Pick up a new penny,

Flip-flops trailing in slush 

Through heated convenience store;

Pick up a pack of gum

For 1.89, insert the chip, don't swipe,

wish again for the warm when you leave thru' the door;

Slide to the gunshot seat

of a old run-down car, peal the mask off

Flop down with the milk in a half-gallon carton;

Voices bounce off your ears,

Yeah, I know your sister ran away

And brought your mom to court so many years ago,

That's why she let you walk miles

To school, alone, through rain and snow,

You say, "For my kid, I'd never let her do that;" 

For a moment serotonin runs you through

Since the "she" she must be talking about is you? 

Before you realize, no, that's exactly what she did with you

Of, course, she's talking about her other daughter,

The other, little girl, that she still is;

Of course, you'll always be completely different.

That's just how the world is.

This got second place in a contest on NaNo (sorry to brag) and I really like it myself.

just passing through

a flash of orange,

the fluttering of wings

catches my eye

against crystal blue sky

and shining ocean

in the bright din of late summer.

we migrated to the beach from our landlocked lives,

they,

just passing through.

the monarchs' final destination, mexico-

so far away,

you wonder how such fragile wings could do it

but they do.

every year, over and over,

we take delight 

in those flutters of orange,

their passing display,

and over and over,

we watch as their appearances become spottier,

diminishing, we pretend nothing is wrong.

I can only hope there will never be

a time when 

I look for that splash of color

and it isn't there. 

poetry dump coming up! im not sure how well i like some of these but whatever, im open to crituiqe.

refuge- 

dancing on tiptoes, on bloody ballet shoes, she

comes home at night to a waterfall of words as

the door slams behind her the volume rises and 

she thinks that maybe they could've made an

effort, but who cares anyways, since they 

dont and she wont, because it's just another

long night in the pink bedroom and then she can

escape to the dance studio, and the pain is

worth the distance from them. 

new normal-

masks are on in the grocery shop and every time you

see someone without one you go to the next isle because

thats not supposed to happen, stay six feet (always), even when

it hurts inside, and wear the mask until you cant anymore, and the 

fabric is stopping your breath from coming, soon you'll be

just another patient in the endlessly full hospitals, with

clean white floors and crisp plastic sheets, blue wrinkly gloves that

go straight into the trash after one use (save the environment), then

the tests will come and parents will cry, but after a while you fade into the background noise, just

another victim, another hopsital bed, another grave to dig.

your only hope is that one day things will go back to normal, but honestly,

what is normal anyways? 

expectations-

take, not give;

thats your motto, always demanding more of me, never enough, even

when i bleed and cry you still say keep going, like i could, and

then its just a phone call for it all to stop but my hand never types in those numbers,

911 would be too far away if you found out that i called. 

ooh the last one got dark- 

In a small town

Where everyone knows everyone

Is there any way to fit in?

Is it too late to escape?

Where did all our time go?

Together, to dance, to sing;

Where did all our time go?

To finish up the project and relax;

Where did all our time go?

To laugh and run and play the day away; 

Where did all our time go? 

Now we'll never meet since you're only in a book;

Where did all our time go?

In the quiet moments filled with the sea;

Where did all our time go?

In the triumph of new sunrises and sunsets;

Where did all our time go?

Oh, where did all our time go?

What is a promise

If not a lie we must take,

And make into truth?

This poem is so much better read aloud, but this is the only way to show it to y'all.

~~~

This is poetry

our words are

ticking, drip

drop,

pencil-gray song

on paper,

voices high, we

sing with our

ink,

and our voices,

those rough and

battle-worn voices,

rise up

to the places

dreams hide.

we can't tie

our hearts up

with string,

take our poems as

they are,

and you'll see our voices

rise, our

words march,

offbeat rhythm,

we march to our hearts,

pencils flying,

words cocked,

inky hands on

hips, we rise,

ink flying,

ink, our wings,

we write our

own stories,

line

by

line,

our words a drumbeat,

staccato, this

is poetry, this

is how we rise.