hunt us

and they eat us, 

and they capture us for their own entertainment. 

Why

do they not care for the creatures who exist with them on Earth?

Why

do they slowly kill the planet they share?

Why

do they hurt us and kill us and turn us

into little figureheads for their little campaigns? 

Why

do they seem to love us and curse us with the next breath?

Why

must they tame us and take our homes?

Why

do humans take our land when we were here first?

Why do so many humans 

not

care?

 Lemon - Almog Keshet

the lemon looks big and juicy 

but like the lemon you are 

BONE dry

the lemon is SOUR and NASTY

like the lemon your personality

is sour and when i am

around you it affects my

mood making me sour 

the lemon is BITTER

like the lemon you are bitter 

and that makes me

gag 

like the lemon you are 

UNFEELING

the lemon cannot physically

feel and it seems like 

you cant either

like the lemon you are 

DISGUSTING

 You look at me with a disgusted 

glare i mentally look at you in

disgust 

i can try to make lemonade

with these lemons but it would 

taste NASTY BITTER UNFEELING

and DISGUSTING

i can add sugar but i know 

it won't make it any better

i want to take that NASTY BITTER UNFEELING

DISGUSTING pitcher of lemonade

throw it in the trash 

hold up the finger and turn

around knowing i will

NEVER EVER

look back

It veils your vision, masking the truth from the lies.

Just red. A lense that turns the world to a battlefield.

A kind of insanity emerges from wrath,

Enveloping a person's entire mind in fire.

Not one controlled on the wick of a candle,

But a raging one.

An ever consuming one.

A crimson light covering the world in a blood drawn hue.

The color of a red rose framed by thorns and decayed leaves.

The color of heat. Rage.

The color of violence,

Of pain leading to anger leading to pain yet again.

We may call it one thing or another,

but wrath is the kind of hate that can’t be contained by a single sentence metaphor.

An avian call echoes, reverberating through the chilled autumn air, blowing under the bows of apple trees, standing stoic through the cold. 

Their fruit is stiff at the stem, glowing like a garnet gem,

Tossed into barrels heaving with the shiny pristine.

But what happens to the bad apples?

Fallen too soon?

Picked too late?

What sets them aside from the paradigm we set for them,

other than mere circumstances?

To think that something’s existence could be defined

By flimsy circumstances.

Left to rot on the ground,

Once Apollo’s star has drifted off, leaving an empty night sky,

 remote?

Words leave marks.

Slashes, bites.

Not always visible.

But you can be sure that they are there.

Black and blue, bruises blooming into midnight ruffles of Hellebore, arching into delphiniums.

Colors of a night hue, shrouded by the absence,

Reminders of what was

And what will forever be.

Sapphire and onyx,

Rain and Thunder,

Soon to be scars.

Slashes of words,

Bites of secrets whispered onto dry arid wind,

Whisked away to a land unknown,

a story told only by darkened skies.

Ebony sable marbled by cobalt and cornflower,

diggings marks that may never truly  heal.

Deep through trodden tunnels,

And walls deprived of their once bountiful labors; 

An eerie tune plays in harmony with clang of rusty ancient pick axes, sharpened by grit and loss, forged by hands knowing not the luxury of rest.

Encaged by bars broken, and roughened by time,

A single bird sings weeping, a haunting call,

Sending their wordless cant to an unknown receiver.

Feathers dashed yellow, sharing the amber shade with the sun, whose rays might never touch the creature lost to the remains of a hollowed earth.

Deep within, the avian realizes its existence, knowing grimly that their suffering would be the only way for others to live, to survive.

That their purpose given by soot covered hands, and heads adorned by strapped lights,

Would be to warn those others.

Their own freedom stands but a few meters from their metal imprisonment,

Imposed despite their anguish at the thought of being trapped,

Locked away  from the sun, the sky, and the rest of the surface world, green and lively,

Colored by the chromatic hue of sheer life.

And yet…

Deep through trodden tunnels,

And walls deprived of their once bountiful labors,

An eerie tune plays from the canary.

The harbinger of death, for those lost to deep in the labyrinth of mines.

“Monsters hide in the Dark”,

Whether not you believed it when you were a scared child crouching under bed covers,

Or still do to this very day, hour, moment-

This phrase haunts for more than a blunt, literal sense.

 Creatures that emanate fear and terror, yet have no face?

Shrouded in darkness, a cloak which through we cannot see?

The scariest monster is the one that doesn’t exist.

Memories meant to be locked away, shackled down where light and prying eyes cannot reach,

Hatchets meant to stay buried, under soil and stone.

The chill that rattles down your spine,

And freezes your blood, to rubies of ice..

Out of sight out of mind can’t always be true,

It only means that the monsters hiding within the dark will be with us before we realize.

Then what?

 Days come and go like wisps of dry arid wind.

Years run by just as softly, drifting silently from our hold.

Summer holds tight,

a burning beacon of  light, shining over fields of emerald grass. 

Dew drops resting on the ground turn to sapphires in the soil.

Days such as these were made to be lived,

Not wasted.

To be grasped, not to be left in the dark, while brighter lands wait so close.

To be treasured for their sweet moments, not to grieve when dwelling on the truth 

residing within the end.

Summer days ought to be savored,

Spent watching clouds the color of ivory, gliding through the infinite sky of cobalt and azure. 

Plucking fruit from the arms of trees, till our own heave with the objects of our labor.

Autumn stands fast on the horizon. When all of this will be gone.

When the grassy fields turn gold, the sapling’s leaves will have gone ginger, then burgundy, and then fall. Beauty resides within the coming season,

But this summer will be no more.

Inevitable is the end,

But all the more a reason to treasure the days left to us.

All the more a reason to live these summer days,

For if we distance ourselves from the plains and the sky so blue, we would sooner mourn the days not lived in summer.

Our world resonates with  life and wonder.

It is simply our job to take in the summer,

Cherishing the moments we were lucky enough to live.

We are phantoms,

Ghostly figures imitating those of flesh and bone,

No more than wisps of smoke drifting off into an endless dark sky.

Infinity.

We wander the world we claim as our own, lost and blind.

Blind to what we have passed.

Blind to what we are yet to see.

Blind to what we see.

If we let ourselves stay as these estranged husks,

Taking mere steps without reason

or value.

What do we become?

Shadows.

Shadows painted across thin stained parchment,

The outline of a person’s entire being traced in no more than black and white.

Light and dark.

Seen and not.

Flame and smoke.

When we walk blind but with open eyes,

What trail do we leave?

What legacy do we leave dotting the marks of our treads?

What more than smoke, ash, and an empty step?

The absence.

The empty space where there used to be none.

When the dense fog settles over the fields of memories and treasured pasts,

Childish secrets shared while giggling under cozy covers,

Moments shrouded in comforting starlight.

They grow old.

And collect dust over their fixtures and surfaces.

They rust and corrode, all joy once a part of them,

Turning slowly to melancholy sadness.

Dreams made and lost to time and loneliness,

Ends wrought by divides and rifts.

For all those times, warm and bright,

Beacons of light, now fading.

For all those pacts once made through tears of bittersweet waters.

Forget me not.

For the childish secrets shared, while giggling under warm covers,

Moments shrouded in comforting starlight.

To look back at with soft sweet remembrance,

To face each other as a good friends,

Rather than phantoms in the cold night.

Invisible.

By the five petals of the flower, moonstone periwinkle,

hued by silver; blooming from a star center.

By the twisting crisp stems of olive green, rooted deep into ancient grounds,

And leaves heart shaped.

Forget me not.

“Jealousy is the green-eyed monster”,

Not something you see,

But something that you view in the depths of others’ souls.

Perhaps even in oneself.

Something that eats its way out,

Carving away at one’s person, leaving a glistening trail of lost morals, and broken promises,

dotting their wake;

Until all that is left is a pair of emerald eyes,

Shining in the dark, without the light to ignite such a hue.

Envy and Jealousy waltz hand in hand, accompanied by a grotesque ballad of loneliness and despair,

In an empty, abandoned ballroom.

They lurk,

Subtly in the backs of minds, growing ever so close, ever so controlling, ever so powerful.

 The monster doesn’t thread the earth like any other from a twisted fairytale, pages tearing at the binding, yellowed and strewn with cobwebs.

Perhaps, in the end that is the most horrifying, and paranoia inducing part.

You become it.

What is the reality of isolation?

A double sided coin, rolling indefinitely through empty streets,

Lined by burnt out street lamps.

Free of the shackles placed by judging eyes,

At the same time,

Alone.

Truly alone.

We are social beings,

Grown to be threads, woven together tightly into the constructs we call civilization.

What happens when that fabric, that familiar curtain of reality, falls away revealing a bleak world, hollow, with skies of ash, and lands devoid.

When the sanctum of the mind is truly singular,

Without jeering remarks,

Or a world to cite its faults.

What do we become,

Without the people that shape our place,

And where do we go, when our wants are only placed towards ourselves?

What do we lose without people 

we can call our family,

Our friends,

Our neighbors?

What do we gain from being free from the expectations of faceless figures, strange and other?

Water, a crystalline hue,

 refracting light seafoam green, aquamarine, and periwinkle.

Silver stones glitter beneath the shallow surface, gems baking in the sun.

And as one traces their gaze up stream, ripples begin to emerge, rolling and tumbling by the hand of the current.

Feast your eyes upon the falls, a broad stream echoing down the smoothened cliff side, splashing and sending mist off to cool the scorching air. A force of wild nature so close to the calm of a subtle pond.

Look close, but don’t fall in, witness the fiery red stripes across the backs of the ivory white fish.

The sun’s rays bounce delicately off the peach ridden scales,

Tails slicing lazily through the silent waters.

They circle the rims of the body, tracing the edges of the lake; brushing lightly against the sandy shore line. 

Gracefully lapping the waves up, and diving below once more,

A short moment  to be cherished at the koi pond by the waterfall.

No matter the broken springs,

Or the rotten wood frame;

From it’s memory the melody sings,

If not more than ashen remains.

An eerie ballad of what once had been,

But now stays lost,

Carved into the bent and jagged prongs of a rusted over comb.

A sound captured in nostalgia,

As a vision is in a photograph.

Identical yet not.

A past so far away, that it’s only links to the now broken object of music,

Are the memories it’s brought along the way.

A haunting atonal song,

Jaggedly rising, and falling.

At first it rings out clear before echoing off into oblivion.

The melody that may bring the listener back,

To when the music box existed in more than a dream long since faded like a dusty photograph,

Framed by black roses with their thorns.

And yet today.

All that plays is the sound of a silent, broken music box.

To observe the cosmic wonders, displayed before our very eyes.

To slow our treads and our speech,

To bear witness truly.

Fully.

Thousands of small lanterns shatter the dark into pieces of black, refracting starlight through an empty void.

Spheres of earth, ash, and wind, 

Celestial bodies far past what we can comprehend and touch by our own hands.

To take the time to contemplate, to allow ourselves to fade away from this small world,

If for no more than a moment;

and drift into a dream as expansive as infinity, as vexing as any other mystery

A place laden with enigmas wrapped in unanswerable questions, wrapped in the subtle grasp of night.

A kind of peace one can only find in nothingness.

The kind of joy that lies just beyond the metallic eyepiece of telescope,

Or in the constellations sewn into the fabric of reality.

A glimpse between chaos and calamity- two forms of one object-

Slicing through the storm in a small flash of time.

Rippling through the sky, halting the lightning and the flames from clashing together against the roaring winds,

An eerie silence emerges, shaking the world.

With nothingness.

With emptiness.

Clouds settle into a grayed mat of unease over the sky, and the sea;

A moment merely for fear,

The fear of what is to come, and what has yet to be faced.

A single sand grain in a broken hourglass

depicting the end.

The toll of death for the now empty countryside, as the elements churn into a restless tempest once more,

Devouring what is left,

After the eye of the storm has passed, and discord razes The earth.

The Wind Walks Behind Me

Sometimes.

Sometimes when Autumn comes,

When the rough, terse ground is carpeted by hazel and cherry leaves, separated only by tufts of dried grass.

Sometimes when the foliage creates a prism of gold, olive, and saffron color;

Something strange walks the trodden path.

As you tread through deep thickets, leaping over ancient, gnarled logs and branches.

A presence ignites behind you,

A small lit flame one feels, but never sees,

Acknowledges with fleeting thought, not crude words.

Even as you cross your head to your shoulder, peering back to whatever may follow in your wake,

You see nothing.

Nothing that you hadn’t seen short moments before.

Sparrows perch high above, cream white feathers streaked by earthy brown, and ebony black;

Eyes fixated on you.

You  alone.

An aura gathers in the air,

Something as warm, as cozy as a simple hearth,

A pot of wooden arms stacked neatly,

Slowly devoured by tongues of flame.

Vines curtain your view, braiding together into a tight weave.

You raise your hand to the bindings,

And feel the presence once more.

Still, yet again, nothing stands watching,

Nothing other than the avian watchers,

Surveying the forest’s floor from the ornate rafters of the lifted canopy.

Onward you continue,

Lurching across crude bridges of fallen trees, spread across the shores of a winding green river,

Large stones strewn throughout the bottom, as light bounces through the raging waters.

Through fields of ruby red flowers, under skies of amber rays,

The strange figure walks,

Yet no matter how many times you look,

Only the breeze trails behind.

Only the breeze follows.

No one else.

Nothing else.

Sometimes when Autumn comes,

And the rough, terse ground is carpeted by hazel leaves, and dried grass.

Sometimes when the foliage creates a prism of gold, olive, and saffron color;

The wind walks behind you.

Clapping fills the room as the audience yells for more.

The audience enjoyed the play.

Everyone in the audience is happy.

The playwright is happy too, smiling after his bow.

He’s smiling.

He’s beaming.

He is overjoyed as the actors remove their masks and go blank. 

Everyone in that theater is filled with emotions.

Everyone in that theater is overflowing.

The theater is flooding and it is so full that some of it leaks out of the doors.

The audience is showering the play with all of their emotions,

And the actors are drowning.

As emotions flood out a pitter would have been heard,

Instead the soft sound is buried,

Submerged underneath the audience's applause.

Tears drip down the actors faces, 

And they are the only ones left without smiles.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Always so petty, never agreeable.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

They never stop, do they?

As he flips the pages, she presses down the keys.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Neither will relent, neither will talk.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Not to each other, not to the child.

The child is confused.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

The child doesn’t know what it did.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

They had been yelling, but their silence was worse.

The child can’t take this.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap, tap, tap.

The child needs attention.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

The child will do what its parents do.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Flip, flip, flip. Tap,tap, tap.

Flip - “WWAHHHHH”

A, A, A, A, C.

As the piano player starts her song,

mine finally ends.

B, B, A, A, A.

A, C, C, C, C.

She seems a lot more dedicated to her music,

a lot more than I was.

E, D, D, C, C.

C, C, A, G, F.

I have always felt rather neutral towards my instrument.

Everyone plays it, 

just never the same way.

E, E, C, A, G.

F, E, E, C, A.

I have always wondered how long this song is.

Mine took me 17 years.

G, F, E, E, C.

A, A, A, A, C.

I bet no one here will cry at the end of her song.

They are weeping now that it’s the end of mine.

I think we're both fine with that.

B, B, A, A, A.

B, A, G, F, E. 

I guess I must say goodbye now.

They are all almost done with theirs.

E, C, A, G, F.

E, E, C.

The final note plays, 

they all walk away,

And I look at my corpse as it’s fully on display.

(the song is Funeral March by Frédéric Chopin)

The sleepovers.

Sneaking food in my cousin's room.

I will miss the smell of bakeries that always seem to be hovering above me.

The big pink pillow with Elsa's and Anna’s face, that we would treat like a person, because her and I would keep all of our secrets under that pillow.

The fights, the hugs, the makeovers, the Baby Shark Song that we had to listen to on repeat because of her brother.

The big dinners.

Begging to stay longer

begging not to go

begging not to let go of her

thinking I would never see her again

thinking the world was going to end right in front of my eyes

the second I found out we were moving it was a feeling I could never bear to go through again

I could feel a little piece of my heart break

and even heard the little “chip”.

Do you ever feel like a burning tree

Burning in the amazon trying to be free

Do you ever feel, feel so hot and dry

Like a sunny day, chop one and they cry?

Do you ever feel so polluted?

Trying to live, but being excluded

1. Did you know that plants can cure cancer 

Cause theres a spark in them

You just gotta stop polluting

And save the Rainforest

Just stop all this

 So you don't die 

‘Cause baby, your the Amazon

Come on, stop littering

Make trees go “Yay, Yay, Yay”

As you keep the forest clean

Baby, you’re the amazon

Come on, stop littering

Make trees go, “Yay, Yay, Yay”

You'll leave the trees in aw aw aw

Trees don’t have to feel polluted

The Amazon is one, can't be replaced

If only you knew how bad littering is

2. After pollution comes carbon dioxide (which will kill the Amazon in under 30 years)

Maybe the reason animals are dying

So you can live a longer life

Like the sun, the amazon will shine

And when you stop, you'll see

You just gotta ignite the forest

And let it grow

Just stop pollution

Like the Fourth of July

Cause baby, you’re the amazon

Come on, stop the littering

Make trees go, “Yay, Yay, Yay”

As you stop littering

Baby, you’re the Amazon

Come on, stop polluting

Make trees go, “Yay, Yay, Yay”

You’ll leave them all in aw aw aw

Cause baby, you're the amazon

Come one stop littering 

Make trees go, “Yay, Y ay, Yay”

As you stop littering

Baby you’re the Amazon

Come on, stop polluting

Make ‘em go yay yay yay

You’re gonna leave’ em all in aw aw aw

Clean, Clean, Clean

Even cleaner than soap soap soap

Do you ever feel like a burning tree

Burning in the amazon, trying to be free?

Do you ever feel, feel so hot and dry

Like a sunny day, chop one and they cry?

Do you ever feel so polluted

3. Home to 10% of known species 

4. DId you know that it's 6% of the land surface?

5. ‘Cause home to 30 million (people)

You just gotta stop  littering

And let it grow

Just be yourself

6. Its 20 of the worlds oxygen

‘Cause baby, you’re the amazon

7. Come on we're largest rainforest

Make ‘em go, yay yay yay

8. It's a natural water filter

Baby, you’re the Amazon

9. Come on,  80% of our natural food

Make trees go, “Yay, yay, yay”

You’ll leave the trees in awe, awe, awe

You don’t have to be deforested

You’re our only one, and can’t be replaced

10. If you only knew they make 8.2 billion a year

After pollution comes carbon dioxide

Maybe a reason why all the trees are burning

So you could open a door to good new future

11. Spans over 9 different countries

12. And called the lungs of the earth

You just gotta ignite the Amazon

And let it shine

Just own yourself

(13) (Cause over 13% has been deforested, (that's a lot)

Cause baby you're the Amazon

Come on stop littering

Make trees go, “Yay, yay, yay”

As you stop littering

Baby, you’re the Amazon

Make trees go, “Yay, yay, yay”

You’re gonna leave trees in awe, awe, awe

Clean Clean Clean

(14) ts even 10 Million years old, old, old

It's always been inside of you, you, you

And now it’s time to help it out

‘Cause baby, you’re the Amazon

Come on show ‘em what you’re worth

Make trees go, “Yay, yay, yay”

As you stop littering

Baby, you’re the Amazon

(15) 350 different ethnic groups

Make trees go, “Yay, yay, yay”

Pain changes people.

It makes them trust less. 

Overthink more, and

Shut people out

Steak Poem

Tried it

Loved it

Ate it

Main Character

They think

That I don’t see them.

When they scoot away from me.

They think,

That I don’t see them.

When they talk behind my back.

They think

I don’t care

If they laugh

And mock

And disrespect me.

But I’m a human too.

Why do you think this?

You think this because

You think you’re the main character,

And you can yell at someone

Make fun of someone

And ridicule someone,

Because you’re the

Main character.

I’m just a human,

I’m not a machine,

That is unaware

Of its surroundings.

I’m not a side character,

Waiting for my one line

To speak.

I’m not a speck of dirt in the ground

Waiting to be the smallest of help

To a growing plant.

I also have to work,

I also have to cry

I also have to talk

I also have to laugh.

But you don’t think so.

Because to you,

You’re the main character.

The World & Me

Nothing is easy

I try to see

I try to breathe

I try to hope

It's hard to not mope

I will still hope