occasionally i realize that my poetry paints a dark picture of me
with harsh lines and bold colors
eyes with shadowed circles and fingers with cracked black nail polish
because the times i'm quiet are the moments i'm full of life
watching the sunrise
making tea
reading poetry
thinking of you and her and him
ideal love and avoiding judgement by hiding behind highs
the sunflower blooms with her face to the sky
and so should i
angels and wheels mean nothing to the grass
the times when i'm quiet are the moments i wish i wasn't
