The Poetry Marathon

Life is more smudgy.
The lights are softer.
Letters are constantly out of focus.

Despite pushing them further up,
And moving your screen closer,
The letters are still smudged.

It feels like a constant sleepy,
In the corner of your eye.
Stuck and annoying.

Of course your shirt is never enough
Often trying to clean them
Makes the smudges more pronounced.

Even once they are clean,
Shortly the world is slightly softer
And it begins again.

I know a fairy
With hot pink hair.
Well, it used to be blue.
Once upon a time, it was blonde.
But now it is pink.

This fairy is a dancer.
A ballerina with hot pink hair.
And a singer with hot pink hair.

This fairy is the light of my life,
With hot pink hair.

My dog stays home while everyone is gone.
She sits around and waits
For us to return.

But some people are kinder.

I know a man who loves his dog
Beyond measure.
He takes his dog to day care
Every day.
And picks him up on his way home from work.

This man loves his dog
So much that he will take
That extra step
To make sure he is happy
All day long.

The trunk is straight all the way up
With branches at 100 maybe 110 degree angles.
Half of the trunk is lighter than the other half
But the line doesn’t go straight down the middle.
Leaves cast shadows on the trunk
And wounds from cut branches are dark like shadows.
Leaves in the sun are a brighter green than the shaded ones.
The sky behind it is a single bright blue with a dash of clouds.
The trunk texture is mostly vertical lines.
The leaves are small. They will require a little brush
Some moss grows on the bottom right side of the trunk
Most of the smaller branches go straight up
But the leaves still hang downwards.
This will take a long time to paint.

Tick. Tick. Tick.
Moving ever forward.
Always going.
Always. Always. Always.

Steady. Steady. Steady.
Time plods along.
With or without you.
Forward. Forward. Forward.

Tick. Tick. Tick.
Around and around,
The hands spin.
Spin. Spin. Spin.

I don’t hate the world when I wake up.
I am not instantly ashamed if I make a mistake.
I don’t apologize as much for said mistake.
I have the energy for my hobbies.
My apartment is relatively clean.
I am actually cooking meals.
I can be alone without being consumed by darkness.
I can talk to strangers without worry.
My mind isn’t constantly full of self-doubt and detriment.

Sometimes that is all a lie.
Most of the time it is true.

Red sand coats my legs.
My knee stings and may be bleeding.
I think my hip hurts too.

My hands are dusty,
And my shorts are dirty.
But I made it to the base.

Sometimes with love everything is scary
Other times everything is perfect
Emotions are weird.
So is anxiety.

Relationships take work.
That’s what they say,
But I never really believed them before.

Now, I do.
Ups and downs are part of a healthy relationship.
Sometimes you are too stressed to really talk
Other times you can talk all day.

People don’t stay the same
So why on earth should our relationships.
Everything, but the love you share,
Only happens sometimes.

words are nice
songs are cool
clothes look great
maybe a uniform from school

but the ultimate expression
is what you grow out of your head
or, if you can’t grow it,
buy online instead

freedom is never ending
and it usually grows right back
unless you bought off a rack
but most hair just keeps on coming

right now mine is short
well on the bottom anyways
and has been for a while
before this it was green
now that really made me smile

other forms of expression might work better for some folks
i also express myself through poetry
and weirdly colored clothes
but most of all
i wear my hair however however i want it.

Wind enfolds me as I fly down, down, down.
The weather is cooler.
My legs are still.
Gravity does all the work.

Wind slows as I slow.
Until it is gone all together.
My legs pump. Slow pumps.
Up and down and down and up.
Now it is hot.

Finally the pumps get easier.
Then I can fly once more.