Growing up in a small town has taught me a lot about empathy, and people in general. We all form our own little patterns and beliefs, like soccer practice on wednesdays, and poetry reading at six. And we are all living for something, even those of us who have yet to find it yet.
Her mind revolts in deep despair,
She feels she’s sinking in.
It seems that it’s her punishment
For some unacknowledged sin.
...
Today’s the anniversary,
Of the day you became wed.
When both your lives were intertwined,
And both ‘I do’s were said.
...
We are printed
In black ink that stabs their paper-like skin
We are their names
Their souls
...
I guess it must be Christmas day
If you are reading this.
You’ve got what you’ve been asking for
And what was on your list.
...
I don't know what I'm doing anymore. So many plans, so many hopes, so many colorful dreams nestled in my scarred hands. But I stare down at them closely, even though they seem to blur, and then put them on the shelf to dry and settle. My burning feet for once crave to run barefoot in the new pleasures of spring,
...