Book

Worn out pages sit

Filled with emptiness like me

Hold me how he did

Tweet

Tell me why he sings

In melody so solemn

When he’s so gorgeous

Flux

I find ease in the constant change

New buildings around each corner

A crane lifting a piece of scaffolding

Like Jenga with higher stakes

 

My favorite building was torn down yesterday

I had never breached its walls

It was just nice to know it was there

Watching over me with chipping paint

 

The city smells like pee

But each building has crafted its own unique cologne

Different elements add to its unique aroma

I like to sit and think about it

 

The view from the park is overwhelming

So much to focus on and only so many hours

Sunlight fleets and with it

My focus

 

Hazy smoke rushes to my brain

A cab honks in the distance

Terrified of going home

For now it’s me and my buildings

Confusion

Why do we all fight

Over who is wrong and who is right

?

 

Why do we find something to pick apart

Are we dooming ourselves from the very start

?

 

Was life ever normal

Or were we just a victim to it all

?

 

Will we ever know peace and cooperation

Shutdown every hatred station

?

 

Life is short, but we make it unbearable

I want people to think before they speak, it’s that simple

 

 

Color Drip

Dip a finger in the melted wax

Cool on your finger, hardening

Fire is dancing

A cigarette lit from flame

 

He once told me that smoking is the most

Intimate you can get with fire

Swirling in your lungs

Elbowing everything on its way out

 

Cancer is inevitable

In the moment I don’t mind

For now this ember I’m sucking on

Is my torch

 

Glow of string lights in a backyard

Firepit roaring

An excuse as to why I smell smokey

Flames intoxicating

 

A candle on my desk

Sitting in an old wine bottle

Echoing a crescendo of laughter

Rings of color within, like the rings in a tree

 

Spilling over the bottle

Forging its own path

Settling into the cool glass

I will not disturb it

 

Here I will write

In the dancing gold

Flickering on my paper

Words entangled with smoke

Vastness

Do you think ocean animals commit murder?

Do they s(t)eal?

So much unknown

And yet we walk around so confident

So unafraid

 

The mysteries that lie beneath the surface

Is there a justice system

One that ends in others consuming the guilty

Or have they witnessed too much tragedy

At the hands of humans?

 

The bodies that we throw in

The ashes

Is the titanic a museum for them

A school trip if you will?

They know things we don’t

 

Capable of things we aren’t

Working together

Moving as one

Knowing where they stand

We cannot say the same

 

They murder for survival

Do they grieve their fallen?

In the deepest recesses of the ocean floor

Do they know what death is like

A darkness we are not capable of understanding

 

The pressure of the water

Viewing us an intrusion

Plotting their revenge

One day we will know their wrath

Fishing hooks in gills

 

Do they wed?

Understand love

Family court adjourned with a bang of a coral

Choking on plastic and q-tips

They believe their time is up

 

But it’s us, not them

Our disregard for the water

Broken bottles become sea glass

But we become fish food

Because we never asked the right question

 

Finn

Easter

My family was not religious as I grew up

Nor are they now

But we always celebrated Easter

 

Kites flying above

Eggs filled with trinkets

Baskets hidden in the dryer, we always forget

 

Toys with a toothy rabbit

Chicks on the cheap plastic

I don’t even like carrots

 

On those sunny Easter Sundays

I learned to hate the sunshine

Associated it with bickering

 

The happiness I felt turned sour

Much like the eggs

Fresh ocean air became suffocating

 

Distracting myself with bubbles

Brothers putting paper grass in my hair

Driving with the top down

 

Baskets soon stopped

No celebration

Dyeing eggs with beer

 

What holiday changes dates every year?

Confusing

Upsetting

Typewritten

Click

Clack

No distractions

 

Paper, a ding

Return it back

 

When I was eight I was given a typewriter

Told it was Santa Claus’s

That I was chosen

 

I typed every word I knew

Even the ones I wasn’t supposed to say

 

I felt dignified

An eight-year-old Roald Dahl

Writing the next book that would change the world

 

The ribbon broke a few days later

Nowhere to get it fixed

 

Twelve years later I yearn for one again

A sense of importance that lies beneath

Taking me back to when typing was a privilege

Not a necessity

James

You are home

The easiness I find in each kiss

 

We find a middle ground

An urge to understand each other

You hold me tighter

 

I can see the glimmer in your eye

Before the words leave your lips

 

Each day is new and fresh and exciting

A warm plate of eggs and toast

Sparkling water

 

Cool blue

Emerald green

 

The way you brush your hair from your face

Kiss my forehead when I pout

My hand feels empty without yours

 

Two kisses before we leave

One for now, one to keep me coming back for me

 

I miss you finally has meaning

You teach me new things

Show me things I would’ve never seen

 

Your giggle

Listening to you ramble

 

I look at you and see a future

A family

Happiness

14 Hours

Recycled air dances through my respiratory system

Stranger’s shoulders brush against mine

I keep my head forward

 

Every bump is a sure sign of death

Every announcement is my last

I ask the stewardess for gingerale

 

My carryon is tucked between my legs

Ready to grab and run

My headphones play no music

 

I drift off into a sickening slumber

Breathing shallow

My head pounds

 

I’ve had a full bladder since takeoff

Bathroom is off limits

Mind over matter

 

The window tells me it’s still daytime

Not for long

Sunset is fleeting

 

I don’t want to fly in the dark

The abyss

The stars taunt me

 

And this is only hour one.

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