It's just nothing, nothing at all.

Winter still.

It's raining outside now.
The wind made it cold today;
my red jacket wasn't enough to cover me.
I wonder if the sun will shine again.
I never did put sheets on my bed;
the pillows are still bare white.
When the morning comes,
I will leave the brown satin cloth-of-a-curtain closed,
and wait until Spring.

My brown hands

I wish my hands were brown.
That way, you couldn't see the things
they did in the night--
their creations sculpted and molded by me,
anonymously.
But when I wanted you to notice,
the turquoise decorations would catch your eye
and you would hold your stare
for a few good seconds,
then go on with your thoughts of glee.

If they were brown,
you wouldn't take a second glance.
The double-take would be a mistake,
and you would look back to see nothing.
Instead of confusion, it would be more of
an optical illusion.
You may think you saw a glimmer,
but, trust me, the shimmer was just my brown skin.

Kingdom Come

I wish I could write something to do you both justice. One day.'


Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me.

It's that I see his nose on your face,
and your gentle spirit didn't come from thin air.
It's been passed on,
and will pass on until the end of time.

I never took the time to thank you.
It's so strange to be stuck in the history of a moment,
and I can't tell if I should seek to break from it.
Do I break from this?
Have I already broken?
Come back;
I don't want those short-lived memories.
Breathe beside me
and teach me everything.
Please don't leave; teach me everything.


But--
like I said,
everything ends,
so why are we sad when it does?


Fuck that.
Come back.

untitled

It's not the growing old part-
actually it is--
but more it's everything that comes (and goes)
with it.
No, I don't want to grow up.