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Fortune teller lies

Fingered on porch by farmer

I lose interest

It's snowing on Mt Fiji

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This poem is based off the novel To Kill a Mockingbird

Lost in the dark my brother guides us

Missing parts of myself as we wander home

Crunch scrunch roll

Where are we? Where am I?

I didn't know this costume could be tighter

Slip pinch SNAP

I can't find my way or my brother

HELP

Fear has taken over till he appears

His kindness holds my brother like he is as fragile as his name sake

The neighbor who saved us

The villain who is gone

And life goes on

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This poem is based off the novel To Kill a Mockingbird

Do lifelong dreams count if I'm not even 10?

Regardless I've accomplished mine

Standing and taking my father advice I see it

The seasons pass

2 become 3 and I think of what's been seen

The twisting and winding of my own years play like I'm seeing it for the first time

Dill and Jem share my dream and for the same reasons

I watch as we develop this dream

We seem small and fragile

Summer and Dill come and go

I realize I'm not the only one to tie the two

As I watch the last few years it hits me

As much as Cal and Atticus are the ones who raised us they are not the only ones to claim us

Dill and Jem will never understand but what a story

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The (illusion of) Choice

I've been thinking about the past

Maybe we dreamt it

All the good

Hopefully we dreamt it

All the bad

One day he will be gone

Maybe then I can have my dad back

Maybe my wife will get her mom back

There is no way to know

Love makes us waiver

What if I gave up so my dad could love me again

What if I gave up so my county would love me

Either way I have no out

I am either a woman

Or a tranny faggot

I'm not sure which fate is worse

But I can not give up even if I wanted to

Mom told me to lay low I can not

Sometimes you must ignore advice

Even good advice

Because it's not what the world needs

It's not what I need

I must fight

I must create

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Happy 19th birthday to Amazing New Mexico sunset

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Happy 19th birthday to Amazing New Mexico sunset

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how am i meant to show my love when i peel an orange but need a shovel to give you a slice

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enjoy a first draft

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hello i wrote a poem

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From 'Steps' by Frank O' Hara; Lunch Poems

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I think I’d be better at worship if you were god instead. I know what you like, and I know the way to do it. I’ve forgotten how to be pure and wholly good, but at least I could do this right.

I remember how you said “if I was god, you’d never have to be alone. You’d never be afraid or hurt, or want for anything. I’d know what to do and when to do it, and I’d be powerful enough to help you.” I remember that every day.

It’s be easier to worship a god like that. I’ve felt how much you love me. You show me with carnal acts considered sin. You show me with words and gifts and the sweetest kisses. You show me with sacrifice.

If you were god, there wouldn’t be anyone telling me “the right way to love”, because I’d be the only one who’s ever known. I wouldn’t be berated or have to “learn a lesson” with a belt as my teacher.

If you were god would I be made to sacrifice more to you than I already do? After you’ve given everything, willingly and lovingly, what do you really have left? All I have left to give is my own body, cut open and bleeding for you at an altar.

Would you then tell me I’m beautiful? Would you say I’m more perfect, and more worthy than any lamb? Would you run your fingers through my hair as I took my last breath, holding me close as you realized you never really ever wanted me to go?

No. If you were god I wouldn’t have to do that. I would lay with you and laugh for hours, and that would be enough. You wouldn’t need the first ten percent of everything I have, because what’s mine is already yours and what’s yours is mine.

You already have my entire heart, and that is enough.

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i hate it when i cant even write a poem about something because its too obvious. like in the airbnb i was at i guess it used to be a kids room cause you could see the imprint of one little glow in the dark star that had been missed and painted over in landlord white. like that's a poem already what's the point

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Canon Marceline

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I was told to love God with my heart. Not my eyes, or my mind. Not my lips or hands or tongue or anything that connected me to the world of senses.

Worship from the mouth in form of song was expected, and good works from hands were as well, but there is a difference between worship and truly loving.

The world of flesh and senses was seen as something full of temptation. Always of sin. They said you couldn’t truly “love” like that. You can only worship.

For you, for every act of worship, with every sense, I can love. There is love with every word. I can love you with my eyes and my mind. I can love you with my lips and tongue, and with my hands. Every touch, every service, every gift, everything sensual and physical, I can love you with.

Every whisper and sigh, every kiss, every time I make you your favorite meal, sing you your favorite song, every time I make a fool of myself just to see you laugh, I can love you with.

We aren’t seen as pure. If loving you is my temptation, how wicked is it, truly? You make me feel holy, and I am somehow the only one who doesn’t see that as evil. If it is sin to love this way, I will have to live in it.