poetry

You think that you can knock me down Cut my flesh and break my bones. Bury me into the ground Left to rot under your feet.

One for the wicked and heinous king Two for his vile, cold-hearted queen

He’s so in love with all the things I hate most about myself I always wished I could be more like the girls on my shelf.

Girl in blue,There’s a pressure in you—Let it out.All the little things you’ve built up,All the big things you’ve been hiding—Let them free.

Though he rarely laughed, his eyes did often, so as I stood silent over his coffin, tears filled mine.

Here’s something nice I want to say: I’m blessed to watch you on your way On down this path to Glory, Humbly

She struggled to death’s dying door, But not for her—for you. Your frame was growing day by day. She had to act—she knew.

To you I hear the oak tree call In seasons plagued with death. In winter and in colored fall The leaves long for your breath.

Blacker than the River Styx Dark, in daylight flies; Moonless night, flitting, winks,Glossy to the eyes But -

I watch them run away from me— “They’ll not come back.” –I know. Can someone help me find the piece That leads me to myself?

After he died everything changed. Us twelve children left fatherless, our bank accounts a total mess, and mother’s cheeks, all tear-streak stained.

I know you hate your smile And try to hide your laugh, But darling, Joy looks good on you.

If only I could turn back time To live forever in the hours when I felt my heart was most alive Lovely eleven to two a.m.