Poetry is
A performance
In words

She was walking up and down rows of graves.
Looking carefully at the names and when they died.
Was she looking for someone?
No she wasn’t this is one of her hobbies, to visit graves.
She is fascinated with death.

My aunt was cleaning out my grams closet and couldn’t find anything red to wear.
She was looking for a red dress, for me to wear to prom.
I guess I had no choice in the matter.
Red dress, why red?
Why did my aunt insist on me wearing red?
Why were we looking in my gram’s closet? Why weren’t they looking through my clothes?
Why were they looking at all? Isn’t is my job to pick out something?
I wanted a yellow dress, a beautiful long yellow dress.
I have a yellow dress, it’s my favorite, but I don’t want to wear it now.
I’m saving it for my funeral, I want to be buried in my yellow dress I already have.

Naked
Like water
Full of beauty
With your fingers
Write your love
On my heart

The mind is Like a child
And the Knowledge
It's a nurse

He yelled, a little louder each time.
He was yelling my name.
He was yelling and my world came crashing down.