The schoolmaster shoved a smorgasbord
of poems down our throats, so that we would know
that poems can be anything so poems can be good,
even possible. But I’ve swallowed too many
Category: Social-Emotional Development
Closing the Circle
The first time they fired the gun that lives inside my chest,
you stopped the bleeding—
almost like you loved me
or had ulterior motive.
Signatures at the Potluck
There’s nothing better than the best holiday dish,
and nothing worse than the best dish prepared badly.
Our matriarch was never much for traditions,
more one for meeting everybody’s shifting needs.
sketch phase
you are everything i’ve never known
and i’ve never been
one for asking questions
Extra
Oh, she’s a lot,
though she’s not too much.
Light Up
I’ve got cares as tainted as these muddy banks,
but you sift the tales I weave
through a sieve that filters out the rest and marvels at
Jolt
I’m a live wire. I’ve got points
that I make, so maybe
my words are claws that
dig in as my mind digs deeper.
Captioning the Photo
I’ve got all the things I’m supposed to say-
just buried beneath
Fairytale
Home, skipped with every symptom
known to fifth-grade-kind,
sick of every re-run
and trapped outside of storybooks,
what adventure could be better than emptying
the overflowing closet?
Even the sickest faker
would clean if they envisioned
a clubhouse in a 3 by 3 foot space
Fathoms
I don’t know that we are quite so mundane as the diamonds,
rare,
nor like the snowflakes:
Unique,
or merely multifaceted?
The light inside our souls’ zones
goes down in shades,
