The little tree
with the soft breeze, it danced free
Amused; at the tales
the breeze brought, it felt
The little tree had a dream
the desires of happy brim
To be like the red tree
from faraway place and have its roots free.

I hate that I like her
cause i don’t know what my friends would think
especially since her friends mess with my friends,
I hate that I like her
cause I don’t think she likes me,
I hate that I like her
cause my past relationships,
it’s not her fault but
that’s what everyone says,
I hate that I like her
cause what if it does work out and I mess it up,
or what if I make things awkward,
I hate that I like her
cause what if it does ruined the way she sees me,
or what if she never talks to me at all,
or what if she embarrassed me
by telling her friends,
I hate that I like her
cause what if her friends
mess with her cause of me.
I hate that I like her.

there is nothing poetic about the way i take up space

It is the wind that upsets pages
Spills them on the floor
Both personal and impersonal

It is the spark blown from the fireplace
That catches and spreads
Unwelcome destruction

It inks itself through typeface
And bleeds through paper
Wet with rain

Until the tears dry
The fire abates
Wind settles
Ceases

Still

And I remember the sound of your name

Like this
sunrise,
or the other dawn--
so sweet in its
unborn delight
so soon already-- gone --

during the day, sun shining,

is this spring, or summer

now? clearing the debris,

painting it white.



birds gather, as the

radio plays.



we dance in the greenhouse.

I didn’t say what I needed to say
I said what I wanted