dear oliver,
i was really confused
when you showed up
to school with a frown,
tousled hair, wrinkled
shirt. bagged eyes.
torn into a thousand
pieces that even the stars
pitied you.
you didn’t talk to me.
just brushed against my
side during the hallway.
people waved, you nodded.
what’s going on, oliver?
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
