THIS IS A COLLECTION OF POEMS UNDER A SINGLE TITLE. 



LXXXV. rest now,
for it was your eyes
that ensnared the dawn.
           on the next eve,
you will go on to find
that which is at peace.

             


Did you see anything when reading that? If you don't mind, tell me, please, I'd like to know.

The cold is beloved.

Tense with joy and muscle cramps, I wait on the frosty grass for your smile. I think it’s worth writing love letters, because one day we will burn them. You are nothing like a star. We’ll need all the heat we can get. 

I want to worship you. Quixotically, embalming our notion of tomorrow with frankincense, gold and myrrh.  Tell me that you are beautiful. It’s all I need to hear. Repeat yourself, re-trace your lines...

my head is pounding
i'm ready to explode
but i wait
until i'm alone
for all the tears
to come crashing out

i know that i don't
need to hide anymore
but i don't know how
to be vulnerable
anymore

i go to bed early
with a head full of hate
and i sit here and think
of excuses to be sad
so the real reason can't find me

it's hard to not hide
when i hide from myself
it's...

Ladies of Yesterday, and Ladies of Tomorrow,
And Ladies of All-The-Space-In-Between, 
Tell us a story of Better Days,
Of ones we missed or are yet to be seen

Tell us stories of friends, and days in the sun, 
And parties stumbling well into night,
Tell us of times we embrace others with grins
And children go wild with guiltless delight. 

Bright eyes in high streets; smiles seen without masks. 
Please, tell us these days lie ahead,
Ones where mosh pits,...

Love? What do you know about my love? What do you know about the pain that never stops, the pain that makes me feel like I've been ripped open from inside, that...that feeling that comes with love. The one that isn't love. And it isn't pain. It's more like acceptance. Acceptance that you have made me vulnerable, and that I would do anything to love you past my welcome. Give me that chance, and I will love you, 

 I will...

Looking back is like looking in a photograph,
a time and place where our hearts were whole, where
sunlight hit our faces and smiling was effortless
under the silken blue sky.
Where did you go? And why,
why can't I follow?
You've left me behind for the last time.

There's no words to describe how I long
for your touch. Your voice. Your eyes.
I miss them like missing a part of myself—
you took my heart with you and ...

                              What are our lives, if not lost in the care

                 That lies so engulfing, so mundane yet so rare?

The noise and the silence, the rise and the fall-

                Why do we have no leisure to walk free and walk tall?

               ...

"Dear, Justyce, 
How did you do it? We grew up in the same area. Went to the same elementary and middle school. Even had a class or two together. Why'd we turn out so different?"                         

This is a line from one of Quan's letters to Justyce from his current residence- prison. In "Dear Justyce", author Nic Stone tackles difficult but important subject matter such as racial injustice, stigma and prejudice,...

Breathe.

We can do this- of course we can do this, who're you kidding? A hundred words is more than enough! Maybe I could write about an alluring lady as she waltzes through the darkness, the silence only broken by the occasional scrape of her heel along a hardwood floor.  Or...or maybe I could write about a fearsome dragon! Yeah, with scales as impenetrable as bedrock, or the fridge at 2am. Scorching thatched roofs as it soars overhead with wings...

When you turn sixteen you get your mark. Your mark is special to you and one other--your soulmate. Usually, it is your favorite color. My best friend Alice's pinky-finger is tipped in pale yellow. My neighbor Sam has a mark of red on his shoulder. Even though the marks are each unique, a few are more common than others. Some look like birthmarks, others look like you have been dipped with the Easter eggs. I have never seen another with...

The cold is beloved.

Tense with joy and muscle cramps, I wait on the frosty grass for your smile. I think it’s worth writing love letters, because one day we will burn them. You are nothing like a star. We’ll need all the heat we can get. 

I want to worship you. Quixotically, embalming our notion of tomorrow with frankincense, gold and myrrh.  Tell me that you are beautiful. It’s all I need to hear. Repeat yourself, re-trace your lines...

my head is pounding
i'm ready to explode
but i wait
until i'm alone
for all the tears
to come crashing out

i know that i don't
need to hide anymore
but i don't know how
to be vulnerable
anymore

i go to bed early
with a head full of hate
and i sit here and think
of excuses to be sad
so the real reason can't find me

it's hard to not hide
when i hide from myself
it's...

Looking back is like looking in a photograph,
a time and place where our hearts were whole, where
sunlight hit our faces and smiling was effortless
under the silken blue sky.
Where did you go? And why,
why can't I follow?
You've left me behind for the last time.

There's no words to describe how I long
for your touch. Your voice. Your eyes.
I miss them like missing a part of myself—
you took my heart with you and ...

When you turn sixteen you get your mark. Your mark is special to you and one other--your soulmate. Usually, it is your favorite color. My best friend Alice's pinky-finger is tipped in pale yellow. My neighbor Sam has a mark of red on his shoulder. Even though the marks are each unique, a few are more common than others. Some look like birthmarks, others look like you have been dipped with the Easter eggs. I have never seen another with...

The week passed in a series of blurs as Harlow and I planned everything. Mrs. Ard had been perfectly alright with the plan and she’d promised to send Mr. Ard out on an errand so he couldn’t look for his shotgun when Harlow burst in. We’d debated bringing Dani into the special planning, but we’d decided against it. She gossips way too much.
    Annabelle knew about the party and she told us to keep it small. She put together...

I'll be waiting.
In the little whispering fir copse
down by the Laughing Stream
on the fallen, mossy log--
go there.
I'll be waiting.

For I have things to tell you;
of the mischievous wind and the Watching Pine,
of Cornflower Street where I can feel the beating of feet on pavement.
Their dancing, all in rhythm but still
separate.  And yet one.
I'll be waiting.

We must go join them.
Them with their dark hair and eyes and houses...

“One summer night I fell asleep, hoping the world would be different when I woke.” (Saenz Pg.1). You kow a book is going to change your life when its first line makes you feel more understood than anything or anyone has done in your entire life.

This book. This book. Benjamin Alire Saenz has confronted the tumult that are our teenage years with such a beautifully honest and tender friendship between Aristotle and Dante, our main characters. The book...

Transport yourself to the year 1984- or rather, what could have been 1984. The mind opening and mind cluttering book that is 1984. A choice of free will I made to read it one day, and the choice I made to not put it down for days after. This free will is not reflected in 1984, rather the notion of free will, the simplicity and primal nature of free will is the very thing destroyed in 1984. The wordplay consumed...

even the boy with the prize winning smile and baby blue eyes wasn't safe from slipping.
he had his Blackberry in one hand, his other on the wheel. 

because of his stupidity, his failure to take notice of his mother's chastising tone, he's in a box in the ground, with no way out and no response as to why he did it. 
now his teammates stand in broad-shouldered solidarity in hopes that their fallen brother, their leader, the quarterback, has...

Transport yourself to the year 1984- or rather, what could have been 1984. The mind opening and mind cluttering book that is 1984. A choice of free will I made to read it one day, and the choice I made to not put it down for days after. This free will is not reflected in 1984, rather the notion of free will, the simplicity and primal nature of free will is the very thing destroyed in 1984. The wordplay consumed...