stop looking to the sky for your love;
they will not come down on wings
carried by the weight of your dreams.
look instead to the dirty soil
on which feet dance
and the rocks know your name.
please answer or message me cause i need it to write a paper
you, the little writer.
not having a blue tag next
to your piece doesn’t
mean that you’re a bad
poet or writer. it doesn’t
mean anything. it’s the opinion
of one but all you need is yours.
it ended where it all began—earth.
“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
God I’m in quicksand
and I can’t swim
I don’t know what to do
even where to begin
I won’t ask why
some things we can’t know
just please point the way
and there I will go
me: mom, what if i got a tattoo?
mom: i’d chop off that part of your body and deep fry it.
me: like what?!
when there’s nothing going for you,
there’s still yourself.
as little as you think it is,
it’s more than enough.
the person you’re looking for
is no where to be found
because it’s usually because they’re
looking around the opposite corner
and they are on the other side of the cross-
the hesitation before each kiss
the blind dancing of hands before grasping
the search for eyes across an empty room
the sense of clarity of a clouded mind
the choke before the cry
looking for details out
of a rewritten story
making meaning out of
semi colons in moments
it’s over when you it to be
love fades but
even as much as we’d like it to
love is like a tree
and you planted well
on good soil too.