A collection of miscellaneous poems
World upon her shoulders
I remember the first night things got bad.
She called me and my dad, we rushed towards her and soon she was in a hospital bed.
She remained in that hospital bed for ten days.
It was so strange, she was entirely herself until the moments she wasn't.
I still don't know what to make of things.
I don't understand why she had to get sick.
She's the one who is never home due to being with every friend in the neighborhood,
She's the one who loves to play outside and on the weekends never sleeps in her own bed.
It hurts to see her so tired.
No thirteen year old should be living her life, and yet here she is carrying it with grace.
Fluorescent rain
The defining factor of my life has always been my passions.
My passions for art, my passions for people, my passions for growth.
Passion burns like a fire in my heart that warms every inch of my body.
Some days the fire burns brightly, it courses through me and drips from my fingers.
On those days I write endlessly, hold a conversation like a paintbrush, and aim for the sky.
On days like today the fire doesn't burn as radiantly as it has in days past.
I am a plant in drought, my leaves shrivel and my flowers wilt.
But on these days I must remind myself that the rain will come soon,
The rain will pour into the ground and I will grow towards the glowing sun once more.
The sun will rise
The nature my darkest moments all have in common is hopelessness.
He will never stop hurting me, I will always be miserable, my life is destined to be nothing more than a rotting tree.
And although I cannot pinpoint the moment where hopelessness was no longer a part of my life, I know it no longer is.
Even in my darkest hour of the night I know the sun will rise,
Ezra
I remember one night I decided I wanted to become a more passionate writer, and soon after he messaged me.
He asked me to be a part of his poetry study and soon we were talking about things that weren't a part of the study.
We talked about our lives, ourselves, and our thoughts on the world.
He taught me that I wasn't stupid like they said I was, among other things.
We had many conversations about things I'd never even thought to discuss.
He's made more a more passionate writer and a better friend.
It doesn't hurt like it used to
I remember the days when it was the only thing I wrote about, truthfully it was because it was the only thing I thought about.
The memories haunted me like a ghost.
Things have changed.
I go to sleep and I don't dream about him.
I wake up and I am not afraid.
I leave my bedroom and I am not worried about seeing him.
I am in my fort and his hands don't linger.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
