You can be made from stone And you might still crumble You can be made of songs And you might miss a beat You can be made of poetry And you might lose the words You can be made of color And you might be in the dark There are no guarantees None
It’s hard To sit in the dark Surrounded By old feelings To let them Materialize brand new To be searched Yet again To be picked apart To be analyzed It’s hard To face your trauma To feel it To listen to it But this time You get to speak Here in this dark The doors…
There is a field filled with small summer flowers. They feel soft beneath my bare feet. At first it’s all I notice. Color being crushed beneath my toes. Resilient little flowers. Not left bent and broken but springing back to life in my wake. Then sound. A rushing. Like a waterfall. A large, fast river…
Maybe the words won’t flow There is no waterfall No marching syllables Maybe the sigh doesn’t come There is no gentle breeze No soft release of air Maybe the eyes can’t see There is no rising sun No focused images Maybe there is no beat There is no thunder No vital signs
I was in 7th grade Weighed 110 lbs I was eating lunch Minding my own When a boy called me A fat cow and mooed Enter another boy Out of nowhere I didn’t know Had never seen Who stood up for me Curly blonde hair Tall and adorable He sat next to me Said I…
My first crush Took my milk money In second grade In exchange for a kiss His brother found out And he told my parents And I got grounded I don’t remember the kiss But I remember his name His name was Chuck I learned not to buy kisses The best kisses are free *Tell me…
There is an edge To my sorrows I dare not trust Like a creaky bridge It sways precariously With each step I take Like a dark tunnel Promising monsters Where the silence Eats your screams Or a high ledge That is crumbling Beneath your feet And I know If I get close enough If I…
Echoes from tomorrow Bounce between us And we scatter In all directions Trying to hear To predict To catch This message In a bottle From the unknown So we may make It known
I made wool For my eyes And oil For my lamp I made paper birds That cannot fly And the wind Won’t carry me Or my heart away
When finally, finally I had opened my eyes I could feel the spiders scurry from their webs And cockroaches who had thought me dead Scuttled frantically from under my bones I felt like a pile of sawdust waiting for the wind To come along and sweep me into a hurricane Back into the chaos from…
HASTYWORDS 